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diff --git a/old/2003-07-23-8531-8.zip b/old/2003-07-23-8531-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b813bad --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2003-07-23-8531-8.zip diff --git a/old/2003-07-23-8531-h.zip b/old/2003-07-23-8531-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c5f28d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2003-07-23-8531-h.zip diff --git a/old/2003-07-23-8531.zip b/old/2003-07-23-8531.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6e1744 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2003-07-23-8531.zip diff --git a/old/8531-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/8531-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbb79f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8531-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,22246 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Helen, by Maria Edgeworth + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Helen, by Maria Edgeworth + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Helen + +Author: Maria Edgeworth + + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8531] +This file was first posted on July 20, 2003 +Last Updated: December 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN *** + + + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + HELEN + </h1> + <h2> + By Maria Edgeworth + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Tales And Novels <br /> <br /> In Ten Volumes <br /> <br /> With Engravings On + Steel <br /> <br /> Vol. X. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1857 + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>HELEN</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>VOLUME THE FIRST.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> <b>VOLUME THE SECOND.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> <b>VOLUME THE THIRD.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + HELEN + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME THE FIRST. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + “There is Helen in the lime-walk,” said Mrs. Collingwood to her husband, + as she looked out of the window. The slight figure of a young person in + deep mourning appeared between the trees,—“How slowly she walks! She + looks very unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Collingwood, with a sigh, “she is young to know sorrow, + and to struggle with difficulties to which she is quite unsuited both by + nature and by education, difficulties which no one could ever have + foreseen. How changed are all her prospects!” + </p> + <p> + “Changed indeed!” said Mrs. Collingwood, “pretty young creature!—Do + you recollect how gay she was when first we came to Cecilhurst? and even + last year, when she had hopes of her uncle’s recovery, and when he talked + of taking her to London, how she enjoyed the thoughts of going there! The + world was bright before her then. How cruel of that uncle, with all his + fondness for her, never to think what was to become of her the moment he + was dead: to breed her up as an heiress, and leave her a beggar!” + </p> + <p> + “But what is to be done, my dear?” said her husband. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I do not know; I can only feel for her, you must think for + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think I must tell her directly of the state in which her uncle’s + affairs are left, and that there is no provision for her.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, my dear,” said Mrs. Collingwood: “I don’t mean about there being + no provision for herself, that would not strike her, but her uncle’s + debts,—there is the point: she would feel dreadfully the disgrace to + his memory—she loved him so tenderly!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet it must be told,” said Mr. Collingwood, resolutely “and perhaps it + will be better now; she will feel it less, while her mind is absorbed by + grief for him.” + </p> + <p> + Helen was the only daughter of colonel and Lady Anne Stanley; her parents + had both died when she was too young to know her loss, nor had she ever + felt till now that she was an orphan, for she had been adopted and brought + up with the greatest tenderness by her uncle, Dean Stanley, a man of + genius, learning, and sincere piety, with the most affectionate heart, and + a highly cultivated understanding. But on one subject he really had not + common sense; in money matters he was inconceivably imprudent and + extravagant; extravagant from charity, from taste, from habit. He + possessed rich benefices in the church, and an ample private fortune, and + it was expected that his niece would be a great heiress—he had often + said so himself, and his fondness for her confirmed every one in this + belief. But the dean’s taste warred against his affection: his too + hospitable, magnificent establishment had exceeded his income; he had too + much indulged his passion for all the fine arts, of which he was a liberal + patron: he had collected a magnificent library, and had lavished immense + sums of money on architectural embellishments. Cursed with too fine a + taste, and with too soft a heart—a heart too well knowing how to + yield, never could he deny himself, much less any other human being, any + gratification which money could command; and soon the necessary + consequence was, that he had no money to command, his affairs fell into + embarrassment—his estate was sold; but, as he continued to live with + his accustomed hospitality and splendour, the world believed him to be as + rich as ever. + </p> + <p> + Some rise superior from the pressure of pecuniary difficulties, but that + was not the case with Dean Stanley, not from want of elasticity of mind; + but perhaps because his ingenuity continually suggested resources, and his + sanguine character led him to plunge into speculations—they failed, + and in the anxiety and agitation which his embarrassments occasioned him, + he fell into bad health, his physicians ordered him to Italy. Helen, his + devoted nurse, the object upon which all his affections centered, + accompanied him to Florence. There his health and spirits seemed at first, + by the change of climate, to be renovated; but in Italy he found fresh + temptations to extravagance, his learning and his fancy combined to lead + him on from day to day to new expense, and he satisfied his conscience by + saying to himself that all the purchases which he now made were only so + much capital, which would, when sold in England, bring more than their + original price, and would, he flattered himself, increase the fortune he + intended for his niece. But one day, while he was actually bargaining for + an antique, he was seized with a fit of apoplexy. From this fit he + recovered, and was able to return to England with his niece. Here he found + his debts and difficulties had been increasing; he was harassed with + doubts as to the monied value of his last-chosen chef-d’oeuvres; his mind + preyed upon his weakened frame, he was seized with another fit, lost his + speech, and, after struggles the most melancholy for Helen to see, + conscious as she was that she could do nothing for him—he expired—his + eyes fixed on her face, and his powerless hand held between both hers. + </p> + <p> + All was desolation and dismay at the deanery; Helen was removed to the + vicarage by the kindness of the good vicar and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. + Collingwood. + </p> + <p> + It was found that the dean, instead of leaving a large fortune, had + nothing to leave. All he had laid out at the deanery was sunk and gone; + his real property all sold; his imaginary wealth, his pictures, statues—his + whole collection, even his books, his immense library, shrunk so much in + value when estimated after his death, that the demands of the creditors + could not be nearly answered: as to any provision for Miss Stanley, that + was out of the question. + </p> + <p> + These were the circumstances which Mrs. Collingwood feared to reveal, and + which Mr. Collingwood thought should be told immediately to Helen; but + hitherto she had been so much absorbed in sorrow for the uncle she had + loved, that no one had ventured on the task. + </p> + <p> + Though Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood had not known her long (for they had but + lately come to the neighbourhood), they had the greatest sympathy for her + orphan state; and they had seen enough of her during her uncle’s illness + to make them warmly attached to her. Every body loved her that knew her, + rich or poor, for in her young prosperity, from her earliest childhood, + she had been always sweet-tempered and kind-hearted; for though she had + been bred up in the greatest luxury, educated as heiress to a large + fortune, taught every accomplishment, used to every fashionable + refinement, she was not spoiled—she was not in the least selfish. + Indeed, her uncle’s indulgence, excessive though it was, had been always + joined with so much affection, that it had early touched her heart, and + filled her whole soul with ardent gratitude. + </p> + <p> + It is said, that the ill men do, lives after them—the good is oft + interred with their bones. It was not so with Dean Stanley: the good he + had intended for Helen, his large fortune, was lost and gone; but the real + good he had done for his niece remained in full force, and to the honour + of his memory: the excellent education he had given her—it was + excellent not merely in the worldly meaning of the word, as regards + accomplishments and elegance of manners, but excellent in having given her + a firm sense of duty, as the great principle of action, and as the guide + of her naturally warm generous affections. + </p> + <p> + And now, when Helen returned from her walk, Mr. Collingwood, in the + gentlest and kindest manner he was able, informed her of the confusion in + her uncle’s affairs, the debts, the impossibility of paying the creditors, + the total loss of all fortune for herself. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Collingwood had well foreseen the effect this intelligence would have + on Helen. At first, with fixed incredulous eyes, she could not believe + that her uncle could have been in any way to blame. Twice she asked—“Are + you sure—are you certain—is there no mistake?” And when the + conviction was forced upon her, still her mind did not take in any part of + the facts, as they regarded herself. Astonished and, shocked, she could + feel nothing but the disgrace that would fall upon the memory of her + beloved uncle. + </p> + <p> + Then she exclaimed—“One part of it is not true, I am certain:” and + hastily leaving the room, she returned immediately with a letter in her + hand, which, without speaking, she laid before Mr. Collingwood, who wiped + his spectacles quickly, and read. + </p> + <p> + It was addressed to the poor dean, and was from an old friend of his, + Colonel Munro, stating that he had been suddenly ordered to India, and was + obliged to return a sum of money which the dean had many years before + placed in his hands, to secure a provision for his niece, Miss Stanley. + </p> + <p> + This letter had arrived when the dean was extremely ill. Helen had been + afraid to give it to him, and yet thought it right to do so. The moment + her uncle had read the letter, which he was still able to do, and to + comprehend, though he was unable to speak, he wrote on the back with + difficulty, in a sadly trembling hand, yet quite distinctly, these words:—“That + money is yours, Helen Stanley: no one has any claim upon it. When I am + gone consult Mr. Collingwood; consider him as your guardian.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Collingwood perceived that this provision had been made by the dean + for his niece before he had contracted his present debts—many years + before, when he had sold his paternal estate, and that knowing his own + disposition to extravagance, he had put this sum out of his own power. + </p> + <p> + “Right—all right, my dear Miss Stanley,” said the vicar; “I am very + glad—it is all justly yours.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Helen, “I shall never touch it: take it, my dear Mr. + Collingwood, take it, and pay all the debts before any one can complain.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Collingwood pressed her to him without speaking; but after a moment’s + recollection he replied:—“No, no, my dear child, I cannot let you do + this: as your guardian, I cannot allow such a young creature as you are, + in a moment of feeling, thus to give away your whole earthly fortune—it + must not be.” + </p> + <p> + “It must, indeed it must, my dear sir. Oh, pay everybody at once—directly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not directly, at all events,” said Mr. Collingwood—“certainly + not directly: the law allows a year.” + </p> + <p> + “But if the money is ready,” said Helen, “I cannot understand why the debt + should not be paid at once. Is there any law against paying people + immediately?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Collingwood half smiled, and on the strength of that half smile Helen + concluded that he wholly yielded. “Yes, do,” cried she, “send this money + this instant to Mr. James, the solicitor: he knows all about it, you say, + and he will see everybody paid.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, my dear Miss Stanley,” said the vicar, “I cannot consent to this, + and you should be thankful that I am steady. If I were at this minute to + consent, and to do what you desire—pay away your whole fortune, you + would repent, and reproach me with my folly before the end of the year—before + six months were over.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, never,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Collingwood strongly took her husband’s side of the question. Helen + could have no idea, she said, how necessary money would be to her. It was + quite absurd to think of living upon air; could Miss Stanley think she was + to go on in this world without money? + </p> + <p> + Helen said she was not so absurd; she reminded Mrs. Collingwood that she + should still have what had been her mother’s fortune. Before Helen had + well got out the words, Mrs. Collingwood replied, + </p> + <p> + “That will never do, you will never be able to live upon that; the + interest of Lady Anne Stanley’s fortune, I know what it was, would just do + for pocket-money for you in the style of life for which you have been + educated. Some of your uncle’s great friends will of course invite you + presently, and then you will find what is requisite with that set of + people.” + </p> + <p> + “Some of my uncle’s friends perhaps will,” said Helen; “but I am not + obliged to go to great or fine people, and if I cannot afford it I will + not, for I can live independently on what I have, be it ever so little.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Collingwood allowed that if Helen were to live always in the country + in retirement, she might do upon her mother’s fortune. + </p> + <p> + “Wherever I live—whatever becomes of me, the debts must be paid—I + will do it myself;” and she took up a pen as she spoke—“I will write + to Mr. James by this day’s post.” + </p> + <p> + Surprised at her decision of manner and the firmness of one in general so + gentle, yielding, and retired, and feeling that he had no legal power to + resist, Mr. Collingwood at last gave way, so far as to agree that he would + in due time use this money in satisfying her uncle’s creditors; <i>provided + she lived for the next six months within her income</i>. + </p> + <p> + Helen smiled, as if that were a needless proviso. + </p> + <p> + “I warn you,” continued Mr. Collingwood, “that you will most probably find + before six months are over, that you will want some of this money to pay + debts of your own.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no,” cried she; “of that there is not the slightest chance.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, my dear child,” said Mrs. Collingwood, “now that Mr. Collingwood + has promised to do what you wish, will you do what we wish? Will you + promise to remain with us? to live here with us, for the present at least; + we will resign you whenever better friends may claim you, but for the + present will you try us?” + </p> + <p> + “Try!” in a transport of gratitude and affection she could only repeat the + words “Try! oh, my dear friends, how happy I am, an orphan, without a + relation, to have such a home.” + </p> + <p> + But though Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood, childless as they were, felt real + happiness in having such a companion—such an adopted daughter, yet + they were sure that some of Dean Stanley’s great friends and acquaintance + in high life would ask his niece to spend the spring in town, or the + summer in the country with them; and post after post came letters of + condolence to Miss Stanley from all these personages of high degree, + professing the greatest regard for their dear amiable friend’s memory, and + for Miss Stanley, his and their dear Helen; and these polite and kind + expressions were probably sincere at the moment, but none of these dear + friends seemed to think of taking any trouble on her account, or to be in + the least disturbed by the idea of never seeing their dear Helen again in + the course of their lives. + </p> + <p> + Helen, quite touched by what was said of her uncle, thought only of him; + but when she showed the letters to Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood, they marked + the oversight, and looked significantly as they read, folded the letters + up and returned them to Helen in silence. Afterwards between themselves, + they indulged in certain comments. + </p> + <p> + “Lady C—— does not invite her, for she has too many daughters, + and they are too ugly, and Helen is too beautiful,” said Mrs. Collingwood. + </p> + <p> + “Lady L—— has too many sons,” said Mr. Collingwood, “and they + are too poor, and Helen is not an heiress now.” + </p> + <p> + “But old Lady Margaret Dawe, who has neither sons nor daughters, what + stands in the way there? Oh! her delicate health—delicate health is + a blessing to some people—excuses them always from doing anything + for anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Then came many, who hoped, in general, to see Miss Stanley as soon as + possible; and some who were “very anxious indeed” to have their dear Helen + with them; but when or where never specified—and a general + invitation, as every body knows, means nothing but “Good morning to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Coldstream ends with, “I forbear to say more at present,” without + giving any reason. + </p> + <p> + “And here is the dean’s dear duchess, always in the greatest haste, with + ‘You know my heart,’ in a parenthesis, ‘ever and ever most sincerely and + affec’—yours.’” + </p> + <p> + “And the Davenants,” continued Mrs. Collingwood, “who were such near + neighbours, and who were so kind to the dean at Florence; they have not + even written!” + </p> + <p> + “But they are at Florence still,” said Mr. Collingwood, “they can hardly + have heard of the poor dean’s death.” + </p> + <p> + The Davenants were the great people of this part of the country; their + place, Cecilhurst, was close to the deanery and to the vicarage, but they + were not known to the Collingwoods, who had come to Cecilhurst during the + dean’s absence abroad. + </p> + <p> + “And here is Mrs. Wilmot too,” continued Mrs. Collingwood, “wondering as + usual, at everybody else, wondering that Lady Barker has not invited Miss + Stanley to Castleport; and it never enters into Mrs. Wilmot’s head that + she might invite her to Wilmot’s fort. And this is friendship, as the + world goes!” + </p> + <p> + “And as it has been ever since the beginning of the world and will be to + the end,” replied Mr. Collingwood. “Only I thought in Dean Stanley’s case—however, + I am glad his niece does not see it as we do.” + </p> + <p> + No—with all Helen’s natural quickness of sensibility, she suspected + nothing, saw nothing in each excuse but what was perfectly reasonable and + kind; she was sure that her uncle’s friends could not mean to neglect her. + In short, she had an undoubting belief in those she loved, and she loved + all those who she thought had loved her uncle, or who had ever shown her + kindness. Helen had never yet experienced neglect or detected insincerity, + and nothing in her own true and warm heart could suggest the possibility + of double-dealing, or even of coldness in friendship. She had yet to learn + that— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “No after-friendship e’er can raze<br /> Th’ endearments of our early days,<br /> And ne’er the heart such fondness prove,<br /> As when it first began to love;<br /> Ere lovely nature is expelled,<br /> And friendship is romantic held.<br /> But prudence comes with hundred eyes,<br /> The veil is rent, the vision flies,<br /> The dear illusions will not last,<br /> The era of enchantment’s past:<br /> The wild romance of life is done,<br /> The real history begun!”<br /></pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Some time after this, Mr. Collingwood, rising from the breakfast-table, + threw down the day’s paper, saying there was nothing in it; Mrs. + Collingwood glancing her eye over it exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + “Do you call this nothing? Helen, hear this! + </p> + <p> + “Marriage in high life—At the ambassador’s chapel, Paris, on the + 16th instant, General Clarendon to Lady Cecilia Davenant, only daughter of + Earl and Countess Davenant.” + </p> + <p> + “Married! absolutely married!” exclaimed Helen: “I knew it was to be, but + so soon I did not expect. Ambassador’s chapel—where did you say?—Paris? + No, that must be a mistake, they are all at Florence—settled there, + I thought their letters said.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Collingwood pointed to the paragraph, and Helen saw it was certainly + Paris—there could be no mistake. Here was a full account of the + marriage, and a list of all “the fashionables who attended the fair bride + to the hymeneal altar. Her father gave her away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then certainly it is so,” said Helen; and she came to the joyful + conclusion that they must all be on their way home:—“Dear Lady + Davenant coming to Cecilhurst again!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, “the fair bride,” had been Helen’s most intimate friend; + they had been when children much together, for the deanery was so close to + Cecilhurst, that the shrubbery opened into the park. “But is it not rather + extraordinary, my dear. Helen,” said Mrs. Collingwood, “that you should + see this account of your dear Lady Cecilia’s marriage in the public papers + only, without having heard of it from any of your friends themselves—not + one letter, not one line from any of them?” + </p> + <p> + A cloud came over Helen’s face, but it passed quickly, and she was sure + they had written—something had delayed their letters. She was + certain Lady Davenant or Lady Cecilia had written; or, if they had not, it + was because they could not possibly, in such a hurry, such agitation as + they must have been in. At all events, whether they had written or not, + she was certain they could not mean anything unkind; she could not change + her opinion of her friend for a letter more or less. “Indeed!” said Mrs. + Collingwood, “how long is it since you have seen them?” + </p> + <p> + “About two years; just two years it is since I parted from them at + Florence.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have corresponded with Lady Cecilia constantly ever since?” asked + Mrs. Collingwood. + </p> + <p> + “Not constantly.” + </p> + <p> + “Not constantly—oh!” said Mrs. Collingwood, in a prolonged and + somewhat sarcastic tone. + </p> + <p> + “Not constantly—so much the better,” said her husband: “a constant + correspondence is always a great burthen, and moreover, sometimes a great + evil, between young ladies especially—I hate the sight of ladies’ + long cross-barred letters.” + </p> + <p> + Helen said that Lady Cecilia’s letters were never cross-barred, always + short and far between. + </p> + <p> + “You seem wonderfully fond of Lady Cecilia,” said Mrs. Collingwood. + </p> + <p> + “Not wonderfully,” replied Helen, “but very fond, and no wonder, we were + bred up together. And”—continued she, after a little pause, “and if + Lady Cecilia had not been so generous as she is, she might have been—she + must have been, jealous of the partiality, the fondness, which her mother + always showed me.” + </p> + <p> + “But was not Lady Davenant’s heart large enough to hold two?” asked Mrs. + Collingwood. “Was not she fond of her daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as far as she knew her, but she did not know Lady Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “Not know her own daughter!” Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood both at once + exclaimed, “How could that possibly be?” + </p> + <p> + “Very easily,” Helen said, “because she saw so little of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Was not Lady Cecilia educated at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but still Lady Cecilia, when a child, was all day long with her + governess, and at Cecilhurst the governess’s apartments were quite out of + the way, in one of the wings at the end of a long corridor, with a + separate staircase; she might as well have been in another house.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad arrangement,” said Mr. Collingwood, speaking to himself as he stood + on the hearth. “Bad arrangement which separates mother and daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “At that time,” continued Helen, “there was always a great deal of company + at Cecilhurst. Lord Davenant was one of the ministers then. I believe—I + know he saw a great many political people, and Lady Davenant was forced to + be always with them talking.” + </p> + <p> + “Talking! yes, yes!” said Mr. Collingwood, “I understand it all—Lady + Davenant is a great politician, and female politicians, with their heads + full of the affairs of Europe, cannot have time to think of the affairs of + their families.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, my dear Helen?” said Mrs. Collingwood, taking her + hand. Helen had tears in her eyes and looked unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “I have done very wrong,” said she; “I have said something that has given + you a bad, a false opinion of one for whom I have the greatest admiration + and love—of Lady Davenant. I am excessively sorry; I have done very + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least, my dear child; you told us nothing but what everybody + knows—that she is a great politician; you told us no more.” + </p> + <p> + “But I should have told you more, and what nobody knows better than I do,” + cried Helen, “that Lady Davenant is a great deal more, and a great deal + better than a politician. I was too young to judge, you may think, but + young as I was, I could see and feel, and children can and do often see a + great deal into character, and I assure you Lady Davenant’s is a sort of + deep, high character, that you would admire.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Collingwood observed with surprise, that Helen spoke of her with even + more enthusiasm than of her dear Lady Cecilia. “Yes, because she is a + person more likely to excite enthusiasm.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not feel afraid of her, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say that,” replied Helen; “yet it was not fear exactly, it was + more a sort of awe, but still I liked it. It is so delightful to have + something to look up to. I love Lady Davenant all the better, even for + that awe I felt of her.” + </p> + <p> + “And I like you all the better for everything you feel, think, and say + about your friends,” cried Mrs. Collingwood; “but let us see what they + will do; when I see whether they can write, and what they write to you, I + will tell you more of my mind—if any letters come.” + </p> + <p> + “If!—” Helen repeated, but would say no more—and there it + rested, or at least stopped. By common consent the subject was not + recurred to for several days. Every morning at post-time Helen’s colour + rose with expectation, and then faded with disappointment; still, with the + same confiding look, she said, “I am sure it is not their fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Time will show,” said Mrs. Collingwood. + </p> + <p> + At length, one morning when she came down to breakfast, “Triumph, my dear + Helen!” cried Mrs. Collingwood, holding up two large letters, all + scribbled over with “Try this place and try that, mis-sent to Cross-keys—Over + moor, and heaven knows where—and—no matter.” + </p> + <p> + Helen seized the packets and tore them open; one was from Paris, written + immediately after the news of Dean Stanley’s death; it contained two + letters, one from Lady Davenant, the other from Lady Cecilia—“written, + only think!” cried she, “how kind!—the very day before her marriage; + signed ‘Cecilia Davenant, for the last time,’—and Lady Davenant, too—to + think of me in all their happiness.” + </p> + <p> + She opened the other letters, written since their arrival in England, she + read eagerly on,—then stopped, and her looks changed. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Davenant is not coming to Cecilhurst. Lord Davenant is to be sent + ambassador to Petersburgh, and Lady Davenant will go along with him!—Oh! + there is an end of everything, I shall never see her again!—Stay—she + is to be first with Lady Cecilia at Clarendon Park, wherever that is, for + some time—she does not know how long—she hopes to see me there—oh! + how kind, how delightful!” Helen put Lady Davenant’s letter proudly into + Mrs. Collingwood’s hand, and eagerly opened Lady Cecilia’s. + </p> + <p> + “So like herself! so like Cecilia,” cried she. Mrs. Collingwood read and + acknowledged that nothing could be kinder, for here was an invitation, not + vague or general, but particular, and pressing as heart could wish or + heart could make it. “We shall be at Clarendon Park on Thursday, and shall + expect you, dearest Helen, on Monday, just time, the general says, for an + answer; so write and say where horses shall meet you,” &c. &c. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, this is being in earnest, when it comes to horses meeting,” + cried Mr. Collingwood. “Of course you will go directly?” + </p> + <p> + Helen was in great agitation. + </p> + <p> + “Write—write—my dear, directly,” said Mrs. Collingwood, “for + the post-boy waits.” + </p> + <p> + And before she had written many lines the cross-post boy sent up word that + he could wait no longer. + </p> + <p> + Helen wrote she scarcely knew what, but in short an acceptance, signed, + sealed, delivered, and then she took breath. Off cantered the boy with the + letters bagged, and scarcely was he out of sight, when Helen saw under the + table the cover of the packet, in which were some lines that had not yet + been read. They were in Lady Cecilia’s handwriting—a postscript. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot, dear Helen, the thing that is most essential, (you remember our + friend Dumont’s definition of <i>une betîse: c’est d’oublier la chose + essentielle;</i>) I forgot to tell you that the general declares he will + not hear of a mere <i>visit</i> from you. He bids me tell you that it must + be ‘till death or marriage.’ So, my dear friend, you must make up your + mind in short to live with us till you find a General Clarendon of your + own. To this postscript no reply—silence gives consent.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had seen this!” said Helen, as she laid it before Mr. and Mrs. + Collingwood, “I ought to have answered, but, indeed, I never saw it;” she + sprang forward instantly to ring the bell, exclaiming, “It is time yet—stop + the boy—‘silence gives consent.’ I must write. I cannot leave you, + my dear friends, in this way. I did not see that postscript, believe me I + did not.” + </p> + <p> + They believed her, they thanked her, but they would not let her ring the + bell; they said she had better not bind herself in any way either to + themselves or to Lady Cecilia. Accept of the present invitation she must—she + must go to see her friend on her marriage; she must take leave of her dear + Lady Davenant before her departure. + </p> + <p> + “They are older friends than we are,” said Mr. Collingwood, “they have the + first claim upon you; but let us think of it as only a visit now. As to a + residence for life, that you can best judge of for yourself after you have + been some time at Clarendon Park; if you do not like to remain there, you + know how gladly we shall welcome you here again, my child; or, if you + decide to live with those you have known so long and loved so much, we + cannot be offended at your choice.” + </p> + <p> + This generous kindness, this freedom from jealous susceptibility, touched + Helen’s heart, and increased her agitation. She could not bear the + thoughts of either the reality or appearance of neglecting these kind good + people, the moment she had other prospects, and frequently in all the + hurry of her preparations, she repeated, “It will only be a visit at + Clarendon Park. I will return to you, I shall write to you, my dear Mrs. + Collingwood, at all events, constantly.” + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Collingwood gave her his parting blessing he reminded her of his + warning about her fortune. Mrs. Collingwood reminded her of her promise to + write. The carriage drove from the door. Helen’s heart was full of the + friends she was leaving, but by degrees the agitation of the parting + subsided, her tears ceased, her heart grew lighter, and the hopes of + seeing her friends at Clarendon Park arose bright in her mind, and her + thoughts all turned upon Cecilia, and Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + Helen looked eagerly out of the carriage-window for the first view of + Clarendon Park. It satisfied—it surpassed her expectations. It was a + fine, aristocratic place:—ancestral trees, and a vast expanse of + park; herds of deer, yellow and dark, or spotted, their heads appearing in + the distance just above the fern, or grazing near, startled as the + carriage passed. Through the long approach, she caught various views of + the house, partly gothic, partly of modern architecture; it seemed of + great extent and magnificence. + </p> + <p> + All delightful so far; but now for her own reception. Her breath grew + quick and quicker as she came near and nearer to the house. Some one was + standing on the steps. Was it General Clarendon? No; only a servant. The + carriage stopped, more servants appeared, and as Helen got out, a very + sublime-looking personage informed her, that “Lady Cecilia and the General + were out riding—only in the park—would be in immediately.” + </p> + <p> + And as she crossed the great hall, the same sublime person informed her + that there would be still an hour before dinner-time, and inquired whether + she would be pleased to be shown to her own apartment, or to the library? + Helen felt chilled and disappointed, because this was not exactly the way + she had expected things would be upon her arrival. She had pictured to + herself Cecilia running to meet her in the hall. + </p> + <p> + Without answering the groom of the chambers, she asked, “Is Lady Davenant + out too?” + </p> + <p> + “No; her ladyship is in the library.” + </p> + <p> + “To the library then.” + </p> + <p> + And through the antechamber she passed rapidly, impatient of a momentary + stop of her conductor to open the folding-doors, while a man, with a + letter-box in hand, equally impatient, begged that Lady Davenant might be + told, “The General’s express was waiting.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant was sealing letters in great haste for this express, but + when the door opened, and she saw Helen, she threw wax and letter from + her, and pushing aside the sofa-table, came forward to receive her with + open arms. + </p> + <p> + All was in an instant happy in Helen’s heart; but there was the man of the + letter-box; he must be attended to. “Beg your pardon, Helen, my dear—one + moment. Letters of consequence—must not be delayed.” + </p> + <p> + By the time the letters were finished, before they were gone, Lady Cecilia + came in. The same as ever, with affectionate delight in her eyes—her + beautiful eyes. The same, yes, the same Cecilia as ever; yet different: + less of a girl, less lively, but more happy. The moment she had embraced + her, Lady Cecilia turned quick to present General Clarendon, thinking he + had followed, but he had stopped in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Send off the letters,” were the first words of his which Helen heard. The + tone commanding, the voice remarkably gentlemanlike. An instant afterwards + he came in. A fine figure, a handsome man; in the prime of life; with a + high-born, high-bred military air. English decidedly—proudly + English. Something of the old school—composed self-possession, with + voluntary deference to others—rather distant. Helen felt that his + manner of welcoming her to Clarendon Park was perfectly polite, yet she + would have liked it better had it been less polite—more cordial. + Lady Cecilia, whose eyes were anxiously upon her, drew her arm within + hers, and hurried her out of the room. She stopped at the foot of the + stairs, gathered up the folds of her riding-dress, and turning suddenly to + Helen, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Helen, my dear, you must not think <i>that</i>”—— + </p> + <p> + “Think what?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Think <i>that</i>—for which you are now blushing. Oh, you know what + I mean! Helen, your thoughts are just as legible in your face, as they + always were to me. His manner is reserved—cold, may be—but not + his heart. Understand this, pray—once for all. Do you? will you, + dearest Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, I will,” cried Helen; and every minute she felt that she better + understood and was more perfectly pleased with her friend. Lady Cecilia + showed her through the apartment destined for her, which she had taken the + greatest pleasure in arranging; everything there was not only most + comfortable, but particularly to her taste; and some little delicate + proofs of affection, recollections of childhood, were there;—keepsakes, + early drawings, nonsensical things, not worth preserving, but still + preserved. + </p> + <p> + “Look how near we are together,” said Cecilia, opening a door into her own + dressing-room. “You may shut this up whenever you please, but I hope you + will never please to do so. You see how I leave you your own free will, as + friends usually do, with a proviso, a hope at least, that you are never to + use it on any account—like the child’s half guinea pocket-money, + never to be changed.” Her playful tone relieved, as she intended it + should, Helen’s too keen emotion; and this too was felt with the quickness + with which every touch of kindness ever was felt by her. Helen pressed her + friend’s hand, and smiled without speaking. + </p> + <p> + They were to be some time alone before the commencement of bridal visits, + and an expected succession of troops of friends. This was a time of + peculiar enjoyment to Helen: she had leisure to grow happy in the feeling + of reviving hopes from old associations. + </p> + <p> + She did not forget her promise to write to Mrs. Collingwood; nor + afterwards (to her credit be it here marked)—even when the house was + full of company, and when, by amusement or by feeling, she was most + pressed for time—did she ever omit to write to those excellent + friends. Those who best know the difficulty will best appreciate this + proof of the reality of her gratitude. + </p> + <p> + As Lady Cecilia was a great deal with her husband riding or walking, Helen + had opportunities of being much alone with Lady Davenant, who now gave her + a privilege that she had enjoyed in former times at Cecilhurst, that of + entering her apartment in the morning at all hours without fear of being + considered an intruder. + </p> + <p> + The first morning, however, on seeing her ladyship immersed in papers with + a brow of care, deeply intent, Helen paused on the threshold, “I am afraid + I interrupt—I am afraid I disturb you.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Helen, come in,” cried Lady Davenant, looking up, and the face + of care was cleared, and there was a radiance of pleasure—“Interrupt—yes: + disturb—no. Often in your little life, Helen, you have interrupted—never + disturbed me. From the time you were a child till this moment, never did I + see you come into my room without pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Then sweeping away heaps of papers, she made room for Helen on the sofa + beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me how things are with you—somewhat I have heard reported + of my friend the dean’s affairs—tell me all.” + </p> + <p> + Helen told all as briefly as possible; she hurried on through her uncle’s + affairs with a tremulous voice, and before she could come to a conclusion + Lady Davenant exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “I foresaw it long since: with all my friend’s virtues, all his talents—but + we will not go back upon the painful past. You, my dear Helen, have done + just what I should have expected from you,—right;—right, too, + the condition Mr. Collingwood has made—very right. And now to the + next point:—where are you to live, Helen? or rather with whom?” + </p> + <p> + Helen was not quite sure yet, she said she had not quite determined. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand that your doubt lies between the Collingwoods and my + daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Cecilia most kindly invited me, but I do not know General Clarendon + yet, and he does not know me yet. Cecilia might wish most sincerely that I + should live with her, and I am convinced she does; but her husband must be + considered.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Lady Davenant—“true; a husband is certainly a thing <i>to + be cared for</i>—in Scottish phrase, and General Clarendon is no + doubt a person to be considered,—but it seems that I am not a person + to be considered in your arrangements.” + </p> + <p> + Even the altered, dry, and almost acrid tone in which Lady Davenant spoke, + and the expression of disappointment in her countenance—were, as + marks of strong affection, deeply gratifying to Helen. Lady Davenant went + on. + </p> + <p> + “Was not Cecilhurst always a home to you, Helen Stanley?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,—always a most happy home!” + </p> + <p> + “Then why is not Cecilhurst to be your home?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lady Davenant! how kind!—how very, very kind of you to wish + it—but I never thought of——” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you not think of it, Helen?’” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—I thought you were going to Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you settled, my dear Helen,” said Lady Davenant, smiling, “have + you settled that I am never to come back from Russia? Do not you know that + you are—that you ever were—you ever will be to me a daughter?” + and drawing Helen fondly towards her, she added, “as my own very dear—I + must not say dearest child,—must not, because as I well remember + once—little creature as you were then—-you whispered to me, + ‘Never call me dearest,’—generous-hearted child!” And tears started + into her eyes as she spoke; but at that moment came a knock at the door. + “A packet from Lord Davenant, by Mr. Mapletofft, my lady.” Helen rose to + leave the room, but Lady Davenant laid a detaining hand upon her, saying, + “You will not be in my way in the least;” and she opened her packet, + adding, that while she read, Helen might amuse herself “with arranging the + books on that table, or in looking over the letters in that portfolio.” + </p> + <p> + Helen had hitherto seen Lady Davenant only with the eyes of very early + youth; but now, after an absence of two years—a great space in her + existence, it seemed as if she looked upon her with new eyes, and every + hour made fresh discoveries in her character. Contrary to what too often + happens when we again see and judge of those whom we have early known, + Lady Davenant’s character and abilities, instead of sinking and + diminishing, appeared to rise and enlarge, to expand and be ennobled to + Helen’s view. Strong lights and shades there were, but these only excited + and fixed her attention. Even her defects—those inequalities of + temper of which she had already had some example, were interesting as + evidences of the power and warmth of her affections. + </p> + <p> + The books on the table were those which Lady Davenant had had in her + travelling carriage. They gave Helen an idea of the range and variety of + the reader’s mind. Some of them were presentation copies, as they are + called, from several of the first authors of our own, and foreign + countries; some with dedications to Lady Davenant; others with + inscriptions expressing respect or propitiating favour, or anxious for + judgment. + </p> + <p> + The portfolio contained letters whose very signatures would have driven + the first of modern autograph collectors distracted with joy—whose + meanest scrap would make a scrap-book the envy of the world. + </p> + <p> + But among the letters in this portfolio, there were none of those nauseous + notes of compliment, none of those epistles adulatory, degrading to those + who write, and equally degrading to those to whom they are written: + letters which are, however cleverly turned, inexpressibly wearisome to all + but the parties concerned. + </p> + <p> + After opening and looking at the signature of several of these letters, + Helen sat in a delightful <i>embarras de richesse</i>. To read them all—all + at once, was impossible; with which to begin, she could not determine. One + after another was laid aside as too good to be read first, and after + glancing at the contents of each, she began to deal them round + alphabetically till she was struck by a passage in one of them—she + looked to the signature, it was unknown to fame—she read the whole, + it was striking and interesting. There were several letters in the same + hand, and Helen was surprised to find them arranged according to their + dates, in Lady Davenant’s own writing—preserved with those of + persons of illustrious reputation! These she read on without further + hesitation. There was no sort of affectation in them—quite easy and + natural, “real feeling, and genius,” certainly genius, she thought!—and + there seemed something romantic and uncommon in the character of the + writer. They were signed Granville Beauclerc! + </p> + <p> + Who could he be, this Granville Beauclerc? She read on till Lady Davenant, + having finished her packet, rang a silver handbell, as was her custom, to + summon her page. At the first tingle of the bell Helen started, and Lady + Davenant asked, “Whose letter, my dear, has so completely abstracted you?” + </p> + <p> + Carlos, the page, came in at this instant, and after a quick glance at the + handwriting of the letters, Lady Davenant gave her orders in Portuguese to + Carlos, and then returning to Helen, took no further notice of the + letters, but went on just where she had left off. “Helen, I remember when + you were about nine years old, timid as you usually were, your coming + forward, bold as a little lion, to attack me in Cecilia’s defence; I + forget the particulars, but I recollect that you said I was unjust, and + that I did not know Cecilia, and there you were right; so, to reward you, + you shall see that now I do her perfect justice, and that I am as fond of + her as your heart can wish. I really never did know Cecilia till I saw her + heartily in love; I had imagined her incapable of real love; I thought the + desire of pleasing universally had been her ruling passion—the + ruling passion that, of a little mind and a cold heart; but I did her + wrong. In another more material point, too, I was mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant paused and looked earnestly at Helen, whose eyes said, “I am + glad,” and yet she was not quite certain she knew to what she alluded. + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia righted herself, and won my good opinion, by the openness with + which she treated me from the very commencement of her attachment to + General Clarendon.” Lady Davenant again paused to reflect, and played for + some moments with the tablets in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Some one says that we are apt to flatter ourselves that we leave our + faults when our faults leave us, from change of situation, age, and so + forth; and perhaps it does not signify much which it is, if the faults are + fairly gone, and if there be no danger of their returning: all our former + misunderstandings arose on Cecilia’s part from cowardice of character; on + mine from—no matter what—no matter which of us was most + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “True, true,” cried Helen eagerly; and anxious to prevent recurrence to + painful recollections, she went on to ask rapidly several questions about + Cecilia’s marriage. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant smiled, and promised that she should have the whole history + of the marriage in true gossip detail. + </p> + <p> + “When I wrote to you, I gave you some general ideas on the subject, but + there are little things which could not well be written, even to so safe a + young friend as you are, for what is written remains, and often for those + by whom it was never intended to be seen; the <i>dessoux des cartes</i> + can seldom be either safely or satisfactorily shown on paper, so give me + my embroidery-frame, I never can tell well without having something to do + with my hands.” + </p> + <p> + And as Helen set the embroidery-frame, Lady Davenant searched for some + skeins of silk and silk winders. + </p> + <p> + “Take these, my dear, and wind this silk for me, for I must have my hearer + comfortably established, not like the agonised listener in the ‘<i>World</i>’ + leaning against a table, with the corner running into him all the time.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + “I must go back,” continued Lady Davenant, “quite to the dark ages, the + time when I knew nothing of my daughter’s character but by the accidental + lights which you afforded me. I will take up my story before the + reformation, in the middle ages, when you and your dear uncle left us at + Florence; about two years ago, when Cecilia was in the height of her + conquests, about the time when a certain Colonel D’Aubiguy flourished, you + remember him?” + </p> + <p> + Helen answered “Yes,” in rather a constrained voice, which caused Lady + Davenant to look up, and on seeing that look of inquiry, Helen coloured, + though she would have given the world not to be so foolish. The affair was + Cecilia’s, and Helen only wished not to have it recurred to, and yet she + had now, by colouring, done the very thing to fix Lady Davenant’s + attention, and as the look was prolonged, she coloured more and more. + </p> + <p> + “I see I was wrong,” said Lady Davenant; “I had thought Colonel + D’Aubigny’s ecstasy about that miniature of you was only a feint; but I + see he really was an admirer of yours, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “Of mine! oh no, never!” Still from her fear of saying something that + should implicate Cecilia, her tone, though she spoke exactly the truth, + was not to Lady Davenant’s discriminative ear quite natural—Helen + seeing doubt, added, + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, my dear Lady Davenant! you know I was then so young, quite a + child!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, not quite; two from eighteen and sixteen remain, I think, and in + our days sixteen is not absolutely a child.” + </p> + <p> + Helen made no answer; her thoughts had gone back to the time when Colonel + D’Aubigny was first introduced to her, which was just before her uncle’s + illness, and when her mind had been so engrossed by him, that she had but + a confused recollection of all the rest. + </p> + <p> + “Now you are right, my dear,” said Lady Davenant; “right to be absolutely + silent. In difficult cases say nothing; but still you are wrong in sitting + so uneasily under it, for that seems as if there <i>was</i> something.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing upon earth!” cried Helen, “if you would not look at me <i>so</i>, + my clear Lady Davenant.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear Helen, do not break my embroidery silk; that jerk was + imprudent, and trust me, my dear, the screw of that silk winder is not so + much to blame as you would have me think; take patience with yourself and + with me. There is no great harm done, no unbearable imputation, you are + not accused of loving or liking, only of having been admired.” “Never!” + cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! it does not signify in the least now; the man is either dying + or dead.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of it,” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “How barbarous!” said Lady Davenant, “but let it pass, I am neither glad + nor sorry; contempt is more dignified and safer than hatred, my dear. + </p> + <p> + “Now to return to Cecilia; soon after, I will not say the D’Aubigny era, + but soon after you left us, I fell sick, Cecilia was excessively kind to + me. In kindness her affectionate heart never failed, and I felt this the + more, from a consciousness that I had been a little harsh to her. I + recovered but slowly; I could not bear to have her confined so long in a + sick room, and yet I did not much like either of the chaperons with whom + she went out, though they were both of rank, and of unimpeachable + character—the one English, one of the best women in the world, but + the most stupid; the other a foreigner, one of the most agreeable women in + the world, but the most false. I prevailed on Cecilia to break off that—I + do not know what to call it, friendship it was not, and my daughter and I + drew nearer together. Better times began to dawn, but still there was + little sympathy between us; my mind was intent on Lord Davenant’s + interests, hers on amusement and admiration. Her conquests were numerous, + and she gloried in their number, for, between you and me, Cecilia was, + before the reformation, not a little of a coquette. You will not allow it, + you did not see it, you did not go out with her, and being three or four + years younger, you could not be a very good critic of Cecilia’s conduct; + and depend upon it I am right, she was not a little of a coquette. She did + not know, and I am sure I did not know, that she had a heart, till she + became acquainted with General Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “The first time we met him,”—observing a quickening of attention in + Helen’s eyes, Lady Davenant smiled, and said, “Young ladies always like to + hear of ‘the first time we saw him.’—The first time we saw General + Clarendon was—forgive me the day of the month—in the gallery + at Florence. I forget how it happened that he had not been presented to me—to + Lord Davenant he must have been. But so it was and it was new to Cecilia + to see a man of his appearance who had not on his first arrival shown + himself ambitious to be made known to her. He was admiring a beautiful + Magdalene, and he was standing with his back towards us. I recollect that + his appearance when I saw him as a stranger—the time when one can + best judge of appearance—struck me as that of a distinguished + person; but little did I think that there stood Cecilia’s husband! so + little did my maternal instinct guide me. + </p> + <p> + “As we approached, he turned and gave one look at Cecilia; she gave one + look at him. He passed on, she stopped me to examine the picture which he + had been admiring. + </p> + <p> + “Every English mother at Florence, except myself, had their eyes fixed + upon General Clarendon from the moment of his arrival. But whatever I may + have been, or may have been supposed to be, on the great squares of + politics, I believe I never have been accused or even suspected of being a + manoeuvrer on the small domestic scale. + </p> + <p> + “My reputation for imbecility in these matters was perhaps advantageous. + He did not shun me as he did the tribe of knowing ones; a hundred reports + flew about concerning him, settling in one, that he was resolved never to + marry. Yet he was a passionate admirer of beauty and grace, and it was + said that he had never been unsuccessful where he had wished to please. + The secret of his resolution against marriage was accounted for by the + gossiping public in many ways variously absurd. The fact was, that in his + own family, and in that of a particular friend, there had been about this + time two or three scandalous intrigues, followed by ‘the public brand of + shameful life.’ One of these ‘sad affairs,’ as they are styled, was marked + with premeditated treachery and turpitude. The lady had been, or had + seemed to be, for years a pattern wife, the mother of several children; + yet she had long betrayed, and at last abandoned, a most amiable and + confiding husband, and went off with a man who did not love her, who cared + for nought but himself, a disgusting monster of selfishness, vanity, and + vice! This woman was said to have been once good, but to have been + corrupted and depraved by residence abroad—by the contagion of + foreign profligacy. In the other instance, the seduced wife had been + originally most amiable, pure-minded, uncommonly beautiful, loved to + idolatry by her husband, Clarendon’s particular friend, a man high in + public estimation. The husband shot himself. The seducer was, it’s said, + the lady’s first love. That these circumstances should have made a deep + impression on Clarendon, is natural; the more feeling—the stronger + the mind, the more deep and lasting it was likely to be. Besides his + resolution against marriage in general, we heard that he had specially + resolved against marrying any travelled lady, and most especially against + any woman with whom there was danger of a first love. How this danger was + to be avoided or ascertained, mothers and daughters looked at one another, + and did not ask, or at least did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia, apparently unconcerned, heard and laughed at these high + resolves, after her gay fashion with her young companions, and marvelled + how long the resolution would be kept. General Clarendon of course could + not but be introduced to us, could not but attend our assemblies, nor + could he avoid meeting us in all the good English and foreign society at + Florence; but whenever he met us, he always kept at a safe distance: this + caution marked his sense of danger. To avoid its being so construed, + perhaps, he made approaches to me, politely cold; we talked very wisely on + the state of the Continent and the affairs of Europe; I did not, however, + confine myself or him to politics, I gave him many unconscious + opportunities of showing in conversation, not his abilities, for they are + nothing extraordinary; but his character, which is first-rate. Gleams came + out, of a character born to subjugate, to captivate, to attach for life. + It worked first on Cecilia’s curiosity; she thought she was only curious, + and she listened at first, humming an opera air between times, with the + least concerned look conceivable. But, her imagination was caught, and it + thenceforward through every thing that every body else might be saying, + and through all she said herself, she heard every word that fell from our + general, and even all that was repeated of his saying at second or third + hand. So she learned in due season that he had seen women as handsome, + handsomer than Lady Cecilia Davenant; but that there was something in her + manner peculiarly suited to his taste—his fastidious taste! so free + from coquetry, he said she was. And true, perfectly true, from the time he + became acquainted with her; no hypocrisy on her part, no mistake on his; + at the first touch of a real love, there was an end of vanity and + coquetry. Then her deference—her affection for her mother, was so + charming, he thought; such perfect confidence—such quick + intelligence between us. No deceit here either, only a little + self-deception on Cecilia’s part. She had really grown suddenly fonder of + me; what had become of her fear, she did not know. But I knew full well my + new charm and my real merit; I was a good and safe conductor of the + electric shock. + </p> + <p> + “It chanced one day, when I was listening only as one listens to a man who + is talking at another through oneself, I did not immediately catch the + meaning, or I believe hear what the general said. Cecilia, unawares, + answered for me, and showed that she perfectly understood:—he bowed—she + blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Man is usually quicksighted to woman’s blushes. But our general was not + vain, only proud; the blush he did not set down to his own account, but + very much to hers. It was a proof, he thought, of so much simplicity of + heart, so unspoiled by the world, so unlike—in short, so like the + very woman he had painted in his fancy, before he knew too much——. + Lady Cecilia was now a perfect angel. Not one word of all this did he say, + but it was understood quite as well as if it had been spoken: his lips + were firm compressed, and the whole outer man composed—frigidly + cold;—yet through all this Cecilia saw—such is woman’s + penetration in certain cases—Cecilia saw what must sooner or later + happen. He, still proud of his prudence, refrained from word, look, or + sigh, resolved to be impassive till his judgment should be perfectly + satisfied. At last this judgment was perfectly satisfied; that is, he was + passionately in love—fairly ‘caught,’ my dear, ‘in the strong toils + of grace,’ and he threw himself at Cecilia’s feet. She was not quite so + much surprised as he expected, but more pleased than he had ventured to + hope. There was that, however, in his proud humility, which told Cecilia + there must be no trifling. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> ‘He either fears his fate too much,<br /> Or his deserts are small,<br /> Who fears to put it to the touch,<br /> To win or lose it all.‘<br /></pre> + <p> + “He put it to the test, and won it all. General Clarendon, indeed, is a + man likely to win and keep the love of woman, for this, among other good + reasons, that love and honour being with him inseparable, the idol he + adores must keep herself at the height to which he has raised her, or + cease to receive his adoration. She must be no common vulgar idol for + every passing worshipper.” As Lady Davenant paused, Helen looked up, + hesitated, and said: “I hope that General Clarendon is not disposed to + jealousy.” + </p> + <p> + “No: he’s too proud to be jealous,” replied Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + Are proud men never jealous? thought Helen. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” continued Lady Davenant, “that General Clarendon is too proud to + be jealous of his wife. For aught I know, he might have felt jealousy of + Cecilia before she was his, for then she was but a woman, like another; + but once HIS—once having set his judgment on the cast, both the + virtues and the defects of his character join in security for his perfect + confidence in the wife ‘his choice and passion both approve.’ From temper + and principle he is unchangeable. I acknowledge that I think the general + is a little inclined perhaps to obstinacy; but, as Burke says, though + obstinacy is certainly a vice, it happens that the whole line of the great + and masculine virtues, constancy, fidelity, fortitude, magnanimity, are + closely allied to this disagreeable quality, of which we have so just an + abhorrence. + </p> + <p> + “It is most peculiarly happy for Cecilia that she has a husband of this + firm character, one on whom she can rely—one to whom she may, she + must, look up, if not always, yet upon all important occasions where + decision is necessary, or integrity required. It is between her and her + general as it should be in marriage, each has the compensating qualities + to those which the other possesses: General Clarendon is inferior to + Cecilia in wit, but superior in judgment; inferior in literature, superior + in knowledge of the world; inferior to my daughter altogether in + abilities, in what is called genius, but far superior in that ruling + power, <i>strength of mind</i>. Strength of mind is an attaching as well + as a ruling power: all human creatures, women especially, become attached + to those who have power over their minds. Yes, Helen, I am satisfied with + their marriage, and with your congratulations: yours are the sort I like. + Vulgar people—by vulgar people I mean all who think vulgarly—very + great vulgar people have congratulated me upon this establishment of my + daughter’s fortune and future rank (a dukedom in view), all that could be + wished in worldly estimation. But I rejoice in it as the security for my + daughter’s character and happiness. Thank you again, my dear young friend, + for your sympathy; you can understand me, you can feel with me.” + </p> + <p> + Sympathy, intelligent, quick, warm, unwearied, unweariable, such as + Helen’s, is really a charming accomplishment in a friend; the only + obligation a proud person, is never too proud to receive; and it was most + gratifying to Helen to be allowed to sympathise with Lady Davenant—one + who, in general, never spoke of herself, or unveiled her private feelings, + even to those who lived with her on terms of intimacy. Helen felt + responsible for the confidence granted to her thus upon credit, and a + strong ambition was excited in her mind to justify the high opinion her + superior friend had formed of her. She determined to become all that she + was believed to be; as the flame of a taper suddenly rises towards what is + held over it, her spirit mounted to the point to which her friend pointed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + Helen’s perfect happiness at Clarendon Park was not of long duration. + People who have not been by nature blessed or cursed with nice feelings, + or who have well rubbed off their delicacy in roughing through the world, + can be quite happy, or at least happy enough without ascertaining whether + they are really esteemed or liked by those with whom they live. Many, and + some of high degree, when well sheltered and fed, and provided with all + the necessaries, and surrounded by all the luxuries of life, and with + appearances tolerably well kept up by outward manner, care little or + nought about the inside sentiments. + </p> + <p> + But Helen was neither of the case-hardened philosophic, or the naturally + obtuse-feeling class; she belonged to the over-anxious. Surrounded at + Clarendon Park with all the splendour of life, and with the immediate + expectation of seeing and being seen by the first society in England; with + the certainty also of being tenderly loved and highly esteemed by two of + the persons she was living with, yet a doubt about the third began to make + her miserable. Whether General Clarendon really liked her or not, was a + question that hung upon her mind sometimes as a dead weight—then + vibrating backwards and forwards, she often called to mind, and + endeavoured to believe, what Cecilia the first day told her, that this + reserved manner was natural to him with strangers, and would wear off. But + to her the icy coldness did not thaw. So she felt, or so she fancied, and + which it was she could not decide. She had never before lived with any one + about whose liking for her she could doubt, therefore, as she said to + herself, “I know I am a bad judge.” She feared to open her mind to + Cecilia. Lady Davenant would be the safest person to consult; yet Helen, + with all her young delicacy fresh about her, scrupled, and could not screw + her courage to the sticking-place. Every morning going to Lady Davenant’s + room, she half resolved and yet came away without speaking. At last, one + morning, she began:— + </p> + <p> + “You said something the other day, my dear Lady Davenant, about a visit + from Miss Clarendon. Perhaps—I am afraid—in short I think,—I + fear, the general does not like my being here; and I thought, perhaps, he + was displeased at his sister’s not being here,—that he thought + Cecilia’s having asked me prevented his sister’s coming; but then you told + me he was not of a jealous temper, did not you?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Distinguez</i>,” said Lady Davenant; “<i>distinguons</i>, as the old + French metaphysicians used to say, <i>distinguons</i>, there be various + kinds of jealousy, as of love. The old romancers make a distinction + between <i>amour</i> and <i>amour par amours</i>. Whatever that mean, I + beg leave to take a distinction full as intelligible, I trust, between <i>jalousie + par amour</i> and <i>jalousie par amitié</i>. Now, to apply; when I told + you that our general was not subject to jealousy, I should have + distinguished, and said, <i>jalousie par amour</i>—jealousy in love, + but I will not ensure him against <i>jalousie par amitié</i>—jealousy + in friendship—of friends and relations, I mean. Me-thinks I have + seen symptoms of this in the general, he does not like my influence over + Cecilia, nor yours, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand it all,” exclaimed Helen, “and I was right from the very + first; I saw he disliked me, and he ever will and must dislike and detest + me—I see it in every look, hear it in every word, in every tone.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, my dear Helen, if you are riding off on your imagination, I wish you + a pleasant ride, and till you come back again I will write my letter,” + said Lady Davenant, taking up a pen. + </p> + <p> + Helen begged pardon, and protested she was not going to ride off upon any + imagination,—she had no imagination now—she entreated Lady + Davenant to go on, for she was very anxious to know the whole truth, + whatever it might be. Lady Davenant laid down her pen, and told her all + she knew. In the first place, that Cecilia did not like Miss Clarendon, + who, though a very estimable person, had a sort of uncompromising + sincerity, joined with a <i>brusquerie</i> of manner which Cecilia could + not endure. How her daughter had managed matters to refuse the sister + without offending the brother, Lady Davenant said she did not know; that + was Cecilia’s secret, and probably it lay in her own charming manner of + doing things, aided by the whole affair having occurred a few days before + marriage, when nothing could be taken ill of the bride elect. “The + general, as Cecilia told me, desired that she would write to invite you, + Helen; she did so, and I am very glad of it. This is all I know of this + mighty matter.” + </p> + <p> + But Helen could not endure the idea of being there, contrary to the + general’s wishes, in the place of the sister he loved. Oh, how very, very + unfortunate she was to have all her hopes blighted, destroyed—and + Cecilia’s kindness all in vain. Dear, dear Cecilia!—but for the + whole world Helen would not be so selfish—she would not run the + hazard of making mischief. She would never use her influence over Cecilia + in opposition to the general. Oh, how little he knew of her character, if + he thought it possible. + </p> + <p> + Helen had now come to tears. Then the keen sense of injustice turned to + indignation; and the tears wiped away, and pride prevailing, colouring she + exclaimed, “That she knew what she ought to do, she knew what she would do—she + would not stay where the master of the house did not wish for her. Orphan + though she was, she could not accept of protection or obligation from any + human being who neither liked or esteemed her. She would shorten her visit + at Clarendon Park—make it as short as his heart could desire,—she + would never be the cause of any disagreement—poor, dear, kind + Cecilia! She would write directly to Mrs. Collingwood.” At the close of + these last incoherent sentences, Helen was awe-struck by the absolute + composed immovability and silence of Lady Davenant. Helen stood rebuked + before her. + </p> + <p> + “Instead of writing to Mrs. Collingwood, had not you better go at once?” + said her ladyship, speaking in a voice so calm, and in a tone so slightly + ironical, that it might have passed for earnest on any but an acutely + feeling ear—“Shall I ring, and order your carriage?” putting her + hand on the bell as she spoke, and resting it there, she continued—“It + would be so spirited to be off instantly; so wise, so polite, so + considerate towards <i>dear</i> Cecilia—so dignified towards the + general, and so kind towards me, who am going to a far country, Helen, and + may perhaps not see you ever again.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me!” cried Helen; “I never could go while you were here.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know what you might think proper when you seemed to have lost + your senses.” + </p> + <p> + “I have recovered them,” said Helen; “I will do whatever you please—whatever + you think best.” + </p> + <p> + “It must not be what I please, my dear child, nor what I think best, but + what you judge for yourself to be best; else what will become of you when + I am in Russia? It must be some higher and more stable principle of action + that must govern you. It must not be the mere wish to please this or that + friend;—the defect of your character, Helen, remember I tell you, is + this—inordinate desire to be loved, this impatience of not being + loved—that which but a moment ago made you ready to abandon two of + the best friends you have upon earth, because you imagine, or you suspect, + or you fear, that a third person, almost a stranger, does not like before + he has had time to know you.” + </p> + <p> + “I was very foolish,” said Helen; “but now I will be wise, I will do + whatever is—right. Surely you would not have me live here if I were + convinced that the master of the house did not wish it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not—certainly not,” repeated Lady Davenant; “but let us + see our way before us; never gallop, my dear, much less leap; never move, + till you see your way;—once it is ascertained that General Clarendon + does not wish you to be here, nor approve of you for the chosen companion + of his wife, I, as your best friend, would say, begone, and speed you on + your way; then as much pride, as much spirit as you will; but those who + are conscious of possessing real spirit, should never be—seldom are—in + a hurry to show it; that kind of ostentatious haste is undignified in man, + and ungraceful in woman.” + </p> + <p> + Helen promised that she would be patience itself: “But tell me exactly,” + said she, “what you would have me do.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! that is easy at least,” said Helen, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “No, not so easy as you imagine; it requires sometimes no small share of + strength of mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Strength of mind!” said Helen, “I am afraid I have not any.” + </p> + <p> + “Acquire it then, my dear,” said her friend. + </p> + <p> + “But can I?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; strength of mind, like strength of body, is improved by + exercise.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had any to begin with—” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “You have some, Helen, a great deal in one particular, else why should I + have any more regard for you, or more hope of you, than of any other + well-dressed, well-taught beauty, any of the tribe of young ladies who + pass before me without ever fixing my mind’s eye for one moment?” + </p> + <p> + “But in what particular, my dear Lady Davenant, do you mean?” said Helen, + anxiously; “I am afraid you are mistaken; in what do you think I ever + showed strength of mind? Tell me, and I will tell you the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “That you will, and there is the point that I mean. Ever since I have + known you, you have always, as at this moment, coward as you are, been + brave enough to speak the truth; and truth I believe to be the only real + lasting foundation for friendship; in all but truth there is a principle + of decay and dissolution. Now good bye, my dear;—stay, one word more—there + is a line in some classic poet, which says ‘the suspicion of ill-will + never fails to produce it’—Remember this in your intercourse with + General Clarendon; show no suspicion of his bearing you ill-will, and to + show none, you must feel none. Put absolutely out of your head all that + you may have heard or imagined about Miss Clarendon, or her brother’s + prejudices on her account.” + </p> + <p> + “I will—I will indeed,” said Helen, and so they parted. A few words + have sometimes a material influence on events in human life. Perhaps even + among those who hold in general that advice never does good, there is no + individual who cannot recollect some few words—some conversation + which has altered the future colour of their lives. + </p> + <p> + Helen’s over-anxiety concerning General Clarendon’s opinion of her, being + now balanced by the higher interest Lady Davenant had excited, she met him + with new-born courage; and Lady Cecilia, not that she suspected it was + necessary, but merely by way of prevention, threw in little douceurs of + flattery, on the general’s part, repeated sundry pretty compliments, and + really kind things which he had said to her of Helen. These always pleased + Helen at the moment, but she could never make what she was told he said of + her quite agree with what he said to her: indeed, he said so very little, + that no absolute discrepancy could be detected between the words spoken + and the words reported to have been said; but still the looks did not + agree with the opinions, or the cordiality implied. + </p> + <p> + One morning Lady Cecilia told her that the general wished that she would + ride out with them, “and you must come, indeed you must, and try his + pretty Zelica; he wishes it of all things, he told me so last night.” + </p> + <p> + The general chancing to come in as she spoke, Lady Cecilia appealed to him + with a look that almost called upon him to enforce her request; but he + only said that if Miss Stanley would do him the honour, he should + certainly be happy, if Zelica would not be too much for her; but he could + not take it upon him to advise. Then looking for some paper of which he + came in search, and passing her with the most polite and deferential + manner possible, he left the room. + </p> + <p> + Half vexed, half smiling, Helen looked at Cecilia, and asked whether all + she had told her was not a little—“<i>plus belle que la vérité.</i>” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, blushing slightly, poured out rapid protestations that all + she had ever repeated to Helen of the general’s sayings was perfect truth—“I + will not swear to the words—because in the first place it is not + pretty to swear, and next, because I can never recollect anybody’s words, + or my own, five minutes after they have been said.” + </p> + <p> + Partly by playfulness, and partly by protestations, Lady Cecilia half + convinced Helen; but from this time she refrained from repeating + compliments which, true or false, did no good, and things went on better; + observing this, she left them to their natural course, upon all such + occasions the best way. + </p> + <p> + And now visitors began to appear, and some officers of the general’s staff + arrived. Clarendon Park happened to be in the district which General + Clarendon commanded, so that he was able usually to reside there. It was + in what is called a good neighbourhood, and there was much visiting, and + many entertainments. + </p> + <p> + One day at dinner, Helen was seated between the general and a fine young + guardsman, who, as far as his deep sense of his own merit, and his + fashionable indifference to young ladies would permit, had made some + demonstrations of a desire to attract her notice. He was piqued when, in + the midst of something he had wonderfully exerted himself to say, he + observed that her attention was distracted by a gentleman opposite, who + had just returned from the Continent, and who, among other pieces of news, + marriages and deaths of English abroad, mentioned that “poor D’Aubigny” + was at last dead. + </p> + <p> + Helen looked first at Cecilia, who, as she saw, heard what was said with + perfect composure; and then at Lady Davenant, who had meantime glanced + imperceptibly at her daughter, and then upon Helen, whose eyes she met—and + Helen coloured merely from association, because she had coloured before—provoking! + yet impossible to help it. All passed in less time than it can be told, + and Helen had left the guardsman in the midst of his sentence, + discomfited, and his eyes were now upon her; and in confusion she turned + from him, and there were the general’s eyes but he was only inviting her + to taste some particular wine, which he thought she would like, and which + she willingly accepted, and praised, though she assuredly did not know in + the least what manner of taste it had. The general now exerted himself to + occupy the guardsman in a conversation about promotion, and drew all + observation from Helen. Yet not the slightest indication of having seen, + heard, or understood, appeared in his countenance, not the least curiosity + or interest about Colonel D’Aubigny. Of one point Helen was however + intuitively certain, that he had noticed that confusion which he had so + ably, so coolly covered. One ingenuous look from her thanked him, and his + look in return was most gratifying; she could not tell how it was, but it + appeared more as if he understood and liked her than any look she had ever + seen from him before. They were both more at their ease. Next day, he + certainly justified all Cecilia’s former assurances, by the urgency with + which he desired to have her of the riding party. He put her on horseback + himself, bade the aide-de-camp ride on with Lady Cecilia—three + several times set the bridle right in Miss Stanley’s hand, assuring her + that she need not be afraid, that Zelica was the gentlest creature + possible, and he kept his fiery horse, Fleetfoot, to a pace that suited + her during the whole time they were out. Helen took courage, and her ride + did her a vast deal of good. + </p> + <p> + The rides were repeated, the general evidently became more and more + interested about Miss Stanley; he appealed continually to her taste, and + marked that he considered her as part of his family; but, as Helen told + Lady Davenant, it was difficult, with a person of his high-bred manners + and reserved temper, to ascertain what was to be attributed to general + deference to her sex, what to particular regard for the individual, how + much to hospitality to his guest, or attention to his wife’s friend, and + what might be considered as proof of his own desire to share that + friendship, and of a real wish that she should continue to live with them. + </p> + <p> + While she was in this uncertainty, Lord Davenant arrived from London; he + had always been fond of Helen, and now the first sight of her youthful + figure in deep mourning, the recollection of the great changes that had + taken place since they had last met, touched him to the heart—he + folded her in his arms, and was unable to speak. He! a great bulky man, + with a face of constitutional joy—but so it was; he had a tender + heart, deep feelings of all kinds under an appearance of <i>insouciance</i> + which deceived the world. He was distinguished as a political leader—but, + as he said of himself, he had been three times inoculated with ambition—once + by his mother, once by his brother, and once by his wife; but it had never + taken well; the last the best, however,—it had shown at least + sufficiently to satisfy his friends, and he was happy to be no more + tormented. With talents of the first order, and integrity unblenching, his + character was not of that stern stuff—no, not of that corrupt stuff—of + which modern ambition should be made. + </p> + <p> + He had now something to tell Helen, which he would say even before he + opened his London budget of news. He told her, with a congratulatory + smile, that he had had an opportunity of showing his sense of Mr. + Collingwood’s merits; and as he spoke he put a letter into her hand. + </p> + <p> + The letter was from her good friend Mr. Collingwood, accepting a bishopric + in the West Indies, which had been offered to him by Lord Davenant. It + enclosed a letter for Helen, desiring in the most kind manner that she + would let him know immediately and decidedly where and with whom she + intended to live; and there was a postscript from Mrs. Collingwood full of + affection, and doubts, and hopes, and fears. + </p> + <p> + The moment Helen had finished this letter, without seeming to regard the + inquiring looks of all present, and without once looking towards any one + else, she walked deliberately up to General Clarendon, and begged to speak + to him alone. Never was general more surprised, but of course he was too + much of a general to let that appear. Without a word, he offered his arm, + and led her to his study; he drew a chair towards her— + </p> + <p> + “No misfortune, I hope, Miss Stanley? If I can in any way be of service——” + </p> + <p> + “The only service, General Clarendon,” said Helen, her manner becoming + composed, and her voice steadying as she went on—“the only service + you can do me now is to tell me the plain truth, and this will prevent + what would certainly be a misfortune to me—perhaps to all of us. + Will you read this letter?” + </p> + <p> + He received it with an air of great interest, and again moved the chair to + her. Before she sat down, she added,— + </p> + <p> + “I am unused to the world, you see, General Clarendon. I have been + accustomed to live with one who always told me his mind sincerely, so that + I could judge always what I ought to do. Will you do so now? It is the + greatest service, as well as favour, you can do me.” + </p> + <p> + “Depend upon it, I will,” said General Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “I should not ask you to tell me in words—that might be painful to + your politeness; only let me see it,” said Helen, and she sat down. + </p> + <p> + The general read on without speaking, till he came to the mention of + Helen’s original promise of living with the Collingwoods. He did not + comprehend that passage, he said, showing it to her. He had always, on the + contrary, understood that it had been a long <i>settled</i> thing, a + promise between Miss Stanley and Lady Cecilia, that Helen should live with + Lady Cecilia when she married. + </p> + <p> + “No such thing!” Helen said. “No such agreement had ever been made.” + </p> + <p> + So the general now perceived; but this was a mistake of his which he hoped + would make no difference in her arrangements, he said: “Why should it?—unless + Miss Stanley felt unhappy at Clarendon Park?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and Helen was silent: then, taking desperate resolution, she + answered,— + </p> + <p> + “I should be perfectly happy here, if I were sure of your wishes, your + feelings about me—about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that there has been any thing in my manner,” said he, + “that could give Miss Stanley pain? What could have put a doubt into her + mind?” + </p> + <p> + “There might be some other person nearer, and naturally dearer to you,” + said Helen, looking up in his face ingenuously—“one whom you might + have desired to have in my place:—your sister, Miss Clarendon, in + short.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Cecilia tell you of this?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Lady Davenant did; and since I heard it I never could be happy—I + never can be happy till I know your feeling.” + </p> + <p> + His manner instantly changed. + </p> + <p> + “You shall know my feelings, then,” said he. “Till I knew you, Helen, my + wish was, that my sister should live with my wife; now I know you, my wish + is, that you should live with us. You will suit Cecilia better than my + sister could—will suit us both better, having the same truth of + character, and more gentleness of manner. I have answered you with + frankness equal to your own. And now,” said he, taking her hand, “you know + Cecilia has always considered you as her sister—allow me to do the + same: consider me as a brother—such you shall find me. Thank you. + This is settled for life,” added he, drawing her arm through his, and + taking up her letters, he led her back towards the library. + </p> + <p> + But her emotion, the stronger for being suppressed, was too great for + re-appearing in company: she withdrew her arm from his when they were + passing through the hall, and turning her face away, she had just voice + enough to beg he would show her letters to—— + </p> + <p> + He understood. She ran up-stairs to her own room, glad to be alone; a + flood of joy came over her. + </p> + <p> + “A brother in Cecilia’s husband!—a brother!” + </p> + <p> + The word had a magical charm, and she could not help repeating it aloud—she + wept like a child. Lady Cecilia soon came flying in, all delight and + affection, reproaches and wonder alternately, in the quickest conceivable + succession. “Delighted, it is settled and for ever! my dear, dear Helen! + But how could you ever think of leaving us, you wicked Helen! Well! now + you see what Clarendon really is! But, my dear, I was so terrified when I + heard it all. You are, and ever were, the oddest mixture of cowardice and + courage. I—do you know I, brave <i>I</i>—never should have + advised—never should have ventured as you have? But he is delighted + at it all, and so am I now it has all ended so charmingly, now I have you + safe. I will write to the Collingwoods; you shall not have a moment’s + pain; I will settle it all, and invite them here before they leave + England; Clarendon desired I would—oh, he is!—now you will + believe me! The Collingwoods, too, will be glad to be asked here to take + leave of you, and all will be right; I love, as you do, dear Helen, that + everybody should be pleased when I am happy.” + </p> + <p> + When Lady Davenant heard all that had passed, she did not express that + prompt unmixed delight which Helen expected; a cloud came over her brow, + something painful regarding her daughter seemed to strike her, for her + eyes fixed on Cecilia, and her emotion was visible in her countenance; but + pleasure unmixed appealed as she turned to Helen, and to her she gave, + what was unusual, unqualified approbation. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Helen, I admire your plain straightforward truth; I am satisfied + with this first essay of your strength of mind and courage.” + </p> + <p> + “Courage!” said Helen, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Not such as is required to take a lion by the beard, or a bull by the + horns,” replied Lady Davenant; “but there are many persons in this world + who, brave though they be, would rather beard a lion, sooner seize a bull + by the horns, than, when they get into a dilemma, dare to ask a direct + question, and tell plainly what passes in their own minds. Moral courage + is, believe me, uncommon in both sexes, and yet in going through the world + it is equally necessary to the virtue of both men and women.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you really think,” said Helen, “that strength of mind, or what you + call moral courage, is as necessary to women as it is to men?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, show me a virtue, male or female—if virtues admit of + grammatical distinctions, if virtues acknowledge the more worthy gender + and the less worthy of the grammar, show me a virtue male or female that + <i>can</i> long exist without truth. Even that emphatically termed the + virtue of our sex, Helen, on which social happiness rests, society + depends, on what is it based? is it not on that single-hearted virtue + truth?—and truth on what? on courage of the mind. They who dare to + speak the truth, will not ever dare to go irretrievably wrong. Then what + is falsehood but cowardice?—and a false woman!—does not that + say all in one word?” + </p> + <p> + “But whence arose all this? you wonder, perhaps,” said Lady Davenant; “and + I have not inclination to explain. Here comes Lord Davenant. Now for + politics—farewell morality, a long farewell. Now for the London + budget, and ‘what news from Constantinople? Grand vizier certainly + strangled, or not?’” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + The London budget of news was now opened, and gone through by Lord + Davenant, including quarrels in the cabinet and all that with fear of + change perplexes politicians. But the fears and hopes of different ages + are attached to such different subjects, that Helen heard all this as + though she heard it not, and went on with her drawing, touching, and + retouching it, without ever looking up, till her attention was wakened by + the name of Granville Beauclerc; this was the name of the person who had + written those interesting letters which she had met with in Lady + Davenant’s portfolio. “What is he doing in town?” asked the general. + </p> + <p> + “Amusing himself, I suppose,” replied Lord Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “I believe he forgets that I am his guardian,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure he cannot forget that you are his friend,” said Lady Cecilia; + “for he has the best heart in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “And the worst head for any thing useful,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “He is a man of genius,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Did you speak to him, my lord,” pursued the general, “about standing for + the county?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And he said what?” + </p> + <p> + “That he would have nothing to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Something about not being tied to party, and somewhat he said about + patriotism,” replied Lord Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said the general, “he is a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Only young,” said Lady Davenant, + </p> + <p> + “Men are not so very young in these days at two-and-twenty,” said the + general. + </p> + <p> + “In some,” said Lady Davenant, “the classical touch, the romance of + political virtue, lasts for months, if not years, after they leave + college; even those who, like Granville, go into high life in London, do + not sometimes, for a season or two, lose their first enthusiasm of + patriotism.” + </p> + <p> + The general’s lips became compressed. Lord Davenant, throwing himself back + in his easy chair, repeated, “Patriotism! yes, every young man of talent + is apt to begin with a fit of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lord,” cried Lady Davenant, “you, of all men, to speak of + patriotism as a disease!” + </p> + <p> + “And a disease that can be had but once in life, I am afraid,” replied her + lord laughing; “and yet,” as if believing in that at which he laughed, “it + evaporates in most men in words, written or spoken, lasts till the first + pamphlet is published, or till the maiden-speech in parliament is fairly + made, and fairly paid for—in all honour—all honourable men.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant passed over these satirical observations, and somewhat + abruptly asked Lord Davenant if he recollected the late Mr. Windham. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he was not a man to be easily forgotten: but what in + particular?” + </p> + <p> + “The scales of his mind were too fine,” said Lady Davenant, “too nicely + adjusted for common purposes; diamond scales will not do for weighing + wool. Very refined, very ingenious, very philosophical minds, such as + Windham, Burke, Bacon, were all too scrupulous weighers; their scales + turned with the millionth of a grain, and all from the same cause, subject + to the same defect, indecision. They saw too well how much can be said on + both sides of the question. There is a sort of philosophical doubt, + arising from enlargement of understanding, quite different from that + irresolution of character which is caused by infirmity of will; and I have + observed,” continued Lady Davenant, “in some of these over scrupulous + weighers, that when once they come to a balance, that instant they become + most wilful; so it will be, you will see, with Beauclerc. After excessive + indecision, you will see him start perhaps at once to rash action.” + </p> + <p> + “Rash of wrong, resolute of right,” said Lord Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “He is constitutionally wilful, and metaphysically vacillating,” said Lady + Davenant. + </p> + <p> + The general waited till the metaphysics were over, and then said to Lord + Davenant that he suspected there was something more than mere want of + ambition in Beauclerc’s refusal to go into parliament. Some words were + here inaudible to Helen, and the general began to walk up and down the + room with so strong a tread, that at every step the china shook on the + table near which Helen sat, so that she lost most part of what followed, + and yet it seemed interesting, about some Lord Beltravers, and a Comtesse + de Saint —— something, or a Lady Blanche —— + somebody. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant looked anxious, the general’s steps became more + deliberately, more ominously firm; till lady Cecilia came up to him, and + playfully linking her arm in his, the steps were moderated, and when a + soothing hand came upon his shoulder, the compressed lips were relaxed—she + spoke in a low voice—he answered aloud. + </p> + <p> + “By all means! write to him yourself, my love; get him down here and he + will be safe; he cannot refuse you.” + </p> + <p> + “Tuesday, then?” she would name the earliest day if the general approved. + </p> + <p> + He approved of every thing she said; “Tuesday let it be.” Following him to + the door, Lady Cecilia added something which seemed to fill the measure of + his contentment. “Always good and kind,” said he; “so let it be. + </p> + <p> + “Then shall I write to your sister, or will you?” + </p> + <p> + “You,” said the general, “let the kindness come from you, as it always + does.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, in a moment at the writing-table, ran off, as fast as pen + could go, two notes, which she put into her mother’s hand, who gave an + approving nod; and, leaving them with her to seal and have franked, + Cecilia darted out on the terrace, carrying Helen along with her, to see + some Italian garden she was projecting. + </p> + <p> + And as she went, and as she stood directing the workmen, at every close of + her directions she spoke to Helen. She said she was very glad that she had + settled that Beauclerc was to come to them immediately. He was a great + favourite of hers. + </p> + <p> + “Not for any of those grandissimo qualities which my mother sees in him, + and which I am not quite clear exist; but just because he is the most + agreeable person in nature; and really natural; though he is a man of the + world, yet not the least affected. Quite fashionable, of course, but with + true feeling. Oh! he is delightful, just—” then she interrupted + herself to give directions to the workmen about her Italian garden—— + </p> + <p> + “Oleander in the middle of that bed; vases nearer to the balustrade—” + </p> + <p> + “Beauclerc has a very good taste, and a beautiful place he has, Thorndale. + He will be very rich. Few very rich young men are agreeable now, women + spoil them so.—[‘Border that bed with something pretty.‘]—Still + he is, and I long to know what you will think of him; I know what I think + he will think, but, however, I will say no more; people are always sure to + get into scrapes in this world, when they say what they think.—[‘That + fountain looks beautiful.‘]—I forgot to tell you he is very + handsome. The general is very fond of him, and he of the general, except + when he considers him as his guardian, for Granville Beauclerc does not + particularly like to be controlled—who does? It is a curious story.—[‘Unpack + those vases, and by the time that is done I will be back.‘]—Take a + turn with me, Helen, this way. It is a curious story: Granville + Beauclerc’s father—but I don’t know it perfectly, I only know that + he was a very odd man, and left the general, though he was so much younger + than himself, guardian to Granville, and settled that he was not to be of + age, I mean not to come into possession of his large estates, till he is + five-and-twenty: shockingly hard on poor Granville, and enough to make him + hate Clarendon, but he does not, and that is charming, that is one reason + I like him! So amazingly respectful to his guardian always, considering + how impetuous he is, amazingly respectful, though I cannot say I think he + is what the gardening books call <i>patient of the knife</i>, I don’t + think he likes his fancies to be lopped; but then he is so clever. Much + more what you would call a reading man than the general, distinguished at + college, and all that which usually makes a young man conceited, but + Beauclerc is only a little headstrong—all the more agreeable, it + keeps one in agitation; one never knows how it will end, but I am sure it + will all go on well now. It is curious, too, that mamma knew him also when + he was at Eton, I believe—I don’t know how, but long before we ever + heard of Clarendon, and she corresponded with him, but I never knew him + till he came to Florence, just after it was all settled with me and the + general; and he was with us there and at Paris, and travelled home with + us, and I like him. Now you know all, except what I do not choose to tell + you, so come back to the workmen—‘That vase will not do there, move + it in front of these evergreens; that will do.’” + </p> + <p> + Then returning to Helen—“After all, I did so right, and I am so glad + I thought in time of inviting Esther, now Mr. Beauclerc is coming—the + general’s sister—half sister. Oh, so unlike him! you would never + guess that Miss Clarendon was his sister, except from her pride. But she + is so different from other people; she knows nothing, and wishes to know + nothing of the world. She lives always at an old castle in Wales, Llan + —— something, which she inherited from her mother, and she has + always been her own mistress, living with her aunt in melancholy grandeur + there, till her brother brought her to Florence, where—oh, how she + was out of her element! Come this way and I will tell you more. The fact + is, I do not not much like Miss Clarendon, and I will tell you why—I + will describe her to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, do not,” said Helen; “do not, my dear Cecilia, and I will tell + you why.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why?” cried Cecilia. “Do you recollect the story my uncle told + us about the young bride and her old friend, and the bit of advice?” + </p> + <p> + No, Cecilia did not recollect any thing of it. She should be very glad to + hear the anecdote, but as to the advice, she hated advice. + </p> + <p> + “Still, if you knew who gave it—it was given by a very great man.” + </p> + <p> + “A very great man! now you make me curious. Well, what is it?” said Lady + Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “That for one year after her marriage, she would not tell to her friends + the opinion she had formed, if unfavourable, of any of her husband’s + relations, as it was probable she might change that opinion on knowing + them better, and would afterwards be sorry for having told her first hasty + judgment. Long afterwards the lady told her friend that she owed to this + advice a great part of the happiness of her life, for she really had, in + the course of the year, completely changed her first notions of some of + her husband’s family, and would have had sorely to repent, if she had told + her first thoughts!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia listened, and said it was all “Vastly well! excellent! But I had + nothing in the world to say of Miss Clarendon, but that she was too good—too + sincere for the world we live in. For instance, at Paris, one day a + charming Frenchwoman was telling some anecdote of the day in the most + amusing manner. Esther Clarendon all the while stood by, grave and black + as night, and at last turning upon our charmer at the end of the story, + pronounced, ‘There is not one word of truth in all you have been saying!’ + Conceive it, in full salon! The French were in such amazement. + ‘Inconceivable!’ as they might well say to me, as she walked off with her + tragedy-queen air; <i>‘Inconcevable—mais, vraiment inconcevable;’’</i> + and <i>‘Bien Anglaise,’’</i> they would have added, no doubt, if I had not + been by.” + </p> + <p> + “But there must surely have been some particular reason,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “None in the world, only the story was not true, I believe. And then + another time, when she was with her cousin, the Duchess of Lisle, at + Lisle-Royal, and was to have gone out the next season in London with the + Duchess, she came down one morning, just before they were to set off for + town, and declared that she had heard such a quantity of scandal since she + had been there, and such shocking things of London society, that she had + resolved not to go out with the Duchess, and not to go to town at all? So + absurd—so prudish!” + </p> + <p> + Helen felt some sympathy in this, and was going to have said so, but + Cecilia went on with— + </p> + <p> + “And then to expect that Granville Beauclerc—should—” + </p> + <p> + Here Cecilia paused, and Helen felt curious, and ashamed of her curiosity; + she turned away, to raise the branches of some shrub, which were drooping + from the weight of their flowers. + </p> + <p> + “I know something <i>has</i> been thought of,” said Cecilia. “A match has + been in contemplation—do you comprehend me, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that Mr. Beauclerc is to marry Miss Clarendon,” said Helen, + compelled to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I only say it has been thought of,” replied Lady Cecilia; “that is, as + every thing in this way is thought of about every couple not within the + prohibited degrees, one’s grandmother inclusive. And the plainer the + woman, the more sure she is to contemplate such things for herself, lest + no one else should think of them for her. But, my dear Helen, if you mean + to ask—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t mean to ask any thing,” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “But, whether you ask or not, I must tell you that the general is too + proud to own, even to himself, that he could; ever think of any man for + his sister who had not first proposed for her.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause for some minutes. + </p> + <p> + “But,” resumed Lady Cecilia, “I could not do less than ask her here for + Clarendon’s sake, when I know it pleases him; and she is very—estimable, + and so I wish to make her love me if I could! But I do not think she will + be nearer her point with Mr. Beauclerc, if it is her point, by coming here + just now. Granville has eyes as well as ears, and contrasts will strike. I + know who I wish should strike him, as she strikes me—and I think—I + hope—” + </p> + <p> + Helen looked distressed. + </p> + <p> + “I am as innocent as a dove,” pursued Lady Cecilia; “but I suppose even + doves may have their own private little thoughts and wishes.” + </p> + <p> + Helen was sure Cecilia had meant all this most kindly, but she was sorry + that some things had been said. She was conscious of having been + interested by those letters of Mr. Beauclerc’s; but a particular thought + had now been put into her mind, and she could never more say, never more + feel, that such a thought had not come into her head. She was very sorry; + it seemed as if somewhat of the freshness, the innocence, of her mind was + gone from her. She was sorry, too, that she had heard all that Cecilia had + said about Miss Clarendon; it appeared as if she was actually doomed to + get into some difficulty with the general about his sister; she felt as if + thrown back into a sea of doubts, and she was not clear that she could, + even by opposing, end them. + </p> + <p> + On the appointed Tuesday, late, Miss Clarendon arrived; a fine figure, but + ungraceful, as Helen observed, from the first moment when she turned + sharply away from Lady Cecilia’s embrace to a great dog of her brother’s—“Ah, + old Neptune! I’m glad you’re here still.” + </p> + <p> + And when Lady Cecilia would have put down his paws—“Let him alone, + let him alone, dear, honest, old fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “But the dear, honest, old fellow’s paws are wet, and will ruin your + pretty new pelisse.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be new, but you know it is not pretty,” said Miss Clarendon, + continuing to pat Neptune’s head as he jumped up with his paws on her + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “O my dear Esther, how can you bear him? he is so rough in his love!” + </p> + <p> + “I like rough better than smooth.” The rough paw caught in her lace frill, + and it was torn to pieces before “down! down!” and the united efforts of + Lady Cecilia and Helen could extricate it.—“Don’t distress + yourselves about it, pray; it does not signify in the least. Poor Neptune, + how really sorry he looks—there, there, wag your tail again—no + one shall come between us two old friends.” + </p> + <p> + Her brother came in, and, starting up, her arms were thrown round his + neck, and her bonnet falling back, Helen who had thought her quite plain + before, was surprised to see that, now her colour was raised, and there + was life in her eyes, she was really handsome. + </p> + <p> + Gone again that expression, when Cecilia spoke to her: whatever she said, + Miss Clarendon differed from; if it was a matter of taste, she was always + of the contrary opinion; if narrative or assertion, she questioned, + doubted, seemed as if she could not believe. Her conversation, if + conversation it could be called, was a perpetual rebating and regrating, + especially with her sister-in-law; if Lady Cecilia did but say there were + three instead of four, it was taken up as “quite a mistake,” and marked + not only as a mistake, but as “not true.” Every, the slightest error, + became a crime against majesty, and the first day ended with Helen’s + thinking her really the most disagreeable, intolerable person she had ever + seen. + </p> + <p> + And the second day went on a little worse. Helen thought Cecilia took too + much pains to please, and said it would be better to let her quite alone. + Helen did so completely, but Miss Clarendon did not let Helen alone; but + watched her with penetrating eyes continually, listened to every word she + said, and seeming to weigh every syllable,—“Oh, my words are not + worth your weighing,” said Helen, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes they are, to settle my mind.” + </p> + <p> + The first thing that seemed at all to settle it was Helen’s not agreeing + with Cecilia about the colour of two ribands which Helen said she could + not flatter her were good matches. The next was about a drawing of Miss + Clarendon’s, of Llansillan, her place in Wales; a beautiful drawing + indeed, which she had brought for her brother, but one of the towers + certainly was out of the perpendicular. Helen was appealed to, and could + not say it was upright; Miss Clarendon instantly took up a knife, cut the + paper at the back of the frame, and, taking out the drawing, set the tower + to rights. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the use of telling the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Of listening to it,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “We shall get on, I see, Miss Stanley, if you can get over the first + bitter outside of me;—a hard outside, difficult to crack—stains + delicate fingers, may be,” she continued, as she replaced her drawing in + its frame—“stains delicate fingers, may be, in the opening, but a + good walnut you will find it, taken with a grain of salt.” + </p> + <p> + Many a grain seemed necessary, and very strong nut-crackers in very strong + hands. Lady Cecilia’s evidently were not strong enough, though she + strained hard. Helen did not feel inclined to try. + </p> + <p> + Cecilia invited Miss Clarendon to walk out and see some of the alterations + her brother had made. As they passed the new Italian garden, Miss + Clarendon asked, “What’s all this?—don’t like this—how I + regret the Old English garden, and the high beech hedges. Every thing is + to be changed here, I suppose,—pray do not ask my opinion about any + of the alterations.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wonder,” said Cecilia, “that you should prefer the old garden, + with all your early associations; warm-hearted, amiable people must always + be so fond of what they have loved in childhood.” + </p> + <p> + “I never was here when I was a child, and I am not one of your amiable + people.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true, indeed,” thought Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Stanley looks at me as if I had seven heads,” said Miss Clarendon, + laughing; and, a minute after, overtaking Helen as she walked on, she + looked full in her face, and added, “Do acknowledge that you think me a + savage.” Helen did not deny it, and from that moment Miss Clarendon looked + less savagely upon her: she laughed and said, “I am not quite such a bear + as I seem, you’ll find; at least I never hug people to death. My growl is + worse than my bite, unless some one should flatter my classical, bearish + passion, and offer to feed me with honey, and when I find it all comb and + no honey, who would not growl then?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia now came up, and pointed out views to which the general had + opened. “Yes, it’s well, he has done very well, but pray don’t stand on + ceremony with me. I can walk alone, you may leave me to my own + cogitations, as I like best.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, as you like best,” said Lady Cecilia; “pray consider yourself, as + you know you are, at home here.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never shall be at home here,” said Esther. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t say that, let me hope—let me hope—” and she + withdrew. Helen just stayed to unlock a gate for Miss Clarendon’s ‘rambles + further,’ and, as she unlocked it, she heard Miss Clarendon sigh as she + repeated the word, “Hope! I do not like to hope, hope has so often + deceived me.” + </p> + <p> + “You will never be deceived in Cecilia,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Take care—stay till you try.” + </p> + <p> + “I have tried,” said Helen, “I know her.” + </p> + <p> + “How long?” + </p> + <p> + “From childhood!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re scarcely out of childhood yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so very young. I have had trials of my friends—of Cecilia + particularly, much more than you could ever have had.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is the best thing I ever heard of her, and from good authority + too; her friends abroad were all false,” said Miss Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “It is very extraordinary,” said Helen, “to hear such a young person as + you are talk so— + </p> + <p> + “So—how?” + </p> + <p> + “Of false friends—you must have been very unfortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me—very fortunate—to find them out in time.” She + looked at the prospect, and liked all that her brother was doing, and + disliked all that she even guessed Lady Cecilia had done. Helen showed her + that she guessed wrong here and there, and smiled at her prejudices; and + Miss Clarendon smiled again, and admitted that she was prejudiced, “but + every body is; only some show and tell, and others smile and fib. I wish + that word fib was banished from English language, and white lie drummed + out after it. Things by their right names and we should all do much + better. Truth must be told, whether agreeable or not.” + </p> + <p> + “But whoever makes truth disagreeable commits high treason against + virtue,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Is that yours?” cried Miss Clarendon, stopping short. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Helen. “It is excellent whoever said it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was from my uncle Stanley I heard it,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Superior man that uncle must have been.” + </p> + <p> + “I will leave you now,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Do, I see we shall like one another in time, Miss Stanley; in time,—I + hate sudden friendships.” + </p> + <p> + That evening Miss Clarendon questioned Helen more about her friendship + with Cecilia, and how it was she came to live with her. Helen plainly told + her. + </p> + <p> + “Then it was not an original promise between you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Cecilia told me it was. Just like her,—I knew all the time it + was a lie.” + </p> + <p> + Shocked and startled at the word, and at the idea, Helen exclaimed, “Oh! + Miss Clarendon, how can you say so? anybody may be mistaken. Cecilia + mistook—” Lady Cecilia joined them at this moment. Miss Clarendon’s + face was flushed. “This room is insufferably hot. What can be the use of a + fire at this time of year?” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia said it was for her mother, who was apt to be chilly in the + evenings; and as she spoke, she put a screen between the flushed cheek and + the fire. Miss Clarendon pushed it away, saying, “I can’t talk, I can’t + hear, I can’t understand with a screen before me. What did you say, Lady + Cecilia, to Lady Davenant, as we came out from dinner, about Mr. + Beauclerc?” + </p> + <p> + “That we expect him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not tell me so when you wrote!” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Why pray?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know, Lady Cecilia! why should people say they do not know, + when they do know perfectly well?” + </p> + <p> + “If I had thought it was of any consequence to you, Esther,” said Cecilia, + with an arch look—— + </p> + <p> + “Now you expect me to answer that it was not of the least consequence to + me—that is the answer you would make; but my answer is, that it was + of consequence to me, and you knew it was.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I did?” + </p> + <p> + “If you did, why say ‘If I had thought it of any consequence to you?’—why + say so? answer me truly.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer me truly!” repeated Lady Cecilia, laughing. “Oh, my dear Esther, + we are not in a court of justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor in a court of honour,” pursued Miss Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! let it be a court of love at least,” said Lady Cecilia. “What + a pretty proverb that was, Helen, that we met with the other day in that + book of old English proverbs—‘Love rules his kingdom without a + sword.’” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely; but to the point,” said Miss Clarendon, “when do you expect + Mr. Beauclerc?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall go to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Esther, why?” + </p> + <p> + “You know why; you know what reports have been spread; it suits neither my + character nor my brother’s to give any foundation for such reports. Let me + ring the bell and I will give my own orders.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Esther, but your brother will be so vexed—so surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother is the best judge of his own conduct, he will do what he + pleases, or what you please. I am the judge of mine, and certainly shall + do what I think right.” + </p> + <p> + She rang accordingly, and ordered that her carriage should be at the door + at six o’clock in the morning. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my dear Esther,” persisted Cecilia, “I wish you would not decide so + suddenly; we were so glad to have you come to us—” + </p> + <p> + “Glad! why you know—” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” interrupted Lady Cecilia, colouring, and she began as fast as + possible to urge every argument she could think of to persuade Miss + Clarendon; but no arguments, no entreaties of hers or the general’s, + public or private, were of any avail,—go she would, and go she did + at six o’clock. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Helen to Lady Davenant, “that Miss Clarendon is very + estimable, and she seems to be very clever: but I wonder that with all her + abilities she does not learn to make her manners more agreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Lady Davenant, “we must take people as they are; you may + graft a rose upon an oak, but those who have tried the experiment tell us + the graft will last but a short time, and the operation ends in the + destruction of both; where the stocks have no common nature, there is ever + a want of conformity which sooner or later proves fatal to both.” + </p> + <p> + But Beauclerc, what was become of him?—that day passed, and no + Beauclerc; another and another came, and on the third day, only a letter + from him, which ought to have come on Tuesday.—But “<i>too late</i>,” + the shameful brand of procrastination was upon it—and it contained + only a few lines blotted in the folding, to say that he could not possibly + be at Clarendon Park on Tuesday, but would on Wednesday or Thursday if + possible. + </p> + <p> + Good-natured Lord Davenant observed, “When a young man in London, writing + to his friends in the country, names two days for leaving town, and adds + an ‘<i>if possible</i>’ his friends should never expect him till the last + of the two named.” + </p> + <p> + The last of the two days arrived—Thursday. The aide-de-camp asked if + Mr. Beauclerc was expected to-day. “Yes, I expect to see him to-day,” the + general answered. + </p> + <p> + “I hope, but do not expect,” said Lady Davenant, “for, as learned + authority tells me, ‘to expect is to hope with some degree of certainty’—” + </p> + <p> + The general left the room repeating, “I expect him to-day, Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + The day passed, however, and he came not—the night came. The general + ordered that the gate should be kept open, and that a servant should sit + up. The servant sat up all night, cursing Mr. Beauclerc. And in the + morning he replied with malicious alacrity to the first question his + master asked, “No, Sir, Mr. Beauclerc is not come.” + </p> + <p> + At breakfast, the general, after buttering his bread in silence for some + minutes, confessed that he loved punctuality. It might be a military + prejudice;—it might be too professional, martinet perhaps,—but + still he owned he did love punctuality. He considered it as a part of + politeness, a proper attention to the convenience and feelings of others; + indispensable between strangers it is usually felt to be, and he did not + know why intimate friends should deem themselves privileged to dispense + with it. + </p> + <p> + His eyes met Helen’s as he finished these words, and smiling, he + complimented her upon her constant punctuality. It was a voluntary grace + in a lady, but an imperative duty in a man—and a young man. + </p> + <p> + “You are fond of this young man, I see general,” said Lord Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “But not of his fault.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia said something about forgiving a first fault. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Lady Davenant. “Lord Collingwood’s rule was—never + forgive a first fault, and you will not have a second. You love Beauclerc, + I see, as Lord Davenant says.” + </p> + <p> + “Love him!” resumed the general; “with all his faults and follies, I love + him as if he were my brother.” + </p> + <p> + At which words Lady Cecilia, with a scarcely perceptible smile, cast a + furtive glance at Helen. + </p> + <p> + The general called for his horses, and, followed by his aide-de-camp, + departed, saying that he should be back at luncheon-time, when he hoped to + find Beauclerc. In the same hope, Lady Davenant ordered her pony-phaeton + earlier than usual; Lady Cecilia further hoped most earnestly that + Beauclerc would come this day, for the next the house would be full of + company, and she really wished to have him one day at least to themselves, + and she gave a most significant glance at Helen. + </p> + <p> + “The first move often secures the game against the best players,” said + she. + </p> + <p> + Helen blushed, because she could not help understanding; she was ashamed, + vexed with Cecilia, yet pleased by her kindness, and half amused by her + arch look and tone. + </p> + <p> + They were neither of them aware that Lady Davenant had heard the words + that passed, or seen the looks; but immediately afterwards, when they were + leaving the breakfast-room, Lady Davenant came between the two friends, + laid her hand upon her daughter’s arm, and said, + </p> + <p> + “Before you make any move in a dangerous game, listen to the voice of old + experience.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia startled, looked up, but as if she did not comprehend. + </p> + <p> + “Cupid’s bow, my dear,” continued her mother, “is, as the Asiatics tell + us, strung with bees, which are apt to sting—sometimes fatally—those + who meddle with it.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia still looked with an innocent air, and still as if she could + not comprehend. + </p> + <p> + “To speak more plainly, then, Cecilia,” said her mother, “build no + matrimonial castles in the air; standing or falling they do mischief—mischief + either to the builder, or to those for whom they may be built.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly if they fall they disappoint one,” said Lady Cecilia, “but if + they stand?” + </p> + <p> + Seeing that she made no impression on her daughter, Lady Davenant turned + to Helen, and gravely said,— + </p> + <p> + “My dear Helen, do not let my daughter inspire you with false, and perhaps + vain imaginations, certainly premature, therefore unbecoming.” + </p> + <p> + Helen shrunk back, yet instantly looked up, and her look was ingenuously + grateful. + </p> + <p> + “But, mamma,” said Lady Cecilia, “I declare I do not understand what all + this is about.” + </p> + <p> + “About Mr. Granville Beauclerc,” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “How can you, dear mamma, pronounce his name so <i>tout an long?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon my indelicacy, my dear; delicacy is a good thing, but truth a + better. I have seen the happiness of many young women sacrificed by such + false delicacy, and by the fear of giving a moment’s present pain, which + it is sometimes the duty of a true friend to give.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly, mamma, only not necessary now; and I am so sorry + you have said all this to poor dear Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “If you have said nothing to her, Cecilia, I acknowledge I have said too + much.” + </p> + <p> + “I said—I did nothing,” cried Lady Cecilia; “I built no castles—never + built a regular castle in my life; never had a regular plan in my + existence; never mentioned his name, except about another person—” + </p> + <p> + An appealing look to Helen was however <i>protested</i>. + </p> + <p> + “To the best of my recollection, at least,” Lady Cecilia immediately + added. + </p> + <p> + “Helen seems to be blushing for your want of recollection, Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I do not know why you blush, Helen. I am certain I never did + say a word distinctly.” + </p> + <p> + “Not <i>distinctly</i> certainly,” said Helen in a low voice. “It was my + fault if I understood——” + </p> + <p> + “Always true, you are,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “I protest I said nothing but the truth,” cried Lady Cecilia hastily. + </p> + <p> + “But not the whole truth, Cecilia,” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “I did, upon my word, mamma,” persisted Lady Cecilia, repeating “upon my + word.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon your word, Cecilia! that is either a vulgar expletive or a most + serious asseveration.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with a grave tone, and with her severe look, and Helen dared not + raise her eyes; Lady Cecilia now coloured deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Shame! Nature’s hasty conscience,” said Lady Davenant. “Heaven preserve + it!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother!” cried Lady Cecilia, laying her hand on her mother’s, “surely + you do not think seriously—surely you are not angry—I cannot + bear to see you displeased,” said she, looking up imploringly in her + mother’s face, and softly, urgently pressing her hand. No pressure was + returned; that hand was slowly and with austere composure withdrawn, and + her mother walked away down the corridor to her own room. Lady Cecilia + stood still, and the tears came into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend, I am exceedingly sorry,” said Helen. She could not + believe that Cecilia meant to say what was not true, yet she felt that she + had been to blame in not telling all, and her mother in saying too much. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, her tears dispersed, stood looking at the impression which + her mother’s signet-ring had left in the palm of her hand. It was at that + moment a disagreeable recollection that the motto of that ring was + “Truth.” Rubbing the impress from her hand, she said, half speaking to + herself, and half to Helen—“I am sure I did not mean anything wrong; + and I am sure nothing can be more true than that I never formed a regular + plan in my life. After all, I am sure that so much has been said about + nothing, that I do not understand anything: I never do, when mamma goes on + in that way, making mountains of molehills, which she always does with me, + and did ever since I was a child; but she really forgets that I am not a + child. Now, it is well the general was not by; he would never have borne + to see his wife so treated. But I would not, for the world, be the cause + of any disagreement. Oh! Helen, my mother does not know how I love her, + let her be ever so severe to me! But she never loved me; she cannot help + it. I believe she does her best to love me—my poor, dear mother!” + </p> + <p> + Helen seized this opportunity to repeat the warm expressions she had heard + so lately from Lady Davenant, and melting they sunk into Cecilia’s heart. + She kissed Helen again and again, for a dear, good peacemaker, as she + always was—and “I’m resolved”—but in the midst of her good + resolves she caught a glimpse through the glass door opening on the park, + of the general, and a fine horse they were ringing, and she hurried out: + all light of heart she went, as though + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “Or shake the downy <i>blowball</i> from her stalk."<br /></pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Since Lord Davenant’s arrival, Lady Davenant’s time was so much taken up + with him, that Helen could not have many opportunities of conversing with + her, and she was the more anxious to seize every one that occurred. She + always watched for the time when Lady Davenant went out in her pony + phaeton, for then she had her delightfully to herself, the carriage + holding only two. + </p> + <p> + It was at the door, and Lady Davenant was crossing the hall followed by + Helen, when Cecilia came in with a look, unusual in her, of being much + discomfited. + </p> + <p> + “Another put off from Mr. Beauclerc! He will not be here to-day. I give + him up.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant stopped short, and asked whether Cecilia had told him that + probably she should soon be gone? + </p> + <p> + “To be sure I did, mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “And what reason does he give for his delay?” + </p> + <p> + “None, mamma, none—not the least apology. He says, very cavalierly + indeed, that he is the worst man in the world at making excuses—shall + attempt none.” + </p> + <p> + “There he is right” said Lady Davenant. “Those who are good at excuses, as + Franklin justly observed, are apt to be good for nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + The general came up the steps at this moment, rolling a note between his + fingers, and looking displeased. Lady Davenant inquired if he could tell + her the cause of Mr. Beauclerc’s delay. He could not. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia exclaimed—“Very extraordinary! Provoking! Insufferable! + Intolerable!” + </p> + <p> + “It is Mr. Beauclerc’s own affair,” said Lady Davenant, wrapping her shawl + round her; and, taking the general’s arm, she walked on to her carriage. + Seating herself, and gathering up the reins, she repeated—“Mr. + Beauclerc’s own affair, completely.” + </p> + <p> + The lash of her whip was caught somewhere, and, while the groom was + disentangling it, she reiterated—“That will do: let the horses go:”—and + with half-suppressed impatience thanked Helen, who was endeavouring to + arrange some ill-disposed cloak—“Thank you, thank you, my dear: it’s + all very well. Sit down, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + She drove off rapidly, through the beautiful park scenery But the ancient + oaks, standing alone, casting vast shadows, the distant massive woods of + magnificent extent and of soft and varied foliage; the secluded glades, + all were lost upon her. Looking straight between her horses’ ears, she + drove on in absolute silence. + </p> + <p> + Helen’s idea of Mr. Beauclerc’s importance increased wonderfully. What + must he be whose coming or not coming could so move all the world, or + those who were all the world to her? And, left to her own cogitations, she + was picturing to herself what manner of man he might be, when suddenly + Lady Davenant turned, and asked what she was thinking of? + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon for startling you so, my dear; I am aware that it is a + dreadfully imprudent, impertinent question—one which, indeed, I + seldom ask. Few interest me sufficiently to make me care of what they + think: from fewer still could I expect to hear the truth. Nay—nothing + upon compulsion, Helen. Only say plainly, if you would rather not tell me. + That answer I should prefer to the ingenious formula of evasion, the + solecism in metaphysics, which Cecilia used the other day, when + unwittingly I asked her of what she was thinking—‘Of a great many + different things, mamma.’” + </p> + <p> + Helen, still more alarmed by Lady Davenant’s speech than by her question, + and aware of the conclusions which might be drawn from her answer, + nevertheless bravely replied that she had been thinking of Mr. Beauclerc, + of what he might be whose coming or not coming was of such consequence. As + she spoke the expression of Lady Davenant’s countenance changed. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my dear child, you are truth itself, and truly do I love you + therefore. It’s well that you did not ask me of what I was thinking, for I + am not sure that I could have answered so directly.” + </p> + <p> + “But I could never have presumed to ask such a question of you,” said + Helen, “there is such a difference.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Lady Davenant; “there is such a difference as age and + authority require to be made, but nevertheless, such as is not quite + consistent with the equal rights of friendship. You have told me the + subject of your day-dream, my love, and if you please, I will tell you the + subject of mine. I was rapt into times long past: I was living over again + some early scenes—some which are connected, and which connect me, in + a curious manner, with this young man, Mr. Granville Beauclerc.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to speak with some difficulty, and yet to be resolved to go on. + “Helen, I have a mind,” continued she, “to tell you what, in the language + of affected autobiographers, I might call ‘some passages of my life.’” + </p> + <p> + Helen’s eyes brightened, as she eagerly thanked her: but hearing a + half-suppressed sigh, she added—“Not if it is painful to you though, + my dear Lady Davenant.” + </p> + <p> + “Painful it must be,” she replied, “but it may be useful to you; and a + weak friend is that who can do only what is pleasurable. You have often + trusted me with those little inmost feelings of the heart, which, however + innocent, we shrink from exposing to any but the friends we most love; it + is unjust and absurd of those advancing in years to expect of the young + that confidence should come all and only on their side: the human heart, + at whatever age, opens only to the heart that opens in return.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant paused again, and then said,—“It is a general opinion, + that nobody is the better for advice.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I do not think so,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you do not; nor do I. Much depends upon the way in which it is + offered. General maxims, drawn from experience, are, to the young at + least, but as remarks—moral sentences—mere dead letter, and + take no hold of the mind. ‘I have felt’ must come before ‘I think,’ + especially in speaking to a young friend, and, though I am accused of + being so fond of generalising that I never come to particulars, I can and + will: therefore, my dear, I will tell you some particulars of my life, in + which, take notice, there are no adventures. Mine has been a life of + passion—of feeling, at least,—not of incidents: nothing, my + dear, to excite or to gratify curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “But, independent of all curiosity about events,” said Helen, “there is + such an interest in knowing what has been really felt and thought in their + former lives by those we know and love.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall sink in your esteem,” said Lady Davenant—“so be it.” + </p> + <p> + “I need not begin, as most people do, with ‘I was born’—” but, + interrupting herself, she said, “this heat is too much for me.” + </p> + <p> + They turned into a long shady drive through the woods. Lady Davenant drew + up the reins, and her ponies walked slowly on the grassy road; then, + turning to Helen, she said:— + </p> + <p> + “It would have been well for me if any friend had, when I was of your age, + put me on my guard against my own heart: but my too indulgent, too + sanguine mother, led me into the very danger against which she should have + warned me—she misled me, though without being aware of it. Our + minds, our very natures differed strangely. + </p> + <p> + “She was a castle-builder—yes, now you know, my dear, why I spoke so + strongly, and, as you thought, so severely this morning. My mother was a + castle-builder of the ordinary sort: a worldly plan of a castle was hers, + and little care had she about the knight within; yet she had sufficient + tact to know that it must be the idea of the <i>preux chevalier</i> that + would lure her daughter into the castle. Prudent for herself, imprudent + for me, and yet she loved me—all she did was for love of me. She + managed with so much address, that I had no suspicion of my being the + subject of any speculation—otherwise, probably, my imagination might + have revolted, my self-will have struggled, my pride have interfered, or + my delicacy might have been alarmed, but nothing of all that happened; I + was only too ready, too glad to believe all that I was told, all that + appeared in that spring-time of hope and love. I was very romantic, not in + the modern fashionable young-lady sense of the word, with the mixed ideas + of a shepherdess’s hat and the paraphernalia of a peeress—love in a + cottage, and a fashionable house in town. No; mine was honest, pure, real + romantic love—absurd if you will; it was love nursed by imagination + more than by hope. I had early, in my secret soul, as perhaps you have at + this instant in yours, a pattern of perfection—something chivalrous, + noble, something that is no longer to be seen now-a-days—the more + delightful to imagine, the moral sublime and beautiful; more than human, + yet with the extreme of human tenderness. Mine was to be a demigod whom I + could worship, a husband to whom I could always look up, with whom I could + always sympathise, and to whom I could devote myself with all a woman’s + self-devotion. I had then a vast idea—as I think you have now, Helen—of + self-devotion; you would devote yourself to your friends, but I could not + shape any of my friends into a fit object. So after my own imagination I + made one, dwelt upon it, doated on it, and at last threw this bright image + of my own fancy full upon the being to whom I thought I was most happily + destined—destined by duty, chosen by affection. The words ‘I love + you’ once pronounced, I gave my whole heart in return, gave it, + sanctified, as I felt, by religion. I had high religious sentiments; a vow + once passed the lips, a look, a single look of appeal to Heaven, was as + much for me as if pronounced at the altar, and before thousands to + witness. Some time was to elapse before the celebration of our marriage. + Protracted engagements are unwise, yet I should not say so; this gave me + time to open my eyes—my bewitched eyes: still, some months I passed + in a trance of beatification, with visions of duties all performed—benevolence + universal, and gratitude, and high success, and crowns of laurel, for my + hero, for he was military; it all joined well in my fancy. All the + pictured tales of vast heroic deeds were to be his. Living, I was to live + in the radiance of his honour; or dying, to die with him, and then to be + most blessed. + </p> + <p> + “It is all to me now as a dream, long passed, and never told; no, never, + except to him who had a right to know it—my husband, and now to you, + Helen. From my dream I was awakened by a rude shock—I saw, I thank + Heaven I first, and I alone, saw that his heart was gone from me—that + his heart had never been mine—that it was unworthy of me. No, I will + not say that; I will not think so. Still I trust he had deceived himself, + though not so much as he deceived me. I am willing to believe he did not + know that what he professed for me was not love, till he was seized by + that passion for another, a younger, fairer——Oh! how much + fairer. Beauty is a great gift of Heaven—not for the purposes of + female vanity; but a great gift for one who loves, and wishes to be loved. + But beauty I had not.” + </p> + <p> + “Had not!” interrupted Helen, “I always heard——” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> did not think so, my dear; no matter what others thought, at + least so I felt at that time. My identity is so much changed that I can + look back upon this now, and tell it all to you calmly. + </p> + <p> + “It was at a rehearsal of ancient music; I went there accidentally one + morning without my mother, with a certain old duchess and her daughters; + the dowager full of some Indian screen which she was going to buy; the + daughters, intent, one of them, on a quarrel between two of the singers; + the other upon loves and hates of her own. I was the only one of the party + who had any real taste for music. I was then particularly fond of it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, I must come to the point,” her voice changing as she + spoke.—“After such a lapse of time, during which my mind, my whole + self has so changed, I could not have believed before I began to speak on + this subject, that these reminiscences could have so moved me; but it is + merely this sudden wakening of ideas long dormant, for years not called + up, never put into words. + </p> + <p> + “I was sitting, wrapt in a silent ecstasy of pleasure, leaning back behind + the whispering party, when I saw him come in, and, thinking only of his + sharing my delight, I made an effort to catch his attention, but he did + not see me—his eye was fixed on another; I followed that eye, and + saw that most beautiful creature on which it fixed; I saw him seat himself + beside her—one look was enough—it was conviction. A pang went + through me; I grew cold, but made no sound nor motion; I gasped for + breath, I believe, but I did not faint. None cared for me; I was unnoticed—saved + from the abasement of pity. I struggled to retain my self-command, and was + enabled to complete the purpose on which I then—even <i>then</i>, + resolved. That resolve gave me force. + </p> + <p> + “In any great emotion we can speak better to those who do not care for us + than to those who feel for us. More calmly than I now speak to you, I + turned to the person who then sat beside me, to the dowager whose heart + was in the Indian screen, and begged that I might not longer detain her, + as I wished that she would carry me home—she readily complied: I had + presence of mind enough to move when we could do so without attracting + attention. It was well that woman talked as she did all the way home; she + never saw, never suspected, the agony of her to whom she spoke. I ran up + to my own room, bolted the door, and threw myself into a chair; that is + the last thing I remember, till I found myself lying on the floor, + wakening from a state of insensibility. I know not what time had elapsed; + so as soon as I could I rang for my maid; she had knocked at my door, and, + supposing I slept, had not disturbed me—my mother, I found, had not + yet returned. + </p> + <p> + “I dressed for dinner: HE was to dine with us. It was my custom to see him + for a few minutes before the rest of the company arrived. No time ever + appeared to me so dreadfully long as the interval between my being dressed + that day and his arrival. + </p> + <p> + “I heard him coming up stairs: my heart beat so violently that I feared I + should not be able to speak with dignity and composure, but the motive was + sufficient. + </p> + <p> + “What I said I know not; I am certain only that it was without one word of + reproach. What I had at one glance foreboded was true—he + acknowledged it. I released him from all engagement to me. I saw he was + evidently relieved by the determined tone of my refusal—at what + expense to my heart he was set free, he saw not—never knew—never + suspected. But after that first involuntary expression of the pleasure of + relief, I saw in his countenance surprise, a sort of mortified + astonishment at my self-possession. I own my woman’s pride enjoyed this; + it was something better than pride—the sense of the preservation of + my dignity. I felt that in this shipwreck of my happiness I made no + cowardly exposure of my feelings, but he did not understand me. Our minds, + as I now found, moved in different orbits. We could not comprehend each + other. Instead of feeling, as the instinct of generosity would have taught + him to feel, that I was sacrificing my happiness to his, he told me that + he now believed I had never loved him. My eyes were opened—I saw him + at once as he really was. The ungenerous look upon self-devotion as + madness, folly, or art: he could not think me a fool, he did not think me + mad, artful I believe he did suspect me to be; he concluded that I made + the discovery of his inconstancy an excuse for my own; he thought me, + perhaps, worse than capricious, interested—for, our engagement being + unknown, a lover of higher rank had, in the interval, presented himself. + My perception of this base suspicion was useful to me at the moment, as it + roused my spirit, and I went through the better, and without relapse of + tenderness, with that which I had undertaken. One condition only I made; I + insisted that this explanation should rest between us two; that, in fact, + and in manner, the breaking off the match should be left entirely to me. + And to this part of the business I now look back with satisfaction, and I + have honest pride in telling you, who will feel the same for me, that I + practised in the whole conduct of the affair no deceit of any kind, not + one falsehood was told. The world knew nothing; there my mother had been + prudent. She was the only person to whom I was bound to explain—to + speak, I mean, for I did not feel myself bound to explain. Perfect + confidence only can command perfect confidence in whatever relation of + life. I told her all that she had a right to know. I announced to her that + the intended marriage could never be—that I objected to it; that + both our minds were changed; that we were both satisfied in having + released each other from our mutual engagement. I had, as I foresaw, to + endure my mother’s anger, her entreaties, her endless surprise, her bitter + disappointment; but she exhausted all these, and her mind turned sooner + than I had expected to that hope of higher establishment which amused her + during the rest of the season in London. Two months of it were still to be + passed—to me the two most painful months of my existence. The daily, + nightly, effort of appearing in public, while I was thus wretched, in the + full gala of life in the midst of the young, the gay, the happy—broken-hearted + as I felt—it was an effort beyond my strength. That summer was, I + remember, intolerably hot. Whenever my mother observed that I looked pale, + and that my spirits were not so good as formerly, I exerted myself more + and more; accepted every invitation because I dared not refuse; I danced + at this ball, and the next, and the next; urged on, I finished to the + dregs the dissipation of the season. + </p> + <p> + “My mother certainly made me do dreadfully too much. But I blame others, + as we usually do when we are ourselves the most to blame—I had + attempted that which could not be done. By suppressing all outward sign of + suffering, allowing no vent for sorrow in words or tears—by actual + force of compression—I thought at once to extinguish my feelings. + Little did I know of the human heart when I thought this! The weak are + wise in yielding to the first shock. They cannot be struck to the earth + who sink prostrate; sorrow has little power where there is no resistance.—‘The + flesh will follow where the pincers tear.’ Mine was a presumptuous—it + had nearly been a fatal struggle. That London season at last over, we got + into the country; I expected rest, but found none. The pressing necessity + for exertion over, the stimulus ceasing, I sunk—sunk into a state of + apathy. Time enough had elapsed between the breaking off of my marriage + and the appearance of this illness, to prevent any ideas on my mother’s + part of cause and effect, ideas indeed which were never much looked for, + or well joined in her mind. The world knew nothing of the matter. My + illness went under the convenient head ‘nervous.’ I heard all the opinions + pronounced on my case, and knew they were all mistaken, but I swallowed + whatever they pleased. No physician, I repeated to myself, can ‘minister + to a mind diseased.’ + </p> + <p> + “I tried to call religion to my aid; but my religious sentiments were, at + that time, tinctured with the enthusiasm of my early character. Had I been + a Catholic, I should have escaped from my friends and thrown myself into a + cloister; as it was, I had formed a strong wish to retire from that world + which was no longer anything to me: the spring of passion, which I then + thought the spring of life, being broken, I meditated my resolution + secretly and perpetually as I lay on my bed. They used to read to me, and, + among other things, some papers of ‘The Rambler,’ which I liked not at + all; its tripod sentences tired my ear, but I let them go on—as well + one sound as another. + </p> + <p> + “It chanced that one night, as I was going to sleep, an eastern story in + ‘The Rambler,’ was read to me, about some man, a-weary of the world, who + took to the peaceful hermitage. There was a regular moral tagged to the + end of it, a thing I hate, the words were, ‘No life pleasing to God that + is not useful to man.’ When I wakened in the middle of that night, this + sentence was before my eyes, and the words seemed to repeat themselves + over and over again to my ears when I was sinking to sleep. The impression + remained in my mind, and though I never voluntarily recurred to it, came + out long afterwards, perfectly fresh, and became a motive of action. + </p> + <p> + “Strange, mysterious connection between mind and body; in mere animal + nature we see the same. The bird wakened from his sleep to be taught a + tune sung to him in the dark, and left to sleep again,—the + impression rests buried within him, and weeks afterward he comes out with + the tune perfect. But these are only phenomena of memory—mine was + more extraordinary. I am not sure that I can explain it to you. In my weak + state, my understanding enfeebled as much as my body—my reason + weaker than my memory, I could not help allowing myself to think that the + constant repetition of that sentence was a warning sent to me from above. + As I grew stronger, the superstition died away, but the sense of the thing + still remained with me. It led me to examine and reflect. It did more than + all my mother’s entreaties could effect. I had refused to see any human + creature, but I now consented to admit a few. The charm was broken. I gave + up my longing for solitude, my plan of retreat from the world; suffered + myself to be carried where they pleased—to Brighton it was—to + my mother’s satisfaction. I was ready to appear in the ranks of fashion at + the opening of the next London campaign. Automatically I ‘ran my female + exercises o’er’ with as good grace as ever. I had followers and proposals; + but my mother was again thrown into despair by what she called the short + work I made with my admirers, scarcely allowing decent time for their + turning into lovers before I warned them not to think of me. I have heard + that women who have suffered from man’s inconstancy are disposed + afterwards to revenge themselves by inflicting pain such as they have + themselves endured, and delight in all the cruelty of coquetry. It was not + so with me. Mine was too deep a wound—skinned over—not + callous, and all danger of its opening again I dreaded. I had lovers the + more, perhaps, because I cared not for them; till amongst them there came + one who, as I saw, appreciated my character, and, as I perceived, was + becoming seriously attached. To prevent danger to his happiness, as he + would take no other warning, I revealed to him the state of my mind. + However humiliating the confession, I thought it due to him. I told him + that I had no heart to give—that I had received none in return for + that with which I had parted, and that love was over with me. + </p> + <p> + “‘As a passion, it may be so, not as an affection,’ was his reply. + </p> + <p> + “The words opened to me a view of his character. I saw, too, by his love + increasing with his esteem, the solidity of his understanding, and the + nobleness of his nature. He went deeper and deeper into my mind, till he + came to a spring of gratitude, which rose and overflowed, vivifying and + fertilising the seemingly barren waste. I believe it to be true that, + after the first great misfortune, persons never return to be the same that + they were before, but this I know—and this it is important you + should be convinced of, my dear Helen—that the mind, though sorely + smitten, can recover its powers. A mind, I mean, sustained by good + principles, and by them made capable of persevering efforts for its own + recovery. It may be sure of regaining, in time—observe, I say in + time—its healthful tone. + </p> + <p> + “Time was given to me by that kind, that noble being, who devoted himself + to me with a passion which I could not return—but, with such + affection as I could give, and which he assured me would make his + happiness, I determined to devote to him the whole of my future existence. + Happiness for me, I thought, was gone, except in so far as I could make + him happy. + </p> + <p> + “I married Lord Davenant—much against my mother’s wish, for he was + then the younger of three brothers, and with a younger brother’s very + small portion. Had it been a more splendid match, I do not think I could + have been prevailed on to give my consent. I could not have been sure of + my own motives, or rather my pride would not have been clear as to the + opinion which others might form. This was a weakness, for in acting we + ought to depend upon ourselves, and not to look for the praise or blame of + others; but I let you see me as I am, or as I was: I do not insist, like + Queen Elizabeth, in having my portrait without shade.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + “I am proud to tell you, that at the time I married we were so poor, that + I was obliged to give up many of those luxuries to which I was entitled, + and to which I had been so accustomed, that the doing without them had + till then hardly come within my idea of possibility. Our whole + establishment was on the most humble scale. + </p> + <p> + “I look back to this period of my life with the greatest satisfaction. I + had exquisite pleasure, like all young people of sanguine temperament and + generous disposition, in the consciousness of the capability of making + sacrifices. This notion was my idol, the idol of the inmost sanctuary of + my mind, and I worshipped it with all the energies of body and soul. + </p> + <p> + “In the course of a few years, my husband’s two elder brothers died. If + you have any curiosity to know how, I will tell you, though indeed it is + as little to the purpose as half the things people tell in their + histories. The eldest, a homebred lordling, who, from the moment he + slipped his mother’s apron-strings, had fallen into folly, and then, to + show himself manly, run into vice, lost his life in a duel about some + lady’s crooked thumb, or more crooked mind. + </p> + <p> + “The second brother distinguished himself in the navy; he died the death + of honour; he fell gloriously, and was by his country honoured—by + his country mourned. + </p> + <p> + “After the death of this young man, the inheritance came to my husband. + Fortune soon after poured in upon us a tide of wealth, swelled by + collateral streams. + </p> + <p> + “You will wish to know what effect this change of circumstances produced + upon my mind, and you shall, as far as I know it myself. I fancied that it + would have made none, because I had been before accustomed to all the + trappings of wealth; yet it did make a greater change in my feelings than + you could have imagined, or I could have conceived. The possibility of + producing a great effect in society, of playing a distinguished part, and + attaining an eminence which pleased my fancy, had never till now been + within my reach. The incense of fame had been wafted near me, but not to + me—near my husband I mean, yet not to him; I had heard his brother’s + name from the trumpet of fame, I longed to hear his own. I knew, what to + the world was then unknown, his great talents for civil business, which, + if urged into action, might make him distinguished as a statesman even + beyond his hero brother, but I knew that in him ambition, if it ever + awoke, must be awakened by love. Conscious of my influence, I determined + to use it to the utmost. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Davenant had not at that time taken any part in politics, but from + his connections he could ask and obtain; and there was one in the world + for whom I desired to obtain a favour of importance. It chanced that he, + whom I have mentioned to you as my inconstant lover, now married to my + lovely rival, was at this time in some difficulty about a command abroad. + His connections, though of very high rank were not now in power. He had + failed in some military exploit which had formerly been intrusted to him. + He was anxious to retrieve his character; his credit, his whole fate in + life, depended on his obtaining this appointment, which, at my request, + was secured to him by Lord Davenant. The day it was obtained was, I think, + the proudest of my life. I was proud of returning good for evil; that was + a Christian pride, if pride can be Christian. I was proud of showing that + in me there was none of the fury of a woman scorned—no sense of the + injury of charms despised. + </p> + <p> + “But it was not yet the fulness of success; it had pained me in the midst + of my internal triumph, that my husband had been obliged to use + intermediate powers to obtain that which I should have desired should have + been obtained by his own. Why should not he be in that first place of + rule? He could hold the balance with a hand as firm, an eye as just. That + he should be in the House of Peers was little satisfaction to me, unless + distinguished among his peers. It was this distinction that I burned to + see obtained by Lord Davenant; I urged him forward then by all the motives + which make ambition virtue. He was averse from public life, partly from + indolence of temper, partly from sound philosophy: power was low in the + scale in his estimate of human happiness; he saw how little can be + effected of real good in public by any individual; he felt it scarcely + worth his while to stir from his easy chair of domestic happiness. + However, love urged him on, and inspired him, if not with ambition, at + least with what looked like it in public. He entered the lists, and in the + political tournament tilted successfully. Many were astonished, for, till + they came against him in the joust, they had no notion of his weight, or + of his skill in arms; and many seriously inclined to believe that Lord + Davenant was only Lady Davenant in disguise, and all he said, wrote, and + did, was attributed to me. Envy gratifies herself continually by thus + shifting the merit from one person to another; in hopes that the actual + quantity may be diminished, she tries to make out that it is never the + real person, but somebody else who does that which is good. This silly, + base propensity might have cost me dear, would have cost me my husband’s + affections, had he not been a man, as there are few, above all jealousy of + female influence or female talent; in short, he knew his own superiority, + and needed not to measure himself to prove his height. He is quite + content, rather glad, that every body should set him down as a + common-place character. Far from being jealous of his wife’s ruling him, + he was amused by the notion: it flattered his pride, and it was convenient + to his indolence; it fell in, too, with his peculiar humour. The more I + retired, the more I was put forward, he, laughing behind me, prompted and + forbade me to look back. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Helen, I am come to a point where ambition ceased to be virtue. But + why should I tell you all this? no one is ever the better for the + experience of another.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I cannot believe that,” cried Helen; “pray, pray go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Ambition first rose in my mind from the ashes of another passion. Fresh + materials, of heterogeneous kinds, altered the colour, and changed the + nature of the flame: I should have told you, but narrative is not my forte—I + never can remember to tell things in their right order. I forgot to tell + you, that when Madame de Staël’s book, ‘Sur la Revolution Française,’ came + out, it made an extraordinary impression upon me. I turned, in the first + place, as every body did, eagerly to the chapter on England, but, though + my national feelings were gratified, my female pride was dreadfully + mortified by what she says of the ladies of England; in fact, she could + not judge of them. They were afraid of her. They would not come out of + their shells. What she called timidity, and what I am sure she longed to + call stupidity, was the silence of overawed admiration, or mixed curiosity + and discretion. Those who did venture, had not full possession of their + powers, or in a hurry showed them in a wrong direction. She saw none of + them in their natural state. She asserts that, though there may be women + distinguished as writers in England, there are no ladies who have any + great conversational and political influence in society, of that kind + which, during <i>l’ancien régime</i>, was obtained in France by what they + would call their <i>femmes marquantes</i>, such as Madame de Tencin, + Madame du Deffand, Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse. This remark stung me to + the quick, for my country and for myself, and raised in me a foolish, + vain-glorious emulation, an ambition false in its objects, and unsuited to + the manners, domestic habits, and public virtue of our country. I ought to + have been gratified by her observing, that a lady is never to be met with + in England, as formerly in France, at the Bureau du Ministre; and that in + England there has never been any example of a woman’s having known in + public affairs, or at least told, what ought to have been kept secret. + Between ourselves, I suspect she was a little mistaken in some of these + assertions; but, be that as it may, I determined to prove that she was + mistaken; I was conscious that I had more within me than I had yet brought + out; I did not doubt that I had eloquence, if I had but courage to produce + it. It is really astonishing what a mischievous effect those few passages + produced on my mind. In London, one book drives out another, one + impression, however deep, is effaced by the next shaking of the sand; but + I was then in the country, for, unluckily for me, Lord Davenant had been + sent away on some special embassy. Left alone with my nonsense, I set + about, as soon as I was able, to assemble an audience round me, to exhibit + myself in the character of a female politician, and I believe I had a + notion at the same time of being the English Corinne. Rochefoucault, the + dexterous anatomist of self-love, says that we confess our small faults, + to persuade the world that we have no large ones. But, for my part, I feel + that there are some small faults more difficult to me to confess than any + large ones. Affectation, for instance; it is something so little, so + paltry, it is more than a crime, it is a ridicule: I believe I did make + myself completely ridiculous; I am glad Lord Davenant was not by, it + lasted but a short time. Our dear good friend Dumont (you knew Dumont at + Florence?) could not bear to see it; his regard for Lord Davenant urged + him the more to disenchant me, and bring me back, before his return, to my + natural form. The disenchantment was rather rude. + </p> + <p> + “One evening, after I had been snuffing up incense till I was quite + intoxicated, when my votaries had departed, and we were alone together, I + said to him, ‘Allow that this is what would be called at Paris, <i>un + grand succés</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + “Dumont made no reply, but stood opposite to me playing in his peculiar + manner with his great snuff-box, slowly swaying the snuff from side to + side. Knowing this to be a sign that he was in some great dilemma, I asked + of what he was thinking. ‘Of you,’ said he. ‘And what of me?’ In his + French accent he repeated those two provoking lines— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> ‘New wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain,<br /> Too strong for feeble women to sustain.‘<br /></pre> + <p> + “‘To my face?’ said I, smiling, for I tried to command my temper. + </p> + <p> + “‘Better than behind your back, as others do,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Behind my back!’ said I; ‘impossible.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Perfectly possible,’ said he, ‘as I could prove if you were strong + enough to bear it.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Quite strong enough,’ I said, and bade him speak on. + </p> + <p> + “‘Suppose you were offered,’ said he, ‘the fairy-ring that rendered the + possessor invisible, and enabled him to hear every thing that was said, + and all that was thought of him, would you throw it away, or put it on + your finger?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Put it on my finger,’ I replied; ‘and this instant, for a true friend is + better than a magic ring, I put it on.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You are very brave,’ said he, ‘then you shall hear the lines I heard in + a rival salon, repeated by him who last wafted the censer to you + to-night.’ He repeated a kind of doggrel pasquinade, beginning with— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> ‘Tell me, gentles, have you seen,<br /> The prating she, the mock Corinne?’<br /></pre> + <p> + “Dumont, who had the courage for my good to inflict the blow, could not + stay to see its effect, and this time I was left alone, not with my + nonsense, but with my reason. It was quite sufficient. I was cured. My + only consolation in my disgrace was, that I honourably kept Dumont’s + counsel. The friend who composed the lampoon, from that day to this never + knew that I had heard it; though I must own I often longed to tell him, + when he was offering his incense again, that I wished he would reverse his + practice, and let us have the satire in my presence, and keep the flattery + for my absence. The graft of affectation, which was but a poor weak thing, + fell off at once, but the root of the evil had not yet been reached. My + friend Dumont had not cut deep enough, or perhaps feared to cut away too + much that was sound and essential to life: my political ambition remained, + and on Lord Davenant’s return sprang up in full vigour. + </p> + <p> + “Now it is all over, I can analyse and understand my own motives: when I + first began my political course, I really and truly had no love for power; + full of other feelings, I was averse from it; it was absolutely + disagreeable to me; but as people acquire a taste for drams after making + faces at first swallowing, so I, from experience of the excitation, + acquired the habit, the love, of this mental dram-drinking; besides, I had + such delightful excuses for myself: I didn’t love power for its own sake, + it was never used for myself, always for others; ever with my old + principle of sacrifice in full play: this flattering unction I laid to my + soul, and it long hid from me its weakness, its gradual corruption. + </p> + <p> + “The first instance in which I used my influence, and by my husband’s + intervention obtained a favour of some importance, the thing done, though + actually obtained by private favour, was in a public point of view well + done and fit to be done; but when in time Lord Davenant had reached that + eminence which had been the summit of my ambition, and when once it was + known that I had influence (and in making it known between jest and + earnest Lord Davenant was certainly to blame), numbers of course were + eager to avail themselves of the discovery, swarms born in the noontide + ray, or such as salute the rising morn, buzzed round me. I was + good-natured and glad to do the service, and proud to show that I could do + it. I thought I had some right to share with Lord Davenant, at least, the + honour and pleasures of patronage, and so he willingly allowed it to be, + as long as my objects were well chosen, though he said to me once with a + serious smile, ‘The patronage of Europe would not satisfy you; you would + want India, and if you had India, you would sigh for the New World.’ I + only laughed, and said ‘The same thought as Lord Chesterfield’s, only more + neatly put.’ ‘If all Ireland were given to such a one for his patrimony, + he’d ask for the Isle of Man for his cabbage-garden.’ Lord Davenant did + not smile. I felt a little alarmed, and a feeling of estrangement began + between us. + </p> + <p> + “I recollect one day his seeing a note on my table from one of my <i>protegés</i>, + thanking me outrageously, and extolling my very obliging disposition. He + read, and threw it down, and with one of his dry-humour smiles repeated, + half to himself, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> And so obliging that she ne’er obliged.‘<br /></pre> + <p> + “I thought these lines were in the Characters of Women, and I hunted all + through them in vain; at last I found them in the character of a man, + which could not suit me, and I was pacified, and, what is extraordinary, + my conscience quite put at ease. + </p> + <p> + “The week afterwards I went to make some request for a friend: my little + boy—for I had a dear little boy then—had come in along with + mamma. Lord Davenant complied with my request, but unwillingly I saw, and + as if he felt it a weakness; and, putting his hand upon the curly-pated + little fellow’s head, he said, ‘This boy rules Greece, I see.’ The child + was sent for the Grecian history, his father took him on his knee, while + he read the anecdote, and as he ended he whispered in the child’s ear, + ‘Tell mamma this must not be; papa should be ruled only by justice.’ He + really had public virtue, I only talked of it. + </p> + <p> + “After this you will wonder that I could go on, but I did. + </p> + <p> + “I had at that time a friend, who talked always most romantically, and + acted most selfishly, and for some time I never noticed the inconsistency + between her words and actions. In fact she had two currents in her mind, + two selves, one romantic from books, the other selfish from worldly + education and love of fashion, and of the goods of this world. She had + charming manners, which I thought went for nothing with me, but which I + found stood for every thing. In short, she was as caressing, as graceful, + in her little ways, and as selfish as a cat. She had claws too, but at + first I only felt the velvet. + </p> + <p> + “It was for this woman that I hazarded my highest happiness—my + husband’s esteem, and for the most paltry object imaginable. She wanted + some petty place for some man who was to marry her favourite maid. When I + first mentioned it to him, Lord Davenant coldly said, ‘It can’t be done,’ + and his pen went on very quickly with the letter he was writing. Vexed and + ashamed, and the more vexed because ashamed, I persisted. ‘Cannot be done + for <i>me</i>?’ said I. ‘Not for anybody,’ said he—‘by me, at + least.’—I thought—Helen, I am ashamed to tell you what I + thought; but I will tell it you, because it will show you how a mind may + be debased by the love of power, or rather by the consequence which its + possession bestows. I thought he meant to point out to me that, although + he would not do it, I might <i>get it done</i>. And, speaking as if to + myself, I said, ‘Then I’ll go to such a person; then I’ll use such and + such ways and means.’ + </p> + <p> + “Looking up from his writing at me, with a look such as I had never seen + from him before, he replied, in the words of a celebrated minister, <i>‘C’est + facile de se servir de pareils moyens, c’est difficile de s’y resoudre.‘</i> + </p> + <p> + “I admired him, despised myself, left the room, and went and told my + friend decidedly it could not be done. That instant, she became my enemy, + and I felt her claws. I was proud of the wounds, and showed them to my + husband. Now, Helen, you think I am cured for ever, and safe. Alas! no, my + dear, it is not so easy to cure habit. I have, however, some excuse—let + me put it forward; the person for whom I again transgressed was my mother, + and for her I was proud of doing the utmost, because she had, as I could + not forget, been ready to sacrifice my happiness to her speculations. She + had left off building castles in the air, but she had outbuilt herself on + earth. She had often recourse to me in her difficulties, and I supplied + funds, as well I might, for I had a most liberal allowance from my most + liberal lord; but schemes of my own, very patriotic but not overwise, had + in process of time drained my purse. I had a school at Cecilhurst, and a + lace manufactory; and to teach my little girls I must needs bring over + lace-makers from Flanders, and Lisle thread, at an enormous expense: I + shut my lace-makers up in a room (for secrecy was necessary), where, like + spiders, they quarrelled with each other and fought, and the whole failed. + </p> + <p> + “Another scheme, very patriotic too, cost me an immensity: trying to make + Indian cachemires in England, very beautiful they were, but they left not + the tenth part of a penny in my private purse, and then my mother wanted + some thousands for a new dairy; dairies were then the fashion, and hers + was to be floored with the finest Dutch tiles, furnished with Sevre china, + with plate glass windows, and a porch hung with French mirrors; so she set + me to represent to Lord Davenant her very distressed situation, and to + present a petition from her for a pension. The first time I urged my + mother’s request, Lord Davenant said, ‘I am sure, Anne, that you do not + know what you are asking.’ I desisted. I did not indeed well understand + the business, nor at all comprehend that I was assisting a fraudulent + attempt to obtain public money for a private purpose, but I wished to have + the triumph of success, I wished to feel my own influence. + </p> + <p> + “Had it been foretold to me that I could so forget myself in the + intoxication of political power, how I should have disdained the prophecy—‘Lord, + is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?’ There is a fine + sermon of Blair’s on this subject; it had early made a great impression + upon me; but what are good impressions, good feelings, good impulses, good + intentions, good any thing, without principle? + </p> + <p> + “My mother wondered how I could so easily take a refusal; she piqued my + pride by observing that she was sorry my influence had declined; her pity, + so near contempt, wounded me, and I unadvisedly exclaimed that my + influence had in no way declined. Scarcely had I uttered the words, when I + saw the inference to which they laid me open, that I had not used my + influence to the utmost for her. My mother had quite sense and just + feeling enough to refrain from marking this in words. She noted it only by + an observing look, followed by a sigh. She confessed that I had always + been so kind, so much kinder than she could have expected, that she would + say no more. This was more to the purpose with me than if she had talked + for hours. I heard fresh sighs, and saw tears begin to flow—a + mother’s sighs and tears it is difficult, and I felt it was shameful, to + bear. I was partly melted, much confused, and hurried, too, by visitors + coming in, and I hastily promised that I would try once more what I could + do. The moment I had time for reflection I repented of what I had + promised. But the words were past recall. It was so disagreeable to me to + speak about the affair to my husband, that I wanted to get it off my mind + as soon as possible, but the day passed without my being able to find a + moment when I could speak to Lord Davenant in private. Company stayed till + late, my mother the latest. At parting, as she kissed me, calling me her + dearest Anne, she said she was convinced I could do whatever I pleased + with Lord Davenant, and as she was going down stairs, added, she was sure + the first words she should hear from me in the morning would be ‘Victory, + victory!’ + </p> + <p> + “I hated myself for admitting the thought, and yet there it was; I let it + in, and could not get it out. From what an indescribable mixture of weak + motives or impulses, and often without one reasonable principle, do we act + in the most important moments of life. Even as I opened the door of his + room I hesitated, my heart beat forebodingly, but I thought I could not + retreat, and I went in. + </p> + <p> + “He was standing on the hearth looking weary, but a reviving smile came on + seeing me, and he held out his hand—‘My comfort always,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “I took his hand, and, hesitating, was again my better self; but I would + not go back, nor could I begin with any preface.—Thank Heaven that + was impossible. I began:— + </p> + <p> + “‘Davenant, I am come to ask you a favour, and you must do it for me.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I hope it is in my power, my dear,’ said he; ‘I am sure you would not + ask—’ and there he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I told him it was in his power, and that I would not ask it for any + creature living, but—’ He put his hand upon my lips, told me he knew + what I was going to say, and begged me not to say it; but I, hoping to + carry it off playfully, kissed his hand, and putting it aside said, ‘I + must ask, and you must grant this to my mother.’ He replied, ‘It cannot + be, Anne, consistently with public justice, and with my public duty. I—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ I said, ‘such words are only to mask a refusal.’ <i>Mask</i>, + I remember, was the word that hurt him. Of all I could have used, it was + the worst: I knew it the instant I had said it. Lord Davenant stepped + back, and with such a look! You, Helen, who have seen only his benign + countenance, his smiling eyes, cannot conceive it. I am sure he must have + seen how much it alarmed me, for suddenly it changed, and I saw all the + melting softness of love. + </p> + <p> + “Oh fool! vain wicked fool that I was! I thought of ‘victory,’ and pursued + it. My utmost power of persuasion—words—smiles—and tears + I tried—and tried in vain; and then I could not bear to feel that I + had in vain made this trial of power and love. Shame and pride and anger + seized me by turns, and raised such a storm within me—such confusion—that + I knew not what I did or said. And he was so calm! looked so at least, + though I am sure he was not. His self-possession piqued and provoked me + past all bearing. I cannot tell you exactly how it was—it was so + dreadfully interesting to me that I am unable to recall the exact words; + but I remember at last hearing him say, in a voice I had never before + heard, ‘Lady Davenant!’—He had never called me so before; he had + always called me ‘Anne:’ it seemed as if he had dismissed me from his + heart. + </p> + <p> + “‘Call me Anne! O call me Anne!’ + </p> + <p> + “And he yielded instantly, he called me Anne, and caressing me, ‘his + Anne.’ ‘O Helen! never do as I did.’ I whispered, ‘Then, my love, you will + do this for me—for me, your own Anne?’ + </p> + <p> + “He put me gently away, and leaned against the chimney-piece in silence. + Then turning to me, in a low suppressed voice, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “‘I have loved you—love you as much as man can love woman, there is + nothing I would not sacrifice for you except—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No exceptions!’ cried I, in an affected tone of gaiety. + </p> + <p> + “‘Except honour,’ he repeated firmly.—Helen, my dear, you are of a + generous nature, so am I, but the demon of pride was within me, it made me + long to try the extent of my power. Disappointed, I sunk to meanness; + never, never, however tempted, however provoked, never do as I did, never + reproach a friend with any sacrifice you have made for them; this is a + meanness which your friend may forgive, but which you can never forgive + yourself. + </p> + <p> + “I reproached him with the sacrifice of my feelings, which I had made in + marrying him! His answer was, ‘I feel that what you say is true, I am now + convinced you are incapable of loving me; and since I cannot make you + happy, we had better—part.’ + </p> + <p> + “These were the last words I heard. The blow was wholly unexpected. + </p> + <p> + “Whether I sunk down, or threw myself at his feet, I know not; but when I + came to myself he was standing beside me. There were other faces, but my + eyes saw only his: I felt his hand holding mine, I pressed it, and said, + ‘Forget.’ He stooped down and whispered, ‘It is forgotten.’ + </p> + <p> + “I believe there is nothing can touch a generous mind so much as the being + treated with perfect generosity—nothing makes us so deeply feel our + own fault.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant was here so much moved that she could say no more. By an + involuntary motion, she checked the reins, and the horses stopped, and she + continued quite silent for a few minutes: at length two or three deeply + drawn sighs seemed to relieve her; she looked up, and her attention seemed + to be caught by a bird that was singing sweetly on a branch over their + heads. She asked what bird it was? Helen showed it to her where it sat: + she looked up and smiled, touched the horses with her whip, and went on + where she had left off.—“The next thing was the meeting my mother in + the morning; I prepared myself for it, and thought I was now armed so + strong in honesty that I could go through with it well: my morality, + however, was a little nervous, was fluttered by the knock at the door, + and, when I heard her voice as she came towards my room, asking eagerly if + I was alone, I felt a sickness at the certainty that I must at once crush + her hopes. But I stood resolved; my eyes fixed on the door through which + she was to enter. She came in, to my astonishment, with a face radiant + with joy, and hastening to me she embraced me with the warmest expression + of fondness and gratitude.—I stood petrified as I heard her talk of + my kindness—my generosity. I asked what she could mean, said there + must be some mistake. But holding before my eyes a note, ‘Can there be any + mistake in this?’ said she. That note, for I can never forget it, I will + repeat to you. + </p> + <p> + “‘What you wish can be done in a better manner than you proposed. The + public must have no concern with it; Lady Davenant must have the pleasure + of doing it her own way; an annuity to the amount required shall be + punctually paid to your banker. The first instalment will be in his hands + by the time you receive this.—DAVENANT.’ + </p> + <p> + “When I had been formerly disenchanted from my trance of love, the + rudeness of the shock had benumbed all my faculties, and left me scarcely + power to think; but now, when thus recovered from the delirium of power, I + was immediately in perfect possession of my understanding, and when I was + made to comprehend the despicable use I would have made of my influence, + or the influence my husband possessed, I was so shocked, that I have ever + since, I am conscious, in speaking of any political corruption, rather + exaggerated my natural abhorrence of it. Not from the mean and weak idea + of convincing the world how foreign all such wrong was to my soul, but + because it really is foreign to it, because I know how it can debase the + most honourable characters; I feel so much shocked at the criminal as at + the crime, because I saw it once in all its hideousness so near myself. + </p> + <p> + “A change in the ministry took place this year, Lord Davenant’s + resignation was sent in and accepted, and in retirement I had not only + leisure to be good, but also leisure to cultivate my mind. Of course I had + read all such reading as ladies read, but this was very different from the + kind of study that would enable me to keep pace with Lord Davenant and his + highly informed friends. Many of these, more men of thought than of show, + visited us from time to time in the country. Though I had passed very well + in London society, blue, red, and green, literary, fashionable, and + political, and had been extolled as both witty and wise, especially when + my husband was in place; yet when I came into close contact with minds of + a higher order, I felt my own deficiencies. Lord Davenant’s superiority I + particularly perceived in the solidity of the ground he uniformly took and + held in reasoning. And when I, too confident, used to venture rashly, and + often found myself surrounded, and in imminent danger in argument, he used + to bring me off and ably cover my retreat, and looked so pleased, so + proud, when I made a happy hit, or jumped to a right conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “But what I most liked, most admired, in him was, that he never triumphed + or took unfair advantages on the strength of his learning, of his + acquirements, or of what I may call his logical training. + </p> + <p> + “I mention these seeming trifles because it is not always in the great + occasions of life that a generous disposition shows itself in the way + which we most feel. Little instances of generosity shown in this way, + unperceived by others, have gone most deeply into my mind; and have most + raised my opinion of his character. The sense that I was over rather than + under valued, made me the more ready to acknowledge and feel my own + deficiencies. I felt the truth of an aphorism of Lord Verulam’s, which is + now come down to the copy-books; that ‘knowledge is power.’ Having made + this notable discovery, I set about with all my might to acquire + knowledge. You may smile, and think that this was only in a new form the + passion for power; no, it was something better. Not to do myself + injustice, I now felt the pure desire of knowledge, and enjoyed the pure + pleasure of obtaining it; assisted, supported, and delighted, by the + sympathy of a superior mind. + </p> + <p> + “As to intellectual happiness, this was the happiest time of my life. As + if my eyes had been rubbed by your favourite dervise in the Arabian tales, + with this charmed ointment, which opened at once to view all the treasures + of the earth, I saw and craved the boundless treasures opened to my view. + I now wanted to read all that Lord Davenant was reading, that I might be + up to his ideas, but this was not to be done in an instant. There was a + Frenchwoman who complained that she never could learn any thing, because + she could not find anybody to teach her all she wanted to know in two + words. I was not quite so <i>exigeante</i> as this lady; but, after having + skated on easily and rapidly, far on the superficies of knowledge, it was + difficult and rather mortifying to have to go back and begin at the + beginning. Yet, when I wanted to go a little deeper, and really to + understand what I was about, this was essentially necessary. I could not + have got through without the assistance of one who showed me what I might + safely leave unlearned, and who pointed out what fruit was worth climbing + for, what would only turn to ashes. + </p> + <p> + “This happy time of my life too quickly passed away. It was interrupted, + however, not by any fault or folly of my own, but by an infliction from + the hand of Providence, to which I trust I submitted with resignation—we + lost our dear little boy; my second boy was born dead, and my confinement + was followed by long and severe illness. I was ordered to try the air of + Devonshire. + </p> + <p> + “One night—now, my dear, I have kept for the last the only romantic + incident in my life—one night, a vessel was wrecked upon our coast; + one of the passengers, a lady, an invalid, was brought to our house; I + hastened to her assistance—it was my beautiful rival! + </p> + <p> + “She was in a deep decline, and had been at Lisbon for some time, but she + was now sent home by the physicians, as they send people from one country + to another to die. The captain of the ship in which she was mistook the + lights upon the coast, and ran the ship ashore near to our house. + </p> + <p> + “Of course we did for her all we could, but she was dying: she knew + nothing of my history, and I trust I soothed her last moments—she + died in my arms. + </p> + <p> + “She had one child, a son, then at Eton: we sent for him; he arrived too + late; the feeling he showed interested us deeply; we kept him with us some + time; he was grateful; and afterwards as he grew up he often wrote to me. + His letters you have read.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beauclerc!” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beauclerc.—I had not seen him for some time, when General + Clarendon presented him to me as his ward at Florence, where I had + opportunities of essentially serving him. You may now understand, my dear, + why I had expected that Mr. Granville Beauclerc might have preferred + coming to Clarendon Park this last month of my stay in England to the + pleasures of London. I was angry, I own, but after five minutes’ grace I + cooled, saw that I must be mistaken, and came to the just conclusion of + the old poet, that no one sinks at once to the depth of ill, and + ingratitude I consider as the depth of ill. I opine, therefore, that some + stronger feeling than friendship now operates to detain Granville + Beauclerc. In that case I forgive him, but, for his own sake, and with + such a young man I should say for the sake of society—of the public + good—for he will end in public life, I hope the present object is + worthy of him, whoever she may be. + </p> + <p> + “Have I anything more to tell you? Yes, I should say that, when by changes + in the political world Lord Davenant was again in power, I had learned, if + not to be less ambitious, at least to show it less. D——, who + knew always how to put sense into my mind, so that I found it there, and + thought it completely my own, had once said that ‘every public man who has + a cultivated and high-minded wife, has in fact two selves, each holding + watch and ward for the other.’ The notion pleased me—pleased both my + fancy and my reason; I acted on it, and Lord Davenant assures me that I + have been this second self to him, and I am willing to believe it, first + because he is a man of strict truth, and secondly, because every woman is + willing to believe what she wishes.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant paused, and after some minutes of reflection said, “I + confess, however, that I have not reason to be quite satisfied with myself + as a mother; I did not attend sufficiently to Cecilia’s early education: + engrossed with politics, I left her too much to governesses, at one period + to a very bad one. I have done what I can to remedy this, and you have + done more perhaps; but I much fear that the early neglect can never be + completely repaired; she is, however, married to a man of sense, and when + I go to Russia I shall think with satisfaction that I leave you with her.” + </p> + <p> + After expressing how deeply she had been interested in all that she had + heard, and how grateful she felt for the confidence reposed in her, Helen + said she could not help wishing that Cecilia knew all that had been just + told her of Lady Davenant’s history. If Cecilia could but know all the + tenderness of her mother’s heart, how much less would she fear, how much + more would she love her! + </p> + <p> + “It would answer no purpose,” replied Lady Davenant; “there are persons + with intrinsic differences of character, who, explain as you will, can + never understand one another beyond a certain point. Nature and art forbid—no + spectacles you can furnish will remedy certain defects of vision. Cecilia + sees as much as she can ever see of my character, and I see, in the best + light, the whole of hers. So Helen, my dear, take the advice of a Scotch + proverb—proverbs are vulgar, because they usually contain common + sense—‘Let well alone.’” + </p> + <p> + “You are really a very good little friend,” added she, “but keep my + personal narrative for your own use.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + It was late before they reached home, and Helen dressed as fast as + possible, for the general’s punctual habits required that all should + assemble in the drawing-room five minutes at least before dinner. She was + coming down the private turret staircase, which led from the family + apartments to the great hall, when, just at the turn, and in the most + awkward way possible, she met a gentleman, a stranger, where never + stranger had been seen by her before, running up full speed, so that they + had but barely space and time to clear out of each other’s way. Pardons + were begged of course. The manner and voice of the stranger were + particularly gentlemanlike. A servant followed with his portmanteau, + inquiring into which room Mr. Beauclerc was to go? + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beauclerc!”—When Helen got to the drawing-room, and found that + not even the general was there, she thought she could have time to run up + the great staircase to Lady Davenant’s room, and tell her that Mr. + Beauclerc was come. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lady Davenant, Mr. Beauclerc!”—He was there! and she made + her retreat as quickly as possible. The quantity that had been said about + him, and the awkward way in which they had thus accidentally met, made her + feel much embarrassed when they were regularly introduced. + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of dinner, Helen fancied that there was unusual silence + and constraint; perhaps this might be so, or perhaps people were really + hungry, or perhaps Mr. Beauclerc had not yet satisfied the general and + Lady Davenant: however, towards the end of dinner, and at the dessert, he + was certainly entertaining; and Lady Cecilia appeared particularly amused + by an account which he was giving of a little French piece he had seen + just before he left London, called “Les Premieres Amours,” and Helen might + have been amused too, but that Lady Cecilia called upon her to listen, + and, Mr. Beauclerc turning his eyes upon her, she saw, or fancied that he + was put out in his story, and though he went on with perfect good + breeding, yet it was evidently with diminished spirit. As soon as + politeness permitted, at the close of the story, she, to relieve him and + herself, turned to the aide-de-camp on her other side, and devoted, or + seemed to devote, to him her exclusive attention. He was always tiresome + to her, but now more than ever; he went on, when once set a-going, about + his horses and his dogs, while she had the mortification of hearing almost + immediately after her seceding, that Mr. Beauclerc recovered the life and + spirit of his tone, and was in full and delightful enjoyment of + conversation with Lady Cecilia. Something very entertaining caught her ear + every now and then; but, with her eyes fixed in the necessary direction, + it was impossible to make it out, through the aid-de-camp’s never-ending + tediousness. She thought the sitting after dinner never would terminate, + though it was in fact rather shorter than usual. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they reached the drawing-room, Lady Cecilia asked her mother + what was the cause of Granville’s delay in town, and why he had come + to-day, after he had written it was impossible? + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant answered, that he had ‘trampled,’ as Lord Chatham did, ‘on + impossibilities.’ “It was not a physical impossibility, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure—I hope,” continued Cecilia, “that none of the Beltravers’ + set had any thing to do with his delay, yet from a word or two the general + let fall, I’m almost sure that they have—Lady Blanche, I’m afraid—.” + There she stopped. “If it were only a money difficulty with Lord + Beltravers,” resumed she, “that might be easily settled, for Beauclerc is + rich enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lady Davenant, “but rashly generous; an uncommon fault in + these days, when young men are in general selfishly prudent or selfishly + extravagant.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said Cecilia,—“I hope Lady Blanche Forrester will not—” + there she paused, and consulted her mother’s countenance; her mother + answered that Beauclerc had not spoken to her of Lady Blanche. After + putting her hopes and fears, questions and conjectures, into every + possible form and direction, Lady Cecilia was satisfied that her mother + knew no more than herself, and this was a great comfort. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Beauclerc reappeared, Helen was glad that she was settled at an + embroidery frame, at the furthest end of the room, as there, apart from + the world, she felt safe from all cause for embarrassment, and there she + continued happy till some one came to raise the light of the lamp over her + head. It was Mr. Beauclerc, and, as she looked up, she gave a foolish + little start of surprise, and then all her confusion returning, with + thanks scarce audible, her eyes were instantly fixed on the vine leaf she + was embroidering. He asked how she could by lamplight distinguish blue + from green? a simple and not very alarming question, but she did not hear + the words rightly, and thinking he asked whether she wished for a screen, + she answered “No, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia laughed, and covering Helen’s want of hearing by Beauclerc’s + want of sight, explained—“Do not you see, Granville, the silk-cards + are written upon, ‘blue’ and ‘green;’ there can be no mistake.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beauclerc made a few more laudable attempts at conversation with Miss + Stanley, but she, still imagining that this was forced, could not in + return say anything but what seemed forced and unnatural, and as unlike + her usual self as possible. Lady Cecilia tried to relieve her; she would + have done better to have let it alone, for Beauclerc was not of the French + wit’s opinion that, <i>La modestie n’est bonne qu’à quinze ans</i>, and to + him it appeared only a graceful timidity. Helen retired earlier than any + one else, and, when she thought over her foolish awkwardness, felt as much + ashamed as if Mr. Beauclerc had actually heard all that Lady Cecilia had + said about him—had seen all her thoughts, and understood the reason + of her confusion. At last, when Lady Cecilia came into her room before she + went to bed, she began with—“I am sure you are going to scold me, + and I deserve it, I am so provoked with myself, and the worst of it is, + that I do not think I shall ever get over it—I am afraid I shall be + just as foolish again tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I could find it in my heart to scold you to death,” said Lady Cecilia, + “but that I am vexed myself.” + </p> + <p> + Then hesitating, and studying Helen’s countenance, she seemed doubtful how + to proceed. Either she was playing with Helen’s curiosity, or she was + really herself perplexed. She made two or three beginnings, each a little + inconsistent with the other. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma is always right; with her—‘coming events’ really and truly + ‘cast their shadows before.’ I do believe she has the fatal gift, the + coming ill to know!” + </p> + <p> + “Ill!” said Helen; “what ill is coming?” + </p> + <p> + “After all, however, it may not be an ill,” said Lady Cecilia; “it may be + all for the best; yet I am shockingly disappointed, though I declare I + never formed any—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Cecilia, do tell me at once what it is you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, that Granville Beauclerc, like all men of genius, has acted like + the greatest fool.” + </p> + <p> + “What has he done?” + </p> + <p> + “He is absolutely—you must look upon him in future—as a + married man.” + </p> + <p> + Helen was delighted. Cecilia could form no farther schemes on her account, + and she felt relieved from all her awkwardness. + </p> + <p> + “Dearest Helen, this is well at all events,” cried Cecilia, seeing her + cleared countenance. “This comforts me; you are at ease; and, if I have + caused you one uncomfortable evening, I am sure you are consoled for it by + the reflection that my mother was right, and I, as usual, wrong. But, + Helen,” continued she earnestly, “remember that this is not to be known; + remember you must not breathe the least hint of what I have told you to + mamma or the general.” + </p> + <p> + Something more than astonishment appeared in Helen’s countenance. “And is + it possible that Mr. Beauclerc does not tell them,—does not trust + his guardian and such a friend as your mother?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “He will tell them, he will tell them—but not yet; perhaps not till—he + is not to see his fiancée—they have for some reason agreed to be + separated for some time—I do not know exactly, but surely every body + may choose their own opportunity for telling their own secrets. In fact, + Helen, the lady, I understand, made it a point with him that nothing + should be said of it yet—to any one.” + </p> + <p> + “But he told it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, he did not tell it; I found it out, and he could not deny it; + but he charged me to keep it secret, and I would not have told it to any + body living but yourself; and to you, after all I said about him, I felt + it was necessary—thought I was bound—in short, I thought it + would set things to rights, and put you at your ease at once.” + </p> + <p> + And then, with more earnestness, she again pressed upon Helen a promise of + secrecy, especially towards Lady Davenant. Helen submitted. Cecilia + embraced her affectionately, and left the room. Quite tired, and quite + happy, Helen was in bed and asleep in a few minutes. + </p> + <p> + Not the slightest suspicion crossed her mind that all her friend had been + telling her was not perfectly true. To a more practised, a less confiding, + person the perplexity of Lady Cecilia’s prefaces, and some contradictions + or inconsistencies, might have suggested doubts; but Helen’s general + confidence in her friend’s truth had never yet been seriously shaken. Lady + Davenant she had always thought prejudiced on this point, and too severe. + If there had been in early childhood a bad habit of inaccuracy in Cecilia, + Helen thought it long since cured; and so perhaps it was, till she formed + a friendship abroad with one who had no respect for truth. + </p> + <p> + But of this Helen knew nothing; and, in fact, till now Lady Cecilia’s + aberrations had been always trifling, almost imperceptible, errors, such + as only her mother’s strictness or Miss Clarendon’s scrupulosity could + detect. Nor would Cecilia have ventured upon a decided, an important, + false assertion, except for a kind purpose. Never in her life had she told + a falsehood to injure any human creature, or one that she could foresee + might, by any possibility do harm to any living being. But here was a + friend, a very dear friend, in an awkward embarrassment, and brought into + it by her means; and by a little innocent stretching of the truth she + could at once, she fancied, set all to rights. The moment the idea came + into her head, upon the spur of the occasion, she resolved to execute it + directly. It was settled between the drawing-room door and her + dressing-room. And when thus executed successfully, with happy sophistry + she justified it to herself. “After all,” said she to herself, “though it + was not absolutely true, it was <i>ben trovato</i>, it was as near the + truth, perhaps, as possible. Beauclerc’s best friends really feared that + he was falling in love with the lady in question. It was very likely, and + too likely, it might end in his marrying this Lady Blanche Forrester. And, + on every account, and every way, it was for the best that Helen should + consider him as a married man. This would restore Helen by one magical + stroke to herself, and release her from that wretched state in which she + could neither please nor be pleased.” And as far as this good effect upon + Helen was concerned, Lady Cecilia’s plan was judicious; it succeeded + admirably. + </p> + <p> + Wonderful! how a few words spoken, a single idea taken, out of or put into + the mind, can make such a difference, not only in the mental feelings, but + in the whole bodily appearance, and in the actual powers of perception and + use of our senses. + </p> + <p> + When Helen entered the breakfast-room the next morning, she looked, and + moved, and felt, quite a different creature from what she had been the + preceding day. She had recovered the use of her understanding, and she + could hear and see quite distinctly; and the first thing she saw was, that + nobody was thinking particularly about her; and now she for the first time + actually saw Mr. Beauclerc. She had before looked at him without seeing + him, and really did not know what sort of looking person he was, except + that he was like a gentleman; of that she had a sort of intuitive + perception;—as Cuvier could tell from the first sight of a single + bone what the animal was, what were its habits, and to what class it + belonged, so any person early used to good company can, by the first + gesture, the first general manner of being, passive or active, tell + whether a stranger, even scarcely seen, is or is not a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of breakfast, Mr. Beauclerc had all the perfect English + quiet of look and manners, with somewhat of a high-bred air of + indifference to all sublunary things, yet saying and doing whatever was + proper for the present company; yet it was done and said like one in a + dream, performed like a somnambulist, correctly from habit, but all + unconsciously. He awakened from his reverie the moment General Clarendon + came in, and he asked eagerly,— + </p> + <p> + “General! how far is it to Old Forest?” These were the first words which + he pronounced like one wide awake. “I must ride there this morning; it’s + absolutely necessary.” + </p> + <p> + The general replied that he did not see the necessity. + </p> + <p> + “But when I do, sir,” cried Beauclerc; the natural vivacity of the young + man breaking through the conventional manner. Next moment, with a humble + look, he hoped that the general would accompany him, and the look of proud + humility vanished from his countenance the next instant, because the + general demurred, and Beauclerc added, “Will not you oblige me so far? + Then I must go by myself.” + </p> + <p> + The general, seeming to go on with his own thoughts, and not to be moved + by his ward’s impatience, talked of a review that was to be put off, and + at length found that he could accompany him. Beauclerc then, delighted, + thanked him warmly. + </p> + <p> + “What is the object of this essential visit to Old Forest, may I ask?” + said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “To see a dilapidated house,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “To save a whole family from ruin,” cried Beauclerc; “to restore a man of + first-rate talents to his place in society.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “Why that contemptuous exclamation, my dear general?” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “I have told you, and again I tell you, the thing is impossible!” said the + general. + </p> + <p> + “So I hear you say, sir,” replied his ward; “but till I am convinced, I + hold to my project.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is your project, Granville?” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “I will explain it to you when we are alone,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, I was not aware that there was any mystery,” said Lady + Davenant. “No mystery,” said Beauclerc, “only about lending some money to + a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “To which I will not consent,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “Why not, sir?” said Beauclerc, throwing back his head with an air of + defiance in his countenance; there was as he looked at his guardian a + quick, mutable succession of feelings, in striking contrast with the + fixity of the general’s appearance. + </p> + <p> + “I have given you my reasons, Beauclerc,” said the general, “It is + unnecessary to repeat what I have said, you will do no good.” + </p> + <p> + “No good, general? When I tell you that if I lend Beltravers the money, to + put his place in repair, to put it in such a state that his sisters could + live in it, he would no longer be a banished man, a useless absentee, a + wanderer abroad, but he would come and settle at Old Forest, re-establish + the fortune and respectability of his family, and above all, save his own + character and happiness. Oh, my dear general!” + </p> + <p> + General Clarendon, evidently moved by his ward’s benevolent enthusiasm, + paused and said that there were many recollections which made it rather + painful to him to revisit Old Forest. Still he would do it for Beauclerc, + since nothing but seeing the place would convince him of the + impracticability of his scheme. “I have not been at Old Forest,” continued + the general, “since I was a boy—since it was deserted by the owners, + and sadly changed I shall find it. + </p> + <p> + “In former times these Forresters were a respectable, good old English + family, till the second wife, pretty and silly, took a fancy for figuring + in London, where of course she was nobody. Then, to make herself somebody, + she forced her husband to stand for the county. A contested election—bribery—a + petition—another election—ruinous expense. Then that + Beltravers title coming to them: and they were to live up to it,—and + beyond their income. The old story—over head and shoulders in debt. + Then the new story,—that they must go abroad for economy!” + </p> + <p> + “Economy! The cant of all those who have not courage to retrench at home,” + said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “They must,” they said, “live abroad, it is so cheap,” continued the + general. “So cheap to leave their house to go to ruin! Cheap education + too! and so good—and what does it come to?” + </p> + <p> + “A cheap provision it is for a family in many cases,” said Lord Davenant. + “Wife, son, and daughter, Satan, are thy own.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in this case,” cried Beauclerc; “you cannot mean I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “I can answer for one, the daughter at least,” said Lady Davenant; “that + Mad. de St. Cimon, whom we saw abroad, at Florence, you know, Cecilia, + with whom I would not let you form an acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “Your ladyship was quite right,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc could not say, “Quite wrong,”—and he looked—suffering. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of the son,” pursued Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Beauclerc, “he is my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought he had been a very distressed man, that young Beltravers,” said + the aid-de-camp. + </p> + <p> + “And if he were, that would not prevent my being his friend, sir,” said + Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the aid-de-camp, “I only asked.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a man of genius and feeling,” continued Beauclerc, turning to Lady + Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “But I never heard you mention Lord Beltravers before. How long has he + been your friend?” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc hesitated. The general without hesitation answered, “Three weeks + and one day.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not count my friendship by days or weeks,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear Beauclerc,” said the general: “well would it be for you if + you would condescend to any such common-sense measure.” He rose from the + breakfast-table as he spoke, and rang the bell to order the horses. + </p> + <p> + “You are prejudiced against Beltravers, general; but you will think better + of him, I am sure, when you know him.” + </p> + <p> + “You will think worse of him when you know him, I suspect,” replied the + general. + </p> + <p> + “Suspect! But since you only <i>suspect</i>,” said Beauclerc, “we English + do not condemn on suspicion, unheard, unseen.” + </p> + <p> + “Not unheard,” said the general, “I have heard enough of him.” + </p> + <p> + “From the reports of his enemies,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “I do not usually form my judgment,” replied the general, “from reports + either of friends or enemies; I have not the honour of knowing any of Lord + Beltravers’ enemies.” + </p> + <p> + “Enemies of Lord Beltravers!” exclaimed Lady Davenant. “What right as he + to enemies as if he were a great man?—a person of whom nobody ever + heard, setting up to have enemies! But now-a-days, these candidates for + fame, these would-be celebrated, set up their enemies as they would their + equipages, on credit—then, by an easy process of logic, make out the + syllogism thus:—Every great man has enemies, therefore, every man + who has enemies must be great—hey, Beauclerc?” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc vouchsafed only a faint, absent smile, and, turning to his + guardian, asked—“Since Lord Beltravers was not to be allowed the + honours of enemies, or the benefit of pleading prejudice, on what <i>did</i> + the general form his judgment?” + </p> + <p> + “From his own words.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay judgment, my dear general,” cried Beauclerc; “words repeated! by + whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Repeated by no one—heard from himself, by myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yourself! I was not aware you had ever met;—when? where?” Beauclerc + started forward on his chair, and listened eagerly for the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Pity!” said Lady Davenant, speaking to herself,—“pity! that ‘with + such quick affections kindling into flame,’ they should burn to waste.” + </p> + <p> + “When, where?” repeated Beauclerc, with his eyes fixed on his guardian, + and his soul in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Soberly and slowly his guardian answered, and categorically,—“When + did I meet Lord Beltravers? A short time before his father’s death.—Where? + At Lady Grace Bland’s.” + </p> + <p> + “At Lady Grace Bland’s!—where he could not possibly appear to + advantage! Well, go on, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “One moment—pardon me, Beauclerc; I have curiosity as well as + yourself. May I ask why Lord Beltravers could not possibly have appeared + to advantage at Lady Grace Bland’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I know he cannot endure her; I have heard him, speaking of her, + quote what Johnson or somebody says of Clariss—‘a prating, + preaching, frail creature.’” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said the general, “he said this of his own aunt!” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt! You cannot mean that Lady Grace is his aunt?” cried Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “She is his mother’s sister,” replied the general, “and therefore is, I + conceive, his aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so,” cried Beauclerc; “people must tell the truth sometimes, even + of their own relations; they must know it best, and therefore I conclude + that what Beltravers said of Lady Grace is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! well jumped to a conclusion, Granville, as usual,” said Lady + Davenant, “But go on, general, tell us what you have heard from this + precious lord; can you have better than what Beauclerc, his own witness, + gives in evidence?” + </p> + <p> + “Better I think, and in the same line,” said the general: “his lordship + has the merit of consistency. At table, servants of course present, and + myself a stranger, I heard Lord Beltravers begin by cursing England and + all that inhabit it. ‘But your country!’ remonstrated his aunt. He abjured + England; he had no country, he said, no liberal man ever has; he had no + relations—what nature gave him without his consent he had a right to + disclaim, I think he argued. But I can swear to these words, with which he + concluded—‘My father is an idiot, my mother a brute, and my sister + may go to the devil her own way.’” + </p> + <p> + “Such bad taste!” said the aid-de-camp. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant smiled at the unspeakable astonishment in Helen’s face. + “When you have lived one season in the world, my dear child, this power of + surprise will be worn out.” + </p> + <p> + “But even to those who have seen the world,” said the aide-de-camp, who + had seen the world, “as it strikes me, really it is such extraordinary bad + taste!” + </p> + <p> + “Such ordinary bad taste! as it strikes me,” said Lady Davenant; “base + imitation, and imitation is always a confession of poverty, a want of + original genius. But then there are degrees among the race of imitators. + Some choose their originals well, some come near them tolerably; but here, + all seems equally bad, clumsy, Birmingham counterfeit; don’t you think so, + Beauclerc? a counterfeit that falls and makes no noise. There is the worst + of it for your protégé, whose great ambition I am sure it is to make a + noise in the world. However, I may spare my remonstrances, for I am quite + aware that you would never let drop a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, never!” cried Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear Granville, do not take up this man, this Lord Beltravers, + for, depend upon it, he will never do. If he had made a bold stroke for a + reputation, like a great original, and sported some deed without a name, + to work upon the wonder-loving imagination of the credulous English + public, one might have thought something of him. But this cowardly, + negative sin, <i>not</i> honouring his father and mother! so commonplace, + too, neutral tint—no effect. Quite a failure, one cannot even stare, + and you know, Granville, the object of all these strange speeches is + merely to make fools stare. To be the wonder of the London world for a + single day, is the great ambition of these ephemeral fame-hunters ‘insects + that shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun.’” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc pushed away his tea-cup half across the table, exclaiming, “How + unjust! to class him among a tribe he detests and despises as much as you + can, Lady Davenant. And all for that one unfortunate speech—Not + quite fair, general, not quite philosophical, Lady Davenant, to decide on + a man’s character from the specimen of a single speech: this is like + judging of a house from the sample of a single brick. All this time I know + how Beltravers came to make that speech—I know how it was, as well + as if I had been present—better!” + </p> + <p> + “Better!” cried Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen may laugh,” resumed Beauclerc, “but I seriously + maintain—better!” + </p> + <p> + “How better than the general, who was present, and heard and saw the + whole?” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, better, for he saw only effects, and I know causes; and I appeal to + Lady Davenant,—from Lady Davenant sarcastic to Lady Davenant + philosophic I appeal—may not the man who discovers causes, say he + knows more than he who merely sees effects?” + </p> + <p> + “He may say he knows more, at all events,” replied Lady Davenant; “but now + for the discovery of causes, metaphysical sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done,” cried the general, turning to leave the breakfast-room; + “when Beauclerc goes to metaphysics I give it up.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, do not give it up, my dear general,” cried Lady Cecilia; “do not + stir till we have heard what will come next, for I am sure it will be + something delightfully absurd.” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc bowed, and feared he should not justify her ladyship’s good + opinion, for he had nothing delightfully absurd to say, adding that the + cause of his friend’s appearing like a brute was, that he feared to be a + hypocrite among hypocrites. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Beltravers was in company with a set who were striving, with all + their might of dissimulation, to appear better than they are, and he, as + he always does, strove to make himself appear worse than he really is.” + </p> + <p> + “Unnecessary, I should think,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, I should think,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible I know it is to change your opinion, general, of any one,” + said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “For my own part, I am glad of that,” said Lady Cecilia, rising; “and I + advise you, Granville, to rest content with the general’s opinion of + yourself, and say no more.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Beauclerc; “one cannot be content to think only of one’s-self + always.” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, say no more,” repeated Lady Cecilia, smiling as she looked + back from the door, where she had stopped the general. “For my sake say no + more, I entreat, I do dislike to hear so much said about anything or + anybody. What sort of a road is it to Old Forest?” continued she; “why + should not we ladies go with you, my dear Clarendon, to enliven the way.” + </p> + <p> + Clarendon’s countenance brightened at this proposal. The road was + certainly beautiful, he said, by the banks of the Thames. Lady Cecilia and + the general left the room, but Beauclerc remained sitting at the + breakfast-table, apparently intently occupied in forming a tripod of three + tea-spoons; Lady Davenant opposite to him, looking at him earnestly, + “Granville!” said she. He started, “Granville! set my mind at ease by one + word, tell me the <i>mot d’énigme</i> of this sudden friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “Not what you suppose,” said he steadily, yet colouring deeply. “The fact + is, that Beltravers and I were school-fellows; a generous little fellow he + was as ever was born; he got me out of a sad scrape once at his own + expense, and I can never forget it. We had never met since we left Eton, + till about three weeks ago in town, when I found him in great + difficulties, persecuted too, by a party—I could not turn my back on + him—I would rather be shot!” + </p> + <p> + “No immediate necessity for being shot, my dear Granville, I hope,” said + Lady Davenant. “But if this be indeed <i>all</i>, I will never say another + word against your Lord Beltravers; I will leave it to you to find out his + character, or to time to show it. I shall be quite satisfied that you + throw away your money, if it be only money that is in the question; be + this Lord Beltravers what he may. Let him say, ‘or let them do, it is all + one to me,’ provided that he does not marry you to his sister.” + </p> + <p> + “He has not a thought of it,” cried Beauclerc; “and if he had, do you + conceive, Lady Davenant, that any man on earth could dispose of me in + marriage, at his pleasure?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Be assured not; my own will, my own heart alone, must decide that + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “The horses are at the door!” cried Cecilia, as she entered; but “where’s + Helen?” + </p> + <p> + Helen had made her escape out of the room when Lady Davenant had + pronounced the words, “Set my mind at rest, Granville,” as she felt it + must then be embarrassing to him to speak, and to herself to hear. Her + retreat, had not, however, been effected with considerable loss, she had + been compelled to leave a large piece of the crape-trimming of her gown + under the foot of Lady Davenant’s inexorable chair. + </p> + <p> + “Here is something that belongs to Miss Stanley, if I mistake not,” said + the general, who first spied the fragment. The aid-de-camp stooped for it—Lady + Cecilia pitied it—Lady Davenant pronounced it to be Helen’s own + fault—Beauclerc understood how it happened, and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “But, Helen,” cried Lady Cecilia, as she re-appeared,—“but, Helen, + are you not coming with us?” + </p> + <p> + Helen had intended to have gone in the pony-carriage with Lady Davenant, + but her ladyship now declared that she had business to do at home; it was + settled therefore that Helen was to be of the riding party, and that party + consisted of Lady Cecilia and the general, Beauclerc and herself. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + It was a delightful day, sun shining, not too hot, air balmy, birds + singing, all nature gay; and the happy influence was quickly felt by the + riding party. Unpleasant thoughts of the past or future, if any such had + been, were now lost in present enjoyment. The general, twice a man on + horseback, as he always felt himself, managed his own and Helen’s horse to + admiration, and Cecilia, riding on with Beauclerc, was well pleased to + hear his first observation, that he had been quite wrong last night, in + not acknowledging that Miss Stanley was beautiful. “People look so + different by daylight and by candlelight,” said he; “and so different when + one does not know them at all, and when one begins to know something of + them.” + </p> + <p> + “But what can you know yet of Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “One forms some idea of character from trifles light as air. How + delightful this day is!” + </p> + <p> + “And now you really allow she may be called beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is, with some expression of mind, heart, soul, which is what I + look for in general,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “In general, what can you mean by in general?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in particular; in particular cases I might think—I—I + might feel—otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “In particular, then, do you like fools that have no mind, heart, or soul, + Granville?—Answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” said he, “that horse is too spirited for a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for me,” said Lady Cecilia; “but do not think you shall get off so; + what did you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “My meaning lies too deep for the present occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “For the present company—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc half smiled and answered—“You know you used to tell me + that you hated long discussions on words and nice distinctions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, but let me have the nice distinction now.” + </p> + <p> + “Between love and friendship, then, there is a vast difference in what one + wishes for in a woman’s face; there are, ‘faces which pale passion + loves.’” + </p> + <p> + “To the right, turn,” the general’s voice far behind was heard to say. + </p> + <p> + To the right they turned, into a glade of the park, which opened to a + favourite view of the general’s, to which Cecilia knew that all attention + must be paid. He came up, and they proceeded through a wood which had been + planted by his father, and which seemed destined to stand for ever secure + from sacrilegious axe. The road led them next into a village, one of the + prettiest of that sort of scattered English villages, where each + habitation seems to have been suited to the fancy as well as to the + convenience of each proprietor; giving an idea at once of comfort and + liberty, such as can be seen only in England. Happy England, how blest, + would she but know her bliss! + </p> + <p> + This village was inhabited by the general’s tenants. His countenance + brightened and expanded, as did theirs, whenever he came amongst them; he + saw them happy, and they knew that they owed their happiness in just + proportion to their landlord and themselves; therefore there was a + comfortable mixture in their feelings of gratitude and self-respect. Some + old people who were sitting on the stone benches, sunning themselves at + their doors, rose as he passed, cap in hand, with cordial greeting. The + oldest man, the father of the village, forgot his crutch as he came + forward to see his landlord’s bride, and to give him joy. At every house + where they stopped, out came husband, wife, and children, even “wee + toddling things;” one of these, while the general was speaking to its + mother, made its way frightfully close to his horse’s heels: Helen saw it, + and called to the mother. The general, turning and leaning back on his + horse, said to the bold little urchin as the mother snatched him up, “My + boy, as long as you live never again go behind a horse’s heels.” + </p> + <p> + “And remember, it was general Clarendon gave you this advice,” added + Beauclerc, and turning to Lady Cecilia—“‘<i>Et souvenez vous que + c’est Maréchal Turenne qui vous l’a dit</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + While the general searched for that English memento, six-pence, Lady + Cecilia repeated, “Marshal Turenne! I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you recollect,” said Helen, “you do.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say I know, but I don’t remember,” said Cecilia. “It was only,” + said Helen, “that the same thing had happened to Marshal Turenne, that he + gave the same advice to a little child.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia said she owed Beauclerc an acknowledgment down to her + saddle-bow, for the compliment to her general, and a bow at least as low + to Helen, for making her comprehend it; and, having paid both debts with + graceful promptitude, she observed, in an aside to Beauclerc, that she + quite agreed with him, that “In friendship it was good not to have to do + with fools.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. + </p> + <p> + “It is always permitted,” continued Cecilia, “to woman to use her + intellects so far as to comprehend what man says; her knowledge, of + whatever sort, never comes amiss when it serves only to illustrate what is + said by one of the lords of the creation. Let us note this, my dear Helen, + as a general maxim, for future use, and pray, since you have so good a + memory, remember to tell mamma, who says I never generalise, that this + morning I have actually made and established a philosophical maxim, one + that may be of some use too, which cannot be said of all reflections, + general or particular.” + </p> + <p> + They rode on through a lane bright and fragrant with primroses and + violets; gradually winding, this lane opened at last upon the beautiful + banks of the Thames, whose “silver bosom” appeared at once before them in + the bright sunshine, silent, flowing on, seeming, as Beauclerc said, as if + it would for ever flow on unaltered in full, broad, placid dignity. + “Here,” he exclaimed, as they paused to contemplate the view, “the throng + of commerce, the ponderous barge, the black steam-boat, the hum and din of + business, never have violated the mighty current. No lofty bridge + insultingly over-arches it, no stone-built wharf confines it; nothing but + its own banks, coeval with itself and like itself, uncontaminated by the + petty uses of mankind!—they spread into large parks, or are hung + with thick woods, as nature wills. No citizen’s box, no chimera villa + destroys the idea of repose; but nature, uninterrupted, carries on her own + operations in field, and flood, and tree.” + </p> + <p> + The general, less poetically inclined, would name to Helen all the fine + places within view—“Residences,” as he practically remarked, “such + as cannot be seen in any country in the world but England; and not only + fine places such as these, but from the cottage to the palace—‘the + homes of Old England’ are the best homes upon earth.” + </p> + <p> + “The most candid and sensible of all modern French travellers,” said + Beauclerc, “was particularly struck with the superiority of our English + country residences, and the comfort of our homes.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean M. de Staël?” said the general; “true English sense in that + book, I allow.” + </p> + <p> + When the general and Beauclerc did agree in opinion about a book, which + was not a circumstance of frequent occurrence, they were mutually + delighted; one always feeling the value of the other’s practical sense, + and the other then acknowledging that literature is good for something. + Beauclerc in the fulness of his heart, and abundance of his words, began + to expatiate on M. de Staël’s merits, in having better than any foreigner + understood the actual workings and balances of the British constitution, + that constitution so much talked of abroad, and so little understood. + </p> + <p> + “So little understood any where,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + Reasonably as Beauclerc now spoke, Helen formed a new idea of his + capacity, and began to think more respectfully even of his common sense, + than when she had heard him in the Beltravers cause. He spoke of the + causes of England’s prosperity, the means by which she maintains her + superiority among nations—her equal laws and their just + administration. He observed, that the hope which every man born in + England, even in the lowest station, may have of rising by his own merits + to the highest eminence, forms the great spring of industry and talent. He + agreed with the intelligent foreigner’s observation, that the aristocracy + of talent is superior in England to the aristocracy of birth. + </p> + <p> + The general seemed to demur at the word superior, drew himself up, but + said nothing in contradiction. + </p> + <p> + “Industry, and wealth, and education, and fashion, all emulous, act in + England beneficially on each other,” continued Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + The general sat at ease again. + </p> + <p> + “And above all,” pursued Beauclerc,—“above all, education and the + diffusion of knowledge——” + </p> + <p> + “Knowledge—yes, but take care of what kind,” said his guardian. “All + kinds are good,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “No, only such as are safe,” said the general. The march of intellect was + not a favourite march with him, unless the step were perfectly kept, and + all in good time. + </p> + <p> + But now, on passing a projecting bend in the wood, they came within sight + of a place in melancholy contrast to all they had just admired. A park of + considerable extent, absolutely bereft of trees, except a few ragged firs + on each side of a large dilapidated mansion, on the summit of a bleak + hill: it seemed as if a great wood had once been there. + </p> + <p> + “Old Forest!” exclaimed the general; “Old Forest, now no more! Many a + happy hour, when I was a boy, have I spent shooting in those woods,” and + he pointed to where innumerable stumps of trees, far as the eye could + reach, marked where the forest had once stood: some of the white circles + on the ground showed the magnificent size of those newly felled. Beauclerc + was quite silent. + </p> + <p> + The general led the way on to the great gate of entrance: the porter’s + lodge was in ruins. + </p> + <p> + A huge rusty padlock hung upon one of the gates, which had been dragged + half open, but, the hinge having sunk, there it stuck—the gate could + not be opened further. The other could not be stirred without imminent + hazard of bringing down the pier on which it hung, and which was so crazy, + the groom said, “he was afraid, if he shook it never so little, all would + come down together.” + </p> + <p> + “Let it alone,” said the general, in the tone of one resolved to be + patient; “there is room enough for us to get in one by one—Miss + Stanley, do not be in a hurry, if you please; follow me quietly.” + </p> + <p> + In they filed. The avenue, overgrown with grass, would have been difficult + to find, but for deep old cart-ruts which still marked the way. But soon, + fallen trees, and lopped branches, dragged many a rood and then left + there, made it difficult to pass. And there lay exposed the white bodies + of many a noble tree, some wholly, some half, stripped of their bark, some + green in decay, left to the weather—and every here and there little + smoking pyramids of burning charcoal. + </p> + <p> + As they approached the house—“How changed,” said the general, “from + that once cheerful hospitable mansion!”—It was a melancholy example + of a deserted home: the plaster dropping off, the cut stone green, the + windows broken, the shutters half shut, the way to the hall-door steps + blocked up. They were forced to go round through the yards. Coach-houses + and stables, grand ranges, now all dilapidated. Only one yelping cur in + the great kennel. The back-door being ajar, the general pushed it open, + and they went in, and on to the great kitchen, where they found in the + midst of wood smoke one little old woman, whom they nearly scared out of + her remaining senses. She stood and stared. Beauclerc stepped towards her + to explain; but she was deaf: he raised his voice—in vain. She was + made to comprehend by the general, whose voice, known in former times, + reached her heart—“that they only came to see the place.” + </p> + <p> + “See the place! ah! a sad sight to see.” Her eyes reverted to Beauclerc, + and, conceiving that he was the young lord himself, she waxed pale, and + her head shook fearfully; but, when relieved from this mistake, she went + forward to show them over the house. + </p> + <p> + As they proceeded up the great staircase, she confided to her friend, the + general, that she was glad it was not the young lord, for she was told he + was a fiery man, and she dreaded his coming unawares. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia asked if she did not know him? + </p> + <p> + No, she had never seen him since he was a little fellow: “he has been + always roaming about, like the rest, in foreign parts, and has never set + foot in the place since he came to man’s estate.” + </p> + <p> + As the general passed a window on the landing-place, he looked out.—“You + are missing the great elm, Sir. Ah! I remember you here, a boy; you was + always good. It was the young lord ordered specially the cutting of that, + which I could not stomach; the last of the real old trees! Well, well! I’m + old and foolish—I’m old and foolish, and I should not talk.” + </p> + <p> + But still she talked on, and as this seemed her only comfort, they would + not check her garrulity. In the hope that they were come to take the + house, she now bustled as well as she could, to show all to the best + advantage, but bad was the best now, as she sorrowfully said. She was very + unwilling that the gentlemen should go up to inspect the roof. They went, + however; and the general saw and estimated, and Beauclerc saw and hoped. + </p> + <p> + The general, recollecting the geography of the house, observed that she + had not shown them what used to be the picture-gallery, which looked out + on the terrace; he desired to see it. She reluctantly obeyed; and, after + trying sundry impossible keys, repeating all the while that her heart was + broke, that she wished it had pleased God never to give her a heart, + unlock the door she could not in her trepidation. Beauclerc gently took + the keys from her, and looked so compassionately upon her, that she + God-blessed him, and thought it a pity her young lord was not like him; + and while he dealt with the lock, Lady Cecilia, saying they would trouble + her no further, slipped into her hand what she thought would be some + comfort. The poor old creature thanked her ladyship, but said gold could + be of no use to her now in life; she should soon let the parish bury her, + and be no cost to the young lord. She could forgive many things, she said, + but she could never forgive him for parting with the old pictures. She + turned away as the gallery-door opened. + </p> + <p> + One only old daub of a grandmother was there; all the rest had been sold, + and their vacant places remained discoloured on the walls. There were two + or three dismembered old chairs, the richly dight windows broken, the + floor rat-eaten. The general stood and looked, and did not sigh, but + absolutely groaned. They went to the shattered glass door, which looked + out upon the terrace—that terrace which had cost thousands of pounds + to raise, and he called Cecilia to show her the place where the youngsters + used to play, and to point out some of his favourite haunts. + </p> + <p> + “It is most melancholy to see a family-place so gone to ruin,” said + Beauclerc; “if it strikes us so much, what must it be to the son of this + family, to come back to the house of his ancestors, and find it thus + desolate! Poor Beltravers!” + </p> + <p> + The expression of the general’s eye changed. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you must pity him, my dear general,” continued Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “I might, had he done any thing to prevent, or had he done less to hasten, + this ruin.” + </p> + <p> + “How? he should not have cut down the trees, do you mean?—but it was + to pay his father’s debts——” + </p> + <p> + “And his own,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “He told me his father’s, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And I tell you his own.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so,” said Beauclerc, “debts are not crimes for which we ought to + shut the gates of mercy on our fellow-creatures—and so young a man + as Beltravers, left to himself, without a home, his family abroad, no + parent, no friend—no guardian friend.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is it you would do, Beauclerc?” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “What you must wish to be done,” said Beauclerc. “Repair this ruin, + restore this once hospitable mansion, and put it in the power of the son + to be what his ancestors have been.” + </p> + <p> + “But how—my dear Beauclerc? Tell me plainly—how?” + </p> + <p> + “Plainly, I would lend him money enough to make this house fit to live + in.” + </p> + <p> + “And he would never repay you, and would never live in it.” + </p> + <p> + “He would, sir—he promised me he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Promised you!” + </p> + <p> + “And I promised him that I would lend him the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Promised! Beauclerc? Without your guardian’s knowledge? Pray, how much—” + </p> + <p> + “Confound me, if I remember the words. The sense was, what would do the + business; what would make the house fit for him and his sisters to live + in.” + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand!—fifteen thousand would not do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir. You know what will be necessary better than I do. A few + thousands more or less, what signifies, provided a friend be well served. + The superfluous money accumulated during my long minority cannot be better + employed.” + </p> + <p> + “All that I have been saving for you with such care from the time your + father died!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear guardian, my dear friend, do not think me ungrateful; but the + fact is,—in short, my happiness does not depend, never can depend, + upon money; as my friend, therefore, I beseech you to consider my moneyed + interest less, and my happiness more.” + </p> + <p> + “Beauclerc, you do not know what your happiness is. One hour you tell me + it is one thing, the next another. What is become of the plan for the new + house you wanted to build for yourself? I must have common sense for you, + Beauclerc, as you have none for yourself. I shall not give you this money + for Lord Beltravers.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget sir, that I told you I had promised.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget, Beauclerc, that I told you that such a promise, vague and + absurd in itself, made without your guardian’s concurrence or consent, is + absolutely null and void.” + </p> + <p> + “Null and void in law, perhaps it may be,” cried Beauclerc; “but for that + very reason, in honour, the stronger the more binding, and I am speaking + to a man of honour.” + </p> + <p> + “To one who can take care of his own honour,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “And of mine, I trust.” + </p> + <p> + “You do well to trust it, as your father did, to me: it shall not be + implicated—” + </p> + <p> + “When once I am of age,” interrupted Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “You will do as you please,” said the general. “In the mean time I shall + do my duty.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, I only ask you to let me <i>lend</i> this money.” + </p> + <p> + “Lend—nonsense! lend to a man who cannot give any security.” + </p> + <p> + “Security!” said Beauclerc, with a look of unutterable contempt. “When a + friend is in distress, to talk to him like an attorney, of security! Do, + pray, sir, spare me that. I would rather give the money at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I make no doubt of it; then at once I say No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir! and why do you say no?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I think it my duty, and nothing I have heard has at all shaken my + opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Opinion! and so I am to be put down by opinion, without any reason!” + cried Beauclerc. Then trying to command his temper, “But tell me, my dear + general, why I cannot have this cursed money?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, my dear Beauclerc, I am your guardian, and can say <i>no</i>, + and can adhere to a refusal as firmly as any man living, when it is + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and when it is unnecessary. General Clarendon, according to your own + estimate, fifteen thousand pounds is the utmost sum requisite to put this + house in a habitable state—by that sum I abide!” + </p> + <p> + “Abide!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I require it, to keep my promise to Beltraver’s, and have it I + MUST.” + </p> + <p> + “Not from me.” + </p> + <p> + “From some one else then, for have it I WILL. + </p> + <p> + “Dearest Clarendon,” whispered Lady Cecilia, “let him have it, since he + has promised——” + </p> + <p> + Without seeming to hear her whisper, without a muscle of his countenance + altering, General Clarendon repeated, “Not from me.” + </p> + <p> + “From some one else then—I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Not while I have power to prevent.” + </p> + <p> + “Power! power! power! Yes, that is what you love, above all things and all + persons, and I tell you plainly, General Clarendon,” pursued Beauclerc, + too angry to heed or see Lady Cecilia’s remonstrating looks, “at once I + tell you that you have not the power. You had it. It is past and gone. The + power of affection you had, if not of reason; but force, General + Clarendon, despotism, can never govern me. I submit to no man’s mere will, + much less to any man’s sheer obstinacy.” + </p> + <p> + At the word obstinacy, the general’s face, which was before rigid, grew + hard as iron. Beauclerc walked up and down the room with great strides, + and as he strode he went on talking to himself. + </p> + <p> + “To be kept from the use of my own money, treated like a child—an + idiot—at my time of life! Not considered at years of discretion, + when other men of the meanest capacity, by the law of the land, can do + what they please with their own property! By heavens!—that will of + my father’s——” + </p> + <p> + “Should be respected, my dear Granville, since it was your father’s will,” + said Lady Cecilia, joining him as he walked. “And respect——” + He stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lady Cecilia, for your sake——” he tried to restrain + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Till this moment never did I say one disrespectful word to General + Clarendon. I always considered him as the representative of my father; and + when most galled I have borne the chains in which it was my father’s + pleasure to leave me. Few men of my age would have so submitted to a + guardian not many years older than himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and indeed that should be considered,” said Lady Cecilia, turning to + the general. + </p> + <p> + “I have always considered General Clarendon more as my friend than my + guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “And have found him so, I had hoped,” said the general, relaxing in tone + but not in looks. + </p> + <p> + “I have never treated you, sir, as some wards treat their guardians. I + have dealt openly, as man of honour to man of honour, gentleman to + gentleman, friend to friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Acknowledged, and felt by me, Beauclerc.” + </p> + <p> + “Then now, my dear Clarendon, grant the only request of any consequence I + ever made you—say yes.” Beauclerc trembled with impatience. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the general, “I have said it—No.” + </p> + <p> + The gallery rung with the sound. + </p> + <p> + “No!” repeated Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + Each walked separately up and down the room, speaking without listening to + what the other said. Helen heard an offer from Beauclerc, to which she + extremely wished that the general had listened. But he was deaf with + determination not to yield to any thing Beauclerc could say further: the + noise of passion in their ears was too great for either of them to hear + the other. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly turning, Beauclerc exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “Borne with me, do you say? ‘Tis I that have to bear—and by + heavens!” cried he, “more than I can—than I will—bear. Before + to-morrow’s sun goes down I will have the money.” + </p> + <p> + “From whom?” + </p> + <p> + “From any money-lending Jew—usurer—extortioner—cheat—rascal—whatever + he be. You drive me to it—you—you my friend—you, with + whom I have dealt so openly; and to the last it shall be open. To no vile + indirections will I stoop. I tell you, my guardian, that if you deny me my + own, I will have what I want from the Jews.” + </p> + <p> + “Easily,” said his guardian. “But first, recollect that a clause in your + father’s will, in such case, sends his estates to your cousin Venables.” + </p> + <p> + “To my cousin Venables let them go—all—all; if such be your + pleasure, sir, be it so. The lowest man on earth that has feeling keeps + his promise. The slave has a right to his word! Ruin me if you will, and + as soon as you please; disgrace me you cannot; bend my spirit you cannot; + ruin in any shape I will meet, rather than submit to such a guardian, such + a——” + </p> + <p> + Tyrant he was on the point of saying, but Lady Cecilia stopped that word + by suddenly seizing upon his arm: forcibly she carried him off, saying + “Come out with me on the terrace, Granville, and recover your senses.” + </p> + <p> + “My senses! I have never lost them; never was cooler in my life,” said he, + kicking open the glass door upon its first resistance, and shattering its + remaining panes to fragments. Unnoticing, not hearing the crash, the + general stood leaning his elbow on the mantel-piece, and covering his eyes + with his hand. Helen remained near him, scarce breathing loud enough to be + heard; he did not know she was there, and he repeated aloud, in an accent + of deep feeling, “Tyrant! from Beauclerc!” + </p> + <p> + A sigh from Helen made him aware of her presence, and, as he removed his + hand from his eyes, she saw his look was more in sorrow than in anger: she + said softly, “Mr. Beauclerc was wrong, very wrong, but he was in a + passion, he did not know what he meant.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a few moments. “You are right, I believe,” said the + general, “it was heat of anger——” + </p> + <p> + “To which the best are subject,” said Helen, “and the best and kindest + most easily forgive.” + </p> + <p> + “But Beauclerc said some things which were——” + </p> + <p> + “Unpardonable—only forget them; let all be forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the general, “all but my determination; that, observe, is + fixed. My mind, Miss Stanley, is made up, and, once made up, it is not to + be changed.” + </p> + <p> + “I am certain of that,” said Helen, “but I am not clear that your mind is + made up.” + </p> + <p> + The general looked at her with astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Your refusal is not irrevocable.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know me, Miss Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Better than I know myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, better, if you do yourself the injustice to think that you would not + yield, if it were right to do so. At this very instant,” pursued Helen, + disregarding his increasing astonishment, “you would yield if you could + reasonably, honourably—would not you? If you could without injury to + your ward’s fortune or character, would you not? Surely it is for his good + only that you are so resolute?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” He waited with eyes fixed, bending forward, but with + intensity of purpose in his calmness of attention. + </p> + <p> + “There was something which I heard Mr. Beauclerc say, which, I think, + escaped your attention,” said Helen. “When you spoke of the new house he + intended to build for himself, which was to cost so much, he offered to + give that up.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard that offer.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard him,” said Helen, “I assure you: it was when you were both + walking up and down the room.” + </p> + <p> + “This may be so, I was angry <i>then</i>,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “But you are not angry now,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + He smiled, and in truth he desired nothing more than an honourable + loophole—a safe way of coming off without injury to his ward—without + hurting his own pride, or derogating from the dignity of guardian. Helen + saw this, and, thanking him for his condescension, his kindness, in + listening to her, she hastened as quickly as possible, lest the relenting + moment might not be seized; and running out on the terrace, she saw + Beauclerc, his head down upon his arms, leaning upon an old broken stone + lion, and Lady Cecilia standing beside him, commiserating; and as she + approached, she heard her persuading him to go to the general, and speak + to him again, and say <i>so</i>—only say so. + </p> + <p> + Whatever it was, Helen did not stay to inquire, but told Cecilia, in as + few words as she could, all that she had to say; and ended with “Was I + right?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, was not she, Granville?” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc looked up—a gleam of hope and joy came across his face, + and, with one grateful look to Helen, he darted forward. They followed, + but could not keep pace with him; and when they reached the gallery, they + found him appealing, as to a father, for pardon. + </p> + <p> + “Can you forgive, and will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive my not hearing you, not listening to you, as your father would? + My dear Beauclerc, you were too hot, and I was too cold; and there is an + end of it.” This reconciliation was as quick, as warm, as the quarrel had + been. And then explanations were made, as satisfactorily as they are when + the parties are of good understanding, and depend on each other’s truth, + past, present, and future. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, whose promise all relied on, and for reasons good, none more + implicitly than the general, promised that he would ask for no more than + just what would do to put this Old Forest house in habitable trim; he said + he would give up the new house for himself, till as many thousands as he + now lent, spent, or wasted—take which word you will—should be + again accumulated from his income. It was merely a sacrifice of his own + vanity, and perhaps a little of his own comfort, he said, to save a + friend, a human being, from destruction. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, let it rest so.” + </p> + <p> + It was all settled, witness present—“two angels to witness,” as + Beauclerc quoted from some old play. + </p> + <p> + And now in high good-humour, up again to nonsense pitch, they all felt + that delightful relief of spirits, of which friends, after perilous + quarrel, are sensible in perfect reconciliation. They left this melancholy + mansion now, with Beauclerc the happiest of the happy, in the generous + hope that he should be the restorer of its ancient glories and comfort. + The poor old woman was not forgotten as they passed, she courtesying, + hoping, and fearing: Lady Cecilia whispered, and the deaf ear heard. + </p> + <p> + “The roof will not fall—all will be well: and there is the man that + will do it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, my heart inclined to him from the first—at least from + the minute I knew him not to be my young lord.” + </p> + <p> + They were to go home by water. The boat was in readiness, and, as + Beauclerc carefully handed Helen into it, the general said:—“Yes, + you are right to take care of Miss Stanley, Beauclerc; she is a good + friend in need, at least, as I have found this morning,” added he, as he + seated himself beside her. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was charming, and every thing was delightful, especially the + cold chicken. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + No two people could be more unlike in their habits of mind than this + guardian and ward. General Clarendon referred in all cases to old + experience, and dreaded innovation; Beauclerc took for his motto, “My mind + leadeth me to new things.” General Clarendon was what is commonly called a + practical man; Granville Beauclerc was the flower of theorists. The + general, fit for action, prompt and decided in all his judgments, was + usually right and just in his conclusions—but if wrong, there was no + setting him right; for he not only would not, but could not go back over + the ground—he could not give in words any explanation of his process + of reasoning—it was enough for him that it was right, and that it + was <i>his</i>; while Beauclerc, who cared not for any man’s opinion, was + always so ingeniously wrong, and could show all the steps of his reasoning + so plausibly, that it was a pity he should be quite out of the right road + at last. The general hated metaphysics, because he considered them as + taking a flight beyond the reach of discipline, as well as of common + sense: he continually asked, of what use are they?—While Lady + Davenant answered,— + </p> + <p> + “To invigorate and embellish the understanding. ‘This turning the soul + inward on itself concentrates its forces, and fits it for the strongest + and boldest flights; and in such pursuits, whether we take or whether we + lose the game, the chase is certainly of service.’” + </p> + <p> + Possibly, the general said; he would not dispute the point with Lady + Davenant, but a losing chase, however invigorating, was one in which he + never wished to engage: as to the rest, he altogether hated discussions, + doubts, and questionings. He had “made up his fagot of opinions,” and + would not let one be drawn out for examination, lest he should loosen the + bundle. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, on the contrary, had his dragged out and scattered about every + day, and each particular stick was tried, and bent, and twisted, this way + and that, and peeled, and cut, and hacked; and unless they proved sound to + the very core, not a twig of them should ever go back into his bundle, + which was to be the bundle of bundles, the best that ever was seen, when + once tied so that it would hold together—of which there seemed + little likelihood, as every knot slipped, and all fell to pieces at each + pull. + </p> + <p> + While he was engaged in this analysis, he was, as his guardian thought, in + great moral peril, for not a principle had he left to bless himself with; + and, in any emergency, if any temptation should occur, what was to become + of him? The general, who was very fond of him, but also strongly attached + to his own undeviating rule of right, was upon one occasion about + peremptorily to interpose, not only with remonstrances as a friend, but + with authority as a guardian. + </p> + <p> + This occurred when Beauclerc was with them at Florence, and when the + general’s love for Lady Cecilia, and intimacy with her mother, commenced. + Lady Davenant being much interested for young Beauclerc, begged that the + patient might be left to her, and that his guardian would refrain from + interference. This was agreed to the more readily by the general, as his + thoughts and feelings were then more agreeably engrossed, and Beauclerc + found in Lady Davenant the very friend he wanted and wished for most + ardently—one whose mind would not blench at any moral danger, would + never shrink from truth in any shape, but, calm and self-possessed, would + examine whether it were indeed truth, or only a phantom assuming her form. + Besides, there was in Lady Davenant towards Beauclerc a sort of maternal + solicitude and kindness, of which the effect was heightened by her + dignified manner and pride of character. She, in the first place, listened + to him patiently; she, who could talk, would listen: this was, as she + said, her first merit in his estimation. To her he poured forth all those + doubts, of which she was wise enough not to make crimes: she was sure of + his honourable intentions, certain that there was no underhand motive, no + bad passion, no concealed vice, or disposition to vice, beneath his + boasted freedom from prejudice, to be justified or to be indulged by + getting rid of the restraints of principle. Had there been any danger of + this sort, which with young men who profess themselves <i>ultra-liberal</i> + is usually the case, she would have joined in his guardian’s + apprehensions; but in fact Beauclerc, instead of being “le philosophe sans + le savoir,” was “le bon enfant sans le savoir;” for, while he questioned + the rule of right in all his principles, and while they were held in + abeyance, his good habits, and good natural disposition held fast and + stood him in stead; while Lady Davenant, by slow degrees, brought him to + define his terms, and presently to see that he had been merely saying old + things in new words, and that the systems which had dazzled him as + novelties were old to older eyes; in short, that he was merely a + resurrectionist of obsolete heresies, which had been gone over and over + again at various long-past periods, and over and over again abandoned by + the common sense of mankind: so that, after puzzling and wandering a weary + way in the dark labyrinth he had most ingeniously made for himself, he saw + light, followed it, and at length, making his way out, was surprised, and + sorry perhaps to perceive that it was the common light of day. + </p> + <p> + It is of great consequence to young enthusiastic tyros, like Beauclerc, to + have safe friends to whom they can talk of their opinions privately, + otherwise they will talk their ingenious nonsense publicly, and so they + bind themselves, or are bound, to the stake, and live or die martyrs to + their own follies. + </p> + <p> + From these and all such dangers Lady Davenant protected him, and she took + care that nobody hurt him in his defenceless state, before his shell was + well formed and hardened. She was further of peculiar service in keeping + all safe and smooth between the ward and guardian. All Beauclerc’s romance + the general would have called by the German word “<i>Schwärmerey</i>,”—not + fudge—not humbug—literally “sky-rocketing”—visionary + enthusiasm; and when it came to arguments, they might have turned to + quarrels, but for Lady Davenant’s superior influence, while Lady Cecilia’s + gentleness and gaiety usually succeeded in putting all serious dangerous + thoughts to flight. + </p> + <p> + Nature never having intended Lady Cecilia for a manoeuvrer, she was now + perpetually on the point of betraying herself; and one day, when she was + alone with Helen, she exclaimed, “Never was any thing better managed than + I managed this, my dear Helen! I am so glad I told you——” + Recollecting herself just in time, she ended with, “so glad I told you the + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! thank you,” said Helen. “My uncle used to say no one could be a + good friend who does not tell the whole truth.” + </p> + <p> + “That I deny,” thought Cecilia. The twinge of conscience was felt but very + slightly; not visible in any change of countenance, except by a quick + twinkling motion of the eyelashes, not noticed by unsuspicious Helen. + </p> + <p> + Every thing now went on as happily as Cecilia could have desired; every + morning they rode or booted to Old Forest to see what was doing. The roof + was rather hastily taken off; Lady Cecilia hurried forward that measure, + aware that it would prevent the possibility of any of the ladies of the + family coming there for some time. Delay was all she wanted, and she would + now, as she promised herself, leave the rest to time. She would never + interfere further in word or look, especially when her mother might be by. + One half of this promise she kept faithfully, the other she broke + continually. + </p> + <p> + There were plans to be made of all the alterations and improvements at Old + Forest. Beauclerc applied to Lady Cecilia for her advice and assistance. + Her advice she gave, but her assistance she ingeniously contrived to leave + to Helen; for whenever Beauclerc brought to her a sketch or a plan of what + was to be done, Lady Cecilia immediately gave it to Helen, repeating, + “Never drew a regular plan in my life, you know, my dear, you must do + this;” so that Helen’s pencil and her patience were in constant + requisition. Then came apologies from Beauclerc, and regrets at taking up + her time, all which led to an intimacy that Lady Cecilia took care to keep + up by frequent visits to Old Forest, so that Helen was necessarily joined + in all his present pursuits. + </p> + <p> + During one of these visits, they were looking over some old furniture + which Lord Beltravers had commissioned Beauclerc to have disposed of at + some neighbouring auction. There was one curiously carved oak arm-chair, + belonging to “the old old gentleman of all” which the old woman + particularly regretted should go. She had sewn it up in a carpet, and when + it came out, Helen was struck with its likeness to a favourite chair of + her uncle’s; many painful recollections occurred to her, and tears came + into her eyes. Ashamed of what appeared so like affectation, she turned + away, that her tears might not be seen, and when Cecilia, following her, + insisted on knowing what was the matter, she left Helen immediately to the + old woman, and took the opportunity of telling Beauclerc all about Dean + Stanley, and how Helen was an heiress and no heiress, and her having + determined to give up all her fortune to pay her uncle’s debts. There was + a guardian, too, in the case, who would not consent; and, in short, a + parallelism of circumstances, a similarity of generous temper, and all + this she thought must interest Beauclerc—and so it did. But yet its + being told to him would have gone against his nice notions of delicacy, + and Helen would have been ruined in his opinion had he conceived that it + had been revealed to him with her consent or connivance. She came back + before Lady Cecilia had quite finished, and a few words which she heard, + made her aware of the whole. The blush of astonishment—the glance of + indignation—which she gave at Lady Cecilia, settled Beauclerc’s + opinion; and Cecilia was satisfied that she had done her friend good + service against her will; and as to the means thought she—what + signifies going back to consider when they succeed. + </p> + <p> + The Collingwoods gladly availed themselves of Lady Cecilia Clarendon’s + kind invitation, as they were both most anxious to take leave of Helen + Stanley before their departure. They were to sail very soon, so that their + visit was but short; a few days of painful pleasure to Helen—a happy + meeting, but enjoyed with the mournful sense that they were so soon to + separate, and for so long a time; perhaps, for ever. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Collingwood told Helen that if she still agreed to his conditions, he + would arrange with Mr. James, the solicitor, that all the money left to + her by her uncle should be appropriated to the payment of his debts. + “But,” continued he, “pause and consider well, whether you can do without + this money, which is still yours; you are, you know, not bound by any + promise, and it is not yet too late to say you have altered your + decision.” + </p> + <p> + Helen smiled and said, “You cannot be serious in saying this, I am sure?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Collingwood assured her that he was. Helen simply said that her + determination was unalterable. He looked pleased yet his last words in + taking leave of her were, “Remember, my dear, that when you have given + away your fortune, you cannot live as if you had it.” + </p> + <p> + The Collingwoods departed; and, after a decent time had elapsed, or what + she deemed a decent time, Lady Cecilia was anxious to ascertain what + progress had been made; how relatively to each other, Lady Blanche + Forrester and Helen stood in Beauclerc’s opinion, or rather in his + imagination. But this was not quite so easy a matter to determine as she + had conceived it would be, judging from the frankness of Beauclerc’s + temper, and from the terms of familiarity on which they had lived while + abroad. His confidence was not to be won, surprised, or forced. He was not + only jealous of his free will, as most human beings are in love affairs, + but, like all men of true feeling, he desired in these matters perfect + mental privacy. + </p> + <p> + When Pysche is awakened, it should be by Cupid alone. Beauclerc did not + yet wish that she should be awakened. He admired, he enjoyed that repose; + he was charmed by the perfect confiding simplicity of Helen’s mind, so + unlike what he had seen in others—so real. The hope of that pure + friendship which dawned upon him he wished to prolong, and dreaded lest, + by any doubt raised, all might be clouded and changed. Lady Cecilia was, + however, convinced that, without knowing it, he was falling comfortably in + love through friendship; a very easy convenient way. + </p> + <p> + And Helen, had she too set out upon that easy convenient road of + friendship? She did not think about the road, but she felt that it was + very agreeable, and thought it was quite safe, as she went on so smoothly + and easily. She could not consider Mr. Beauclerc as a new acquaintance, + because she had heard so much about him. He was completely one of the + family, so that she, as part of that family, could not treat him as a + stranger. Her happiness, she was sensible, had much increased since his + arrival; but so had everybody’s. He gave a new spring, a new interest, to + everything; added so much to the life of life; his sense and his nonsense + were each of them good in their kind; and they were of various kinds, from + the high sublime of metaphysics to the droll realities of life. But + everybody blaming, praising, scolding, laughing <i>at</i>, or <i>with</i> + him, he was necessary to all and with all, for some reason or other, a + favourite. + </p> + <p> + But the general was always as impatient as Lady Cecilia herself both of + his hypercriticism and of his never-ending fancies, each of which + Beauclerc purused with an eagerness and abandoned with a facility which + sorely tried the general’s equanimity. One day, after having ridden to Old + Forest, General Clarendon returned chafed. He entered the library, talking + to Cecilia, as Helen thought, about his horse. + </p> + <p> + “No managing him! Curb him ever so little, and he is on his hind-legs + directly. Give him his head, put the bridle on his neck, and he stands + still; does not know which way he would go, or what he would do. The + strangest fellow for a rational creature.” + </p> + <p> + Now it was clear it was of Beauclerc that he spoke. “So rash and yet so + resolute,” continued the general. + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how, but so it is,” said the general. “As you know,” + appealing to Helen and to Lady Cecilia, “he was ready to run me through + till he had his own way about that confounded old house; and now there are + all the workmen at a stand, because Mr. Beauclerc cannot decide what he + will have done or undone.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is my fault!” cried Helen, with the guilty recollection of the + last alteration not having been made yesterday in drawing the working + plan, and she hastened to look for it directly; but when she found it, she + saw to her dismay that Beauclerc had scribbled it all over with literary + notes; it was in no state to meet the general’s eye; she set about copying + it as fast as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” pursued the general; “forty alterations—shuffling about + continually. Cannot a man be decided?” + </p> + <p> + “Always with poor Beauclerc,” said Lady Cecilia, “le mieux est l’ennemi du + bien.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear Cecilia, it is all his indolence; there he sat with a book in + his hand all yesterday! with all his impetuosity, too indolent to stir in + his own business,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “His mind is too active sometimes to allow his body to stir,” said Lady + Davenant; “and because he cannot move the universe, he will not stir his + little finger.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very fond of paradoxes, and your ladyship is very fond of him,” + said the general; “but indolent he is; and as to activity of mind, it is + only in pursuit of his own fancies.” + </p> + <p> + “And your fancies and his differ,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Because he never fancies any thing useful,” said the general. “C’est + selon! c’est selon!” cried Lady Cecilia gaily; “he thinks his fancies + useful, and especially all he is doing at Old Forest; but I confess he + tends most to the agreeable. Certainly he is a most agreeable creature.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreeable! satisfied to be called an agreeable man!” cried the general + indignantly; “yes, he has no ambition.” + </p> + <p> + “There I differ from you, general,” said Lady Davenant; “he has too much: + have patience with him; he is long-sighted in his visions of glory.” + </p> + <p> + “Visions indeed!” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “Those who are really ambitious,” continued Lady Davenant, “must think + before they act. ‘What shall I do to be for ever known?’ is a question + which deserves at least a little more thought than those which most young + men ask themselves, which commonly are, ‘What shall I do to be known + to-morrow—on the Turf or at Brook’s—or in Doctors’ Commons—or + at some exclusive party at charming Lady Nobody’s?’” + </p> + <p> + “What will you do for the plan for these workmen in the mean time, my dear + Clarendon?” said Lady Cecilia, afraid that some long discussion would + ensue. + </p> + <p> + “Here it is!” said Helen, who had managed to get it ready while they were + talking. She gave it to the general, who thanked her, and was off + directly. Cecilia then came to divert herself with looking at Beauclerc’s + scribbled plan, and she read the notes aloud for her mother’s amusement. + It was a sketch of a dramatical, metaphysical, entertainment, of which + half a dozen proposed titles had been scratched out, and there was finally + left ‘Tarquin the Optimist, or the Temple of Destiny.’ It was from an old + story begun by Laurentius Valla, and continued by Leibnitz;—she + read, + </p> + <p> + <i>“Act I. Scene 1. Sextus Tarquin goes to consult the Oracle, who + foretells the crime he is to commit.‘</i> + </p> + <p> + “And then,” cried Lady Cecilia, “come measures of old and new front of Old + Forest house, wings included.”—Now he goes on with his play. + </p> + <p> + <i>“‘Tarquin’s complaint to Jupiter of the Oracle—Modern + Predestination compared to Ancient Destiny.‘</i> + </p> + <p> + “And here,” continued Cecilia, “come prices of Norway deal and a great + blot, and then we have <i>‘Jupiter’s answer that Sextus may avoid his doom + if he pleases, by staying away from Rome; but he does not please to do so, + because he must then</i> <i>renounce the crown. Good speech here on + vanity, and inconsistency of human wishes.‘</i> + </p> + <p> + “‘Kitchen 23 ft. by 21. Query with hobs?’ + </p> + <p> + “I cannot conceive, my dear Helen,” continued Lady Cecilia, “how you could + make the drawing out through all this,” and she continued to read. + </p> + <p> + <i>“‘Scene 3rd.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>“‘High Priest of Delphi asks Jupiter why he did not give Sextus a + better WILL?—why not MAKE him choose to give up the crown, rather + than commit the crime? Jupiter refuses to answer, and sends the High + Priest to consult Minerva at Athens.‘</i> + </p> + <p> + “‘N.B. Old woman at Old Forest, promised her an oven,’—‘<i>Leibnitz + gives</i>——’ + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if he goes to Leibnitz,” said Lady Cecilia, “he will be too grand for + me, but it will do for you, mamma.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“‘Leibnitz gives in his Temple of the Destinies a representation of + every possible universe from the worst to the best—This could not be + done on the stage.‘</i> + </p> + <p> + “Very true indeed,” said Lady Cecilia; “but, Helen, listen, Granville has + really found an ingenious resource.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“‘By Ombres Chinoises, suppose; or a gauze curtain, as in Zemire et + Azore, the audience might be made to understand the main point, that GOOD + resulted from Tarquin’s BAD choice. Brutus, Liberty, Rome’s grandeur, and + the Optimist right at last. Q.E.D.‘</i> + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” continued Lady Cecilia, “I don’t understand it; but I + understand this,—‘Bricks wanting.’” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant smiled at this curious specimen of Beauclerc’s versatility, + but said, “I fear he will fritter away his powers on a hundred different + petty objects, and do nothing at last worthy of his abilities. He will + scatter and divide the light of his genius, and show us every change of + the prismatic colours—curious and beautiful to behold, but + dispersing, wasting the light he should concentrate on some one, some + noble object.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he has light enough for little objects and great too?” said Lady + Cecilia, “I allow, ‘qu’il faudrait plus d’un coeur pour aimer tant de + choses à la fois;’ but as I really think Granville has more heart than is + necessary, he can well afford to waste some of it, even on the old woman + at Old Forest.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + One evening, Helen was looking over a beautiful scrap-book of Lady + Cecilia’s. Beauclerc, who had stood by for some time, eyeing it in rather + scornful silence, at length asked whether Miss Stanley was a lover of + albums and autographs? + </p> + <p> + Helen had no album of her own, she said, but she was curious always to see + the autographs of celebrated people. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. It seems to bring one nearer to them. It gives more reality + to our imagination of them perhaps,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “The imagination is probably in most cases better than the reality,” + replied he. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant stooped over Helen’s shoulder to look at the handwriting of + the Earl of Essex—the writing of the gallant Earl of Essex, at sight + of which, as she observed, the hearts of queens have beat high. “What a + crowd of associated ideas rise at the sight of that autograph! who can + look at it without some emotion?” + </p> + <p> + Helen could not. Beauclerc in a tone of raillery said he was sure, from + the eager interest Miss Stanley took in these autographs, that she would + in time become a collector herself; and he did not doubt that he should + see her with a valuable museum, in which should be preserved the old pens + of great men, that of Cardinal Chigi, for instance, who boasted that he + wrote with the same pen for fifty years. + </p> + <p> + “And by that boast you know,” said Lady Davenant, “convinced the Cardinal + de Retz that he was not a great, but a very little man. We will not have + that pen in Helen’s museum.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” Beauclerc asked, “it was full as well worth having as many of + the relics to be found in most young ladies’ and even old gentlemen’s + museums. It was quite sufficient whether a man had been great or little + that he had been talked of,—that he had been something of a <i>lion</i>—to + make any thing belonging to him valuable to collectors, who preserve and + worship even ‘the parings of lions’ claws.’” + </p> + <p> + That class of indiscriminate collectors Helen gave up to his ridicule; + still he was not satisfied. He went on to the whole class of + ‘lion-hunters,’ as he called them, condemning indiscriminately all those + who were anxious to see celebrated people; he hoped Miss Stanley was not + one of that class. + </p> + <p> + “No, not a lion-hunter,” said Helen; she hoped she never should be one of + that set, but she confessed she had a great desire to see and to know + distinguished persons, and she hoped that this sort of curiosity, or as + she would rather call it enthusiasm, was not ridiculous, and did not + deserve to be confounded with the mere trifling vulgar taste for + sight-seeing and lion-hunting. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc half smiled, but, not answering immediately, Lady Davenant said, + that for her part she did not consider such enthusiasm as ridiculous; on + the contrary, she liked it, especially in young people. “I consider the + warm admiration of talent and virtue in youth as a promise of future + excellence in maturer age.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Beauclerc, “the maxim ‘not to admire,’ is, I believe, the + most approved in philosophy, and in practice is the great secret of + happiness in this world.” + </p> + <p> + “In the <i>fine</i> world, it is a fine air, I know,” said Lady Davenant. + “Among a set of fashionable young somnambulists it is doubtless the only + art they know to make men happy or to keep them so; but this has nothing + to do with philosophy, Beauclerc, though it has to do with conceit or + affectation.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beauclerc, now piqued, with a look and voice of repressed feeling, + said, that he hoped her ladyship did not include him among that set of + fashionable somnambulists. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will not include yourself in it,” answered Lady Davenant: “it + is contrary to your nature, and if you join the <i>nil admirari</i> + coxcombs, it can be only for fashion’s sake—mere affectation.” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc made no reply, and Lady Davenant, turning to Helen, told her + that several celebrated people were soon to come to Clarendon Park, and + congratulated her upon the pleasure she would have in seeing them. + “Besides being a great pleasure, it is a real advantage,” continued she, + “to see and be acquainted early in life with superior people. It enables + one to form a standard of excellence, and raises that standard high and + bright. In men, the enthusiasm becomes glorious ambition to excel in arts + or arms; in women, it refines and elevates the taste, and is so far a + preventive against frivolous, vulgar company, and all their train of + follies and vices. I can speak from my own recollection, of the great + happiness it was to me, when I early in life became acquainted with some + of the illustrious of my day.” + </p> + <p> + “And may I ask,” said Beauclerc, “if any of them equalled the expectations + you had formed of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Some far exceeded them,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “You were fortunate. Every body cannot expect to be so happy,” said + Beauclerc. “I believe, in general it is found that few great men of any + times stand the test of near acquaintance. No man——” + </p> + <p> + “Spare me!” cried Lady Davenant, interrupting him, for she imagined she + knew what he was going to say; “Oh! spare me that old sentence, ‘No man is + a hero to his valet de chambre.’ I cannot endure to hear that for the + thousandth time; I heartily wish it had never been said at all.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” replied Beauclerc; but Lady Davenant had turned away, and he + now spoke in so low a voice, that only Helen heard him. “So do I detest + that quotation, not only for being hackneyed, but for having been these + hundred years the comfort both of lean-jawed envy and fat mediocrity.” + </p> + <p> + He took up one of Helen’s pencils and began to cut it—he looked + vexed, and low to her observed, “Lady Davenant did not do me the honour to + let me finish my sentence.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Helen, “if Lady Davenant misunderstood you, why do not you + explain?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no it is not worth while, if she could so mistake me.” + </p> + <p> + “But any body may be mistaken; do explain.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said he, very diligently cutting the pencil to pieces; “she is + engaged, you see, with somebody—something else.” + </p> + <p> + “But now she has done listening.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, not now; there are too many people, and it’s of no consequence.” + </p> + <p> + By this time the company were all eagerly talking of every remarkable + person they had seen, or that they regretted not having seen. Lady Cecilia + now called upon each to name the man among the celebrated of modern days, + whom they should most liked to have seen. By acclamation they all named + Sir Walter Scott, ‘The Ariosto of the North!’ + </p> + <p> + All but Beauclerc; he did not join the general voice; he said low to Helen + with an air of disgust—“How tired I am of hearing him called ‘The + Ariosto of the North!’” + </p> + <p> + “But by whatever name,” said Helen, “surely you join in that general wish + to have seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I am sure of your vote,” cried Lady Cecilia, coming up to them, + “You, Granville, would rather have seen Sir Walter Scott than any author + since Shakespeare—would not you?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, on the contrary, I am glad that I have never seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad not to have seen him!—<i>not</i>?” + </p> + <p> + The word <i>not</i> was repeated with astonished incredulous emphasis by + all voices. “Glad not to have seen Sir Walter Scott! How extraordinary! + What can Mr. Beauclerc mean?” + </p> + <p> + “To make us all stare,” said Lady Davenant, “so do not gratify him. Do not + wonder at him; we cannot believe what is impossible, you know, only + because it is impossible. But,” continued she, laughing, “I know how it + is. The spirit of contradiction—the spirit of singularity—two + of your familiars, Granville, have got possession of you again, and we + must have patience while the fit is on.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have not, and will not have patience,” said Lord Davenant, whose + good-nature seldom failed, but who was now quite indignant. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder you are surprised, my dear Lord,” said Lady Davenant, “for Mr. + Beauclerc likes so much better to go wrong by himself than to go right + with all the world, that you could not expect that he would join the loud + voice of universal praise.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear the loud voice of universal execration,” said Beauclerc; “you have + all abused me, but whom have I abused? What have I said?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” replied Lady Cecilia; “that is what we complain of. I could + have better borne any abuse than indifference to Sir Walter Scott.” + </p> + <p> + “Indifference!” exclaimed Beauclerc—“what did I say Lady Cecilia, + from which you could infer that I felt indifference? Indifferent to him + whose name I cannot pronounce without emotion! I alone, of all the world, + indifferent to that genius, pre-eminent and unrivalled, who has so long + commanded the attention of the whole reading public, arrested at will the + instant order of the day by tales of other times, and in this commonplace, + this every-day existence of ours, created a holiday world, where, + undisturbed by vulgar cares, we may revel in a fancy region of felicity, + peopled with men of other times—shades of the historic dead, more + illustrious and brighter than in life!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the great Enchanter,” cried Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Great and good Enchanter,” continued Beauclerc, “for in his magic there + is no dealing with unlawful means. To work his ends, there is never aid + from any one of the bad passions of our nature. In his writings there is + no private scandal—no personal satire—no bribe to human + frailty—no libel upon human nature. And among the lonely, the sad, + and the suffering, how has he medicined to repose the disturbed mind, or + elevated the dejected spirit!—perhaps fanned to a flame the + unquenched spark, in souls not wholly lost to virtue. His morality is not + in purple patches, ostentatiously obtrusive, but woven in through the very + texture of the stuff. He paints man as he is, with all his faults, but + with his redeeming virtues—the world as it goes, with all its + compensating good and evil, yet making each man better contented with his + lot. Without our well knowing how, the whole tone of our minds is raised—for, + thinking nobly of our kind, he makes us think more nobly of ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + Helen, who had sympathised with Beauclerc in every word he had said, felt + how true it is that + </p> + <p> + “——Next to genius, is the power Of feeling where true genius + lies.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet after all this, Granville,” said Lady Cecilia, “you would make us + believe you never wished to have seen this great man?” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! how I wish I had seen him!” said Helen to Lady Davenant, the only + person present who had had that happiness. + </p> + <p> + “If you have seen Raeburn’s admirable pictures, or Chantrey’s speaking + bust,” replied Lady Davenant, “you have as complete an idea of Sir Walter + Scott as painting or sculpture can give. The first impression of his + appearance and manner was surprising to me, I recollect, from its quiet, + unpretending good nature; but scarcely had that impression been made + before I was struck with something of the chivalrous courtesy of other + times. In his conversation you would have found all that is most + delightful in all his works—the combined talent and knowledge of the + historian, novelist, antiquary, and poet. He recited poetry admirably, his + whole face and figure kindling as he spoke: but whether talking, reading, + or reciting, he never tired me, even with admiring; and it is curious + that, in conversing with him, I frequently found myself forgetting that I + was speaking to Sir Walter Scott; and, what is even more extraordinary, + forgetting that Sir Walter Scott was speaking to me, till I was awakened + to the conviction by his saying something which no one else could have + said. Altogether he was certainly the most perfectly agreeable and + perfectly amiable great man I ever knew.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, mamma,” said Lady Cecilia, “do make Granville confess honestly + he would give the world to have seen him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, Lady Davenant,” said Helen, who saw, or thought she saw, a singular + emotion in Beauclerc’s countenance, and fancied he was upon the point of + yielding; but Lady Davenant, without looking at him, replied,—“No, + my dear, I will not ask him—I will not encourage him in <i>affectation</i>.” + </p> + <p> + At that word dark grew the brow of Beauclerc, and he drew back, as it + were, into his shell, and out of it came no more that night, nor the next + morning at breakfast. But, as far as could be guessed, he suffered + internally, and no effort made to relieve did him any good, so every one + seemed to agree that it was much better to let him alone, or let him be + moody in peace, hoping that in time the mood would change; but it changed + not till the middle of that day, when, as Helen was sitting working in + Lady Davenant’s room, while she was writing, two quick knocks were heard + at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Come in!” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beauclerc stood pausing on the threshold—— + </p> + <p> + “Do not go, Miss Stanley,” said he, looking very miserable and ashamed, + and proud, and then ashamed again. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Granville?” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “I am come to have a thorn taken out of my mind,” said he—“two + thorns which have sunk deep, kept me awake half the night. Perhaps, I + ought to be ashamed to own I have felt pain from such little things. But + so it is; though, after all, I am afraid they will be invisible to you, + Lady Davenant.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try with a magnifying-glass,” said she; “lend me that of your + imagination, Granville—a high power, and do not look so very + miserable, or Miss Stanley will laugh at you.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Stanley is too good to laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “That is being too good indeed,” said Lady Davenant. “Well, now to the + point.” + </p> + <p> + “You were very unjust to me, Lady Davenant, yesterday, and unkind.” + </p> + <p> + “Unkind is a woman’s word; but go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely man may mark ‘unkindness’ altered eye’ as well as woman,” said + Beauclerc; “and from a woman and a friend he may and must feel it, or he + is more or less than man.” + </p> + <p> + “Now what can you have to say, Granville, that will not be anticlimax to + this exordium?” + </p> + <p> + “I will say no more if you talk of exordiums and anti-climaxes,” cried he. + “You accused me yesterday of affectation—twice, when I was no more + affected than you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! is that my crime? Is that, what has hurt you so dreadfully? Here is + the thorn that has gone in so deep! I am afraid that, as is usual, the + accusation hurt the more because it was——” + </p> + <p> + “Do not say ‘true,’” interrupted Beauclerc, “for you really cannot believe + it, Lady Davenant. You know me, and all my faults, and I have plenty; but + you need not accuse me of one that I have not, and which from the bottom + of my soul I despise. Whatever are my faults, they are at least real, and + my own.” + </p> + <p> + “You may allow him that,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Well I will—I do,” said Lady Davenant; “to appease you, poor + injured innocence; though anyone in the world might think you affected at + this moment. Yet I, who know you, know that it is pure real folly. Yes, + yes, I acquit you of affectation.” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc’s face instantly cleared up. + </p> + <p> + “But you said two thorns had gone into your mind—one is out, now for + the other.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not feel that other, now,” said Beauclerc, “it was only a mistake. + When I began with ‘No man,’ I was not going to say, ‘No man is a hero to + his valet de chambre.’ If I had been allowed to finish my sentence, it + would have saved a great deal of trouble, I was going to say that no man + admires excellence more fervently than I do, and that my very reason for + wishing not to see celebrated people is, lest the illusion should be + dispelled. + </p> + <p> + “No description ever gives us an exact idea of any person, so that when + any one has been much described and talked of, before we see them we form + in our mind’s eye some image, some notion of our own, which always proves + to be unlike the reality; and when we do afterwards see it, even if it be + fairer or better than our imagination, still at first there is a sort of + disappointment, from the non-agreement with our previously formed + conception. Every body is disappointed the first time they see Hamlet, or + Falstaff, as I think Dugald Stewart observes.” + </p> + <p> + “True; and I remember,” said Lady Davenant, “Madame de la Rochejaquelin + once said to me, ‘I hate that people should come to see me. I know it + destroys the illusion.’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried Beauclerc; “how much I dread to destroy any of those blessed + illusions, which make the real happiness of life. Let me preserve the + objects of my idolatry; I would not approach too near the shrine; I fear + too much light. I would not know that they were false!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you then be deceived?” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried he; “sooner would I believe in all the fables of the Talmud + than be without the ecstasy of veneration. It is the curse of age to be + thus miserably disenchanted; to outlive all our illusions, all our hopes. + That may be my doom in age, but, in youth, the high spring-time of + existence, I will not be cursed with such a premature ossification of the + heart. Oh! rather, ten thousand times rather, would I die this instant!” + </p> + <p> + “Well! but there is not the least occasion for your dying,” said Lady + Davenant, “and I am seriously surprised that you should suffer so much + from such slight causes; how will you ever get through the world if you + stop thus to weigh every light word?” + </p> + <p> + “The words of most people,” replied he, “pass by me like the idle wind; + but I do weigh every word from the very few whom I esteem, admire, and + love; with my friends, perhaps, I am too susceptible, I love them so + deeply.” + </p> + <p> + This is an excuse for susceptibility of temper which flatters friends too + much to be easily rejected. Even Lady Davenant admitted it, and Helen + thought it was all natural. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was now impatient to have the house filled with company. She + gave Helen a <i>catalogue raisonné</i> of all who were expected at + Clarendon Park, some for a fashionable three days’ visit; some for a week; + some for a fortnight or three weeks, be the same more or less. “I have but + one fixed principle,” said she, “but I <i>have</i> one,—never to + have tiresome people when it can possibly be avoided. Impossible, you + know, it is sometimes. One’s own and one’s husband’s relations one must + have; but, as for the rest, it’s one’s own fault if one fails in the first + and last maxim of hospitality—to welcome the coming and speed the + parting guest.” + </p> + <p> + The first party who arrived were of Lady Davenant’s particular friends, to + whom Cecilia had kindly given the precedence, if not the preference, that + her mother might have the pleasure of seeing them, and that they might + have the honour of taking leave of her, before her departure from England. + </p> + <p> + They were political, fashionable, and literary; some of ascendency in + society, some of parliamentary promise, and some of ministerial eminence—the + aristocracy of birth and talents well mixed. + </p> + <p> + The aristocracy of birth and the aristocracy of talents are words now used + more as a commonplace antithesis, than as denoting a real difference or + contrast. In many instances, among those now living, both are united in a + manner happy for themselves and glorious for their country. England may + boast of having among her young nobility + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “The first in birth, the first in fame."<br /></pre> + <p> + men distinguished in literature and science, in senatorial eloquence and + statesmanlike abilities. + </p> + <p> + But in this party at Clarendon Park there were more of the literary and + celebrated than without the presence of Lady Davenant could perhaps have + been assembled, or perhaps would have been desired by the general and Lady + Cecilia. Cecilia’s beauty and grace were of all societies, and the general + was glad for Lady Davenant’s sake and proud for his own part, to receive + these distinguished persons at his house. + </p> + <p> + Helen had seen some of them before at Cecilhurst and at the Deanery. By + her uncle’s friends she was kindly recognised, by others of course + politely noticed; but miserably would she have been disappointed and + mortified, if she had expected to fix general attention, or excite general + admiration. Past and gone for ever are the days, if ever they were, when a + young lady, on her entrance into life, captivated by a glance, overthrew + by the first word, and led in triumph her train of admirers. These things + are not to be done now-a-days. + </p> + <p> + Yet even when unnoticed Helen was perfectly happy. Her expectations were + more than gratified in seeing and in hearing these distinguished people, + and she sat listening to their conversation in delightful enjoyment, + without even wanting to have it seen how well she understood. + </p> + <p> + There is a precious moment for young people, if taken at the prime, when + first introduced into society, yet not expected, not called upon to take a + part in it, they, as standers by, may see not only all the play, but the + characters of the players, and may learn more of life and of human nature + in a few months, than afterwards in years, when they are themselves actors + upon the stage of life, and become engrossed by their own parts. There is + a time, before the passions are awakened, when the understanding, with all + the life of nature, fresh from all that education can do to develop and + cultivate, is at once eager to observe and able to judge, for a brief + space blessed with the double advantages of youth and age. This time once + gone is lost irreparably; and how often it is lost—in premature + vanity, or premature dissipation! + </p> + <p> + Helen had been chiefly educated by a man, and a very sensible man, as Dean + Stanley certainly was in all but money matters. Under his masculine care, + while her mind had been brought forward on some points, it had been kept + back on others, and while her understanding had been cultivated, it had + been done without the aid of emulation or competition; not by touching the + springs of pride, but by opening sources of pure pleasure; and this pure + pleasure she now enjoyed, grateful to that dear uncle. For the single + inimitable grace of simplicity which she possessed, how many mothers, + governesses, and young ladies themselves, willingly, when they see how + much it charms, would too late exchange half the accomplishments, all the + acquirements, so laboriously achieved! + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, who had seen something of the London female world, was, both + from his natural taste and from contrast, pleased with Helen’s fresh and + genuine character, and he sympathised with all her silent delight. He + never interrupted her in her enthusiastic contemplation of the great + stars, but he would now and then seize an interval of rest to compare her + observations with his own; anxious to know whether she estimated their + relative magnitude and distances as he did. These snatched moments of + comparison and proof of agreement in their observations, or the pleasure + of examining the causes of their difference of opinion, enhanced the + enjoyment of this brilliant fortnight; and not a cloud obscured the deep + serene. + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding all the ultra-refined nonsense Beauclerc had talked about + his wish not to see remarkable persons, no one could enjoy it more, as + Helen now perceived; and she saw also that he was considered as a man of + promise among all these men of performance. But there were some, perhaps + very slight things, which raised him still more in her mind, because they + showed superiority of character. She observed his manner towards the + general in this company, where he had himself the ‘vantage ground—so + different now from what it had been in the Old-Forest battle, when only + man to man, ward to guardian. Before these distinguished persons there was + a look—a tone of deference at once most affectionate and polite. + </p> + <p> + “It is so generous,” said Lady Cecilia to Helen; “is not it?” and Helen + agreed. + </p> + <p> + This brilliant fortnight ended too soon, as Helen thought, but Lady + Cecilia had had quite enough of it. “They are all to go to-morrow morning, + and I am not sorry for it,” said she at night, as she threw herself into + an arm-chair, in Helen’s room; and, after having indulged in a refreshing + yawn, she exclaimed, “Very delightful, very delightful! as you say, Helen, + it has all been; but I am not sure that I should not be very much tired if + I had much more of it. Oh! yes, I admired them all amazingly, but then + admiring all day long is excessively wearisome. The very attitude of + looking up fatigues both body and mind. Mamma is never tired, because she + never has to look up; she can always look down, and that’s so grand and so + easy. She has no idea how the neck of my poor mind aches this minute; and + my poor eyes! blasted with excess of light. How yours have stood it so + well, Helen, I cannot imagine! how much stronger they must be than mine. I + must confess, that, without the relief of music now and then, and ecarté, + and that quadrille, bad as it was, I should never have got through it + to-night alive or awake. But,” cried she, starting up in her chair, “do + you know Horace Churchill stays to-morrow. Such a compliment from him to + stay a day longer than he intended! And do you know what he says of your + eyes, Helen?—that they are the best listeners he ever spoke to. I + should warn you though, my dear, that he is something, and not a little, I + believe, of a male coquette. Though he is not very young, but he well + understands all the advantages of a careful toilette. He has, like that + George Herbert in Queen Elizabeth’s time, ‘a genteel humour for dress.’ He + is handsome still, and his fine figure, and his fine feelings, and his + fine fortune, have broken two or three hearts; nevertheless I am delighted + that he stays, especially that he stays on your account.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my account!” exclaimed Helen. “Did not you see that, from the first + day when Mr. Churchill had the misfortune to be placed beside me at + dinner, he utterly despised me: he began to talk to me, indeed, but left + his sentence unfinished, his good story untold, the instant he caught the + eye of a grander auditor.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia had seen this, and marvelled at a well-bred man so far + forgetting himself in vanity; but this, she observed, was only the first + day; he had afterwards changed his manner towards Helen completely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, when he saw Lady Davenant thought me worth speaking to. But, after + all, it was quite natural that he should not know well what to say to me. + I am only a young lady. I acquit him of all peculiar rudeness to me, for I + am sure Mr. Churchill really could not talk for only one insignificant + hearer, could not bring out his good things, unless he felt secure of + possessing the attention of the whole dinner-table, so I quite forgive + him.” + </p> + <p> + “After this curse of forgiveness, my dear Helen, I will wish you a good + night,” said Lady Cecilia, laughing; and she retired with a fear that + there would not be jealousy enough between the gentlemen, or that Helen + would not know how to play them one against another. + </p> + <p> + There is a pleasure in seeing a large party disperse; in staying behind + when others go:—there is advantage as well as pleasure, which is + felt by the timid, because they do not leave their characters behind them; + and rejoiced in by the satirical, because the characters of the departed + and departing are left behind, fair game for them. Of this advantage no + one could be more sensible, no one availed himself of it with more + promptitude and skill, than Mr. Churchill: for well he knew that though + wit may fail, humour may not take—though even flattery may pall upon + the sense, scandal, satire, and sarcasm, are resources never failing for + the lowest capacities, and sometimes for the highest. + </p> + <p> + This morning, in the library at Clarendon Park, he looked out of the + window at the departing guests, and, as each drove off, he gave to each + his <i>coup de patte</i>. To Helen, to whom it was new, it was wonderful + to see how each, even of those next in turn to go, enjoyed the demolition + of those who were just gone; how, blind to fate, they laughed, applauded, + and licked the hand just raised to strike themselves. Of the first who + went—“Most respectable people,” said Lady Cecilia; “a <i>bonne mère + de famille</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Most respectable people!” repeated Horace—“most respectable people, + old coach and all.” And then, as another party drove off—“No fear of + any thing truly respectable here.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Horace, how can you say so?—she is so amiable and so clever.” + </p> + <p> + “So clever? only, perhaps, a thought too fond of English liberty and + French dress. <i>Poissarde bien coiffée</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Poissarde!</i> of one of the best born, best bred women in England!” + cried Lady Cecilia; “<i>bien coiffée</i>, I allow.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Cecilia is <i>si coiffée de sa belle amie</i>, that I see I must not + say a word against her, till—the fashion changes. But, hark! I hear + a voice I never wish to hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet nobody is better worth hearing——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes, the queen of the Blues—the Blue Devils!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried the aide-de-camp, “she is coming in to take leave.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as the queen of the Blue Devils entered, Mr. Churchill, in the most + humbly respectful manner, begged—“My respects—I trust your + grace will do me the favour—the justice to remember me to all your + party who—do me the honour to bear me in mind—” then, as she + left the room, he turned about and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you sad, false man!” cried the lady next in turn to go. “I declare, + Mr. Churchill, though I laugh, I am quite afraid to go off before you.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid! what could malice or envy itself find to say of your ladyship, <i>intacte</i> + as you are?—<i>Intacte!</i>” repeated he, as she drove off, “<i>intacte!</i>—a + well chosen epithet, I flatter myself!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, <i>intacte</i>—untouched—above the breath of slander,” + cried Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “I know it: so I say,” replied Churchill: “fidelity that has stood all + temptations—to which it has ever been exposed; and her husband is——” + </p> + <p> + “A near relation of mine,” said Lady Cecilia. “I am not prudish as to + scandal in general,” continued she, laughing; “‘a chicken, too, might do + me good,’ but then the fox must not prey at home. No one ought to stand by + and hear their own relations abused.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons! I depended too much on the general maxim—that + the nearer the bone the sweeter the slander.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “I meant to say, the nearer the heart the dearer the blame. A cut against + a first cousin may go wrong—but a bosom friend—oh! how I have + succeeded against best friends; scolded all the while, of course, and + called a monster. But there is Sir Stephen bowing to you.” Then, as Lady + Cecilia kissed her hand to him from the window, Churchill went on: “By the + by, without any scandal, seriously I heard something—I was quite + concerned—that he had been of late less in his study and more in the + boudoir of ———. Surely it cannot be true!” + </p> + <p> + “Positively false,” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “At every breath a reputation dies,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon my soul, that’s true!” said the aide-de-camp. “Positively, hit or + miss, Horace has been going on, firing away with his wit, pop, pop, pop! + till he has bagged—how many brace?” + </p> + <p> + Horace turned away from him contemptuously, and looked to see whereabouts + Lady Davenant might be all this time. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + Lady Davenant was at the far end of the room engrossed, Churchill feared, + by the newspaper; as he approached she laid it down, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “How scandalous some of these papers have become, but it is the fault of + the taste of the age. ‘Those who live to please, must please to live.’” + </p> + <p> + Horace was not sure whether he was cut or not, but he had the presence of + mind not to look hurt. He drew nearer to Lady Davenant, seated himself, + and taking up a book as if he was tired of folly, to which he had merely + condescended, he sat and read, and then sat and thought, the book hanging + from his hand. + </p> + <p> + The result of these profound thoughts he gave to the public, not to the + aide-de-camp; no more of the little pop-gun pellets of wits—but now + was brought out reason and philosophy. In a higher tone he now reviewed + the literary, philosophical, and political world, with touches of La + Bruyere and Rochefoucault in the characters he drew and in the reflections + he made; with an air, too, of sentimental contrition for his own + penetration and fine moral sense, which compelled him to see and to be + annoyed by the faults of such superior men. + </p> + <p> + The analysis he made of every mind was really perfect—in one + respect, not a grain of bad but was separated from the good, and held up + clean and clear to public view. And as an anatomist he showed such + knowledge both of the brain and of the heart, such an admirable + acquaintance with all their diseases and handled the probe and the scalpel + so well, with such a practised hand! + </p> + <p> + “Well, really this is comfortable,” said Lord Davenant, throwing himself + back in his arm-chair—“True English comfort, to sit at ease and see + all one’s friends so well dissected! Happy to feel that it is our duty to + our neighbour to see him well cut up—ably anatomised for the good of + society; and when I depart—when my time comes—as come it must, + nobody is to touch me but Professor Churchill. It will be a satisfaction + to know that I shall be carved as a dish fit for gods, not hewed as a + carcase for hounds. So now remember, Cecilia, I call on you to witness—I + hereby, being of sound mind and body, leave and bequeath my character, + with all my defects and deficiencies whatsoever, and all and any singular + curious diseases of the mind, of which I may die possessed, wishing the + same many for his sake,—to my good friend Doctor Horace Churchill, + professor of moral, philosophic, and scandalous anatomy, to be by him + dissected at his good pleasure for the benefit of society.” + </p> + <p> + “Many thanks, my good lord; and I accept your legacy for the honour—not + the value of the gift, which every body must be sensible is nothing,” said + Churchill, with a polite bow—“absolutely nothing. I shall never be + able to make anything of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Try—try, my dear friend,” answered Lord Davenant. “Try, don’t be + modest.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be difficult when so distinguished,” said Beauclerc, with an + admirable look of proud humility. + </p> + <p> + “Distinguished Mr. Horace Churchill assuredly is,” said Lady Davenant, + looking at him from behind her newspaper. “Distinguished above all his + many competitors in this age of scandal; he has really raised the art to + the dignity of a science. Satire, scandal, and gossip, now hand-in-hand—the + three new graces: all on the same elevated rank—three, formerly + considered as so different, and the last left to our inferior sex, but + now, surely, to be a male gossip is no reproach.” + </p> + <p> + “O, Lady Davenant!—male gossip—what an expression!” + </p> + <p> + “What a reality!” + </p> + <p> + “Male gossip!—‘<i>Tombe sur moi le ciel!</i>’” cried Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “‘<i>Pourvu que je me venge</i>,’ always understood,” pursued Lady + Davenant; “but why be so afraid of the imputation of gossiping, Mr. + Churchill? It is quite fashionable, and if so, quite respectable, you + know, and in your style quite grand. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “And gossiping wonders at being so fine—<br /></pre> + <p> + “Malice, to be hated, needs but to be seen, but now when it is elegantly + dressed we look upon it without shame or consciousness of evil; we grow to + doat upon it—so entertaining, so graceful, so refined. When vice + loses half its grossness, it loses all its deformity. Humanity used to be + talked of when our friends were torn to pieces, but now there is such a + philosophical perfume thrown over the whole operation, that we are + irresistibly attracted. How much we owe to such men as Mr. Churchill, who + make us feel detraction virtue!” + </p> + <p> + He bowed low as Lady Davenant, summoned by her lord, left the room, and + there he stood as one condemned but not penitent. + </p> + <p> + “If I have not been well sentenced,” said he, as the door closed, “and + made ‘<i>to feel detraction virtue</i>!’—But since Lady Cecilia + cannot help smiling at that, I am acquitted, and encouraged to sin again + the first opportunity. But Lady Davenant shall not be by, nor Lord + Davenant either.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia sat down to write a note, and Mr. Churchill walked round the + room in a course of critical observation on the pictures, of which, as of + every thing else, he was a supreme judge. At last he put his eye and his + glass down to something which singularly attracted his attention on one of + the marble tables. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty!” said Lady Cecilia, “pretty are not they?—though one’s so + tired of them every where now—those doves!” + </p> + <p> + “Doves!” said Churchill, “what I am admiring are gloves, are not they, + Miss Stanley?” said he, pointing to an old pair of gloves, which, much + wrinkled and squeezed together, lay on the beautiful marble in rather an + unsightly lump. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Doctor V———,” cried Helen to Cecilia; “that poor + Doctor V———-is as absent as ever! he is gone, and has + forgotten his gloves!” + </p> + <p> + “Absent! oh, as ever!” said Lady Cecilia, going on with her note, “the + most absent man alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Too much of that sort of thing I think there is in Doctor V———-,” + pursued Churchill: “a touch of absence of mind, giving the idea of high + abstraction, becomes a learned man well enough; but then it should only be + slight, as a <i>soupçon</i> of rouge, which may become a pretty woman; all + depends on the measure, the taste, with which these things are managed—put + on.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing managed, nothing <i>put on</i> in Doctor V———,” + cried Helen, eagerly, her colour rising; “it is all perfectly sincere, + true in him, whatever it be.” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc put down his book. + </p> + <p> + “All perfectly true! You really think so, Miss Stanley?” said Churchill, + smiling, and looking superior down. + </p> + <p> + “I do, indeed,” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Charming—so young! How I do love that freshness of mind!” + </p> + <p> + “Impertinent fellow! I could knock him down, felt Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “And you think all Doctor V———‘s humility true?” said + Churchill. “Yes, perfectly!” said Helen; “but I do not wonder you are + surprised at it, Mr. Churchill.” + </p> + <p> + She meant no <i>malice</i>, though for a moment he thought she did; and he + winced under Beauclerc’s smile. + </p> + <p> + “I do not wonder that any one who does not know Doctor V——— + should be surprised by his great humility,” added Helen. + </p> + <p> + “You are sure that it is not pride that apes humility?” asked Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, quite sure!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet—” said Churchill (putting his malicious finger through a great + hole in the thumb of the doctor’s glove) “I should have fancied that I saw + vanity through the holes in these gloves, as through the philosopher’s + cloak of old.” + </p> + <p> + “Horace is a famous fellow for picking holes and making much of them, Miss + Stanley, you see,” said the aide-de-camp. + </p> + <p> + “Vanity! Doctor V——has no vanity!” said Helen, “if you knew + him.” + </p> + <p> + “No vanity! Whom does Miss Stanley mean?” cried the aide-de-camp. “No + vanity? that’s good. Who? Horace?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mauvais plaisant</i>!” Horace put him by, and, happily not easily put + out of countenance, he continued to Helen,— + </p> + <p> + “You give the good doctor credit, too, for all his <i>naïveté</i>?” said + Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “He does not want credit for it,” said Helen, “he really has it.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could see things as you do, Miss Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + “Show him that, Helen,” cried Lady Cecilia, looking at a table beside + them, on which lay one of those dioramic prints which appear all a + confusion of lines till you look at them in their right point of view. + “Show him that—it all depends, and so does seeing characters, on + getting the right point of view.” + </p> + <p> + “Ingenious!” said Churchill, trying to catch the right position; “but I + can’t, I own—” then abruptly resuming, “Navïeté charms me at + fifteen,” and his eye glanced at Helen, then was retracted, then returning + to his point of view, “at eighteen perhaps may do,” and his eyes again + turned to Helen, “at eighteen—it captivates me quite,” and his eye + dwelt. “But naïveté at past fifty, verging to sixty, is quite another + thing, really rather too much for me. I like all things in season, and + above all, simplicity will not bear long keeping. I have the greatest + respect possible for our learned and excellent friend, but I wish this + could be any way suggested to him, and that he would lay aside this + out-of-season simplicity.” + </p> + <p> + “He cannot lay aside his nature,” said Helen, “and I am glad of it, it is + such a good nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Kind-hearted creature he is, I never heard him say a severe word of any + one,” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “What a sweet man he must he!” said Horace, making a face at which none + present, not even Helen, could forbear to smile. “His heart, I am sure, is + in the right place always. I only wish one could say the same of his wig. + And would it be amiss if he sometimes (I would not be too hard upon him, + Miss Stanley), once a fortnight, suppose—brushed, or caused to be + brushed, that coat of his?” + </p> + <p> + “You have dusted his jacket for him famously, Horace, I think,” said the + aide-de-camp. + </p> + <p> + At this instant the door opened, and in came the doctor himself. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia’s hand was outstretched with her note, thinking, as the door + opened, that she should see the servant come in, for whom she had rung. + </p> + <p> + “What surprises you all so, my good friends,” said the doctor, stopping + and looking round in all his native simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “My dear doctor” said Lady Cecilia, “only we all thought you were gone—that’s + all.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am not gone, that’s all. I stayed to write a letter, and am come + here to look for—but I cannot find-my—” + </p> + <p> + “Your gloves, perhaps, doctor, you are looking for,” said Churchill, going + forward, and with an air of the greatest respect and consideration, both + for the gloves and for their owner, he presented them; then shook the + doctor by the hand, with a cordiality which the good soul thought truly + English, and, bowing him out, added, “How proud he had been to make his + acquaintance,—<i>au revoir</i>, he hoped, in Park Lane.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh you treacherous—!” cried Lady Cecilia, turning to Horace, as + soon as the unsuspecting philosopher was fairly gone. “Too bad really! If + he were not the most simple-minded creature extant, he must have seen, + suspected, something from your look; and what would have become of you if + the doctor had come in one moment sooner, and had heard you—I was + really frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “Frightened! so was I, almost out of my wits,” said Churchill. “<i>Les + revenans</i> always frighten one; and they never hear any good of + themselves, for which reason I make it a principle, when once I have left + a room, full of friends especially, never—never to go back. My + gloves, my hat, my coat, I’d leave, sooner than lose my friends. Once I + heard it said, by one who knew the world and human nature better than any + of us—once I heard it said in jest, but in sober earnest I say, that + I would not for more than I am worth be placed, without his knowing it, + within earshot of my best friend.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a best friend can yours he?” cried Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “Much like other people’s, I suppose,” replied Horace, speaking with + perfect nonchalance—“much like other people’s best friends. + Whosoever expects to find better, I guess, will find worse, if he live in + the world we live in.” + </p> + <p> + “May I go out of the world before I believe or suspect any such thing?” + cried Beauclerc. “Rather than have the Roman curse light upon me, ‘May you + survive all your friends and relations!’ may I die a thousand times!” + </p> + <p> + “Who talks of dying, in a voice so sweet—a voice so loud?” said + provoking Horace, in his calm, well-bred tone; “for my part, I who have + the honour of speaking to you, can boast, that never since I was of years + of discretion (counting new style, beginning at thirteen, of course)—never + have I lost a friend, a sincere friend—never, for this irrefragable + reason—since that nonage, never was I such a neophyte as to fancy I + had found that <i>lusus natures</i>, a friend perfectly sincere.” + </p> + <p> + “How I pity you!” cried Beauclerc, “if you are in earnest; but in earnest + you can’t be.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I can, and I am. And in earnest you will oblige me, Mr. + Beauclerc, if you will spare me your pity: for, all things in this world + considered,” said Horace Churchill, drawing himself up, “I do not conceive + that I am much an object of pity.” Then, turning upon his heel, he walked + away, conscious, however, half an instant afterwards, that he had drawn + himself up too high, and that for a moment his temper had spoiled his + tone, and betrayed him into a look and manner too boastful, bordering on + the ridiculous. He was in haste to repair the error. + </p> + <p> + Not Garrick, in the height of his celebrity and of his susceptibility, was + ever more anxious than Horace Churchill to avert the stroke of ridicule—to + guard against the dreaded smile. As he walked away, he felt behind his + back that those he left were smiling in silence. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia had thrown herself on a sofa, resting, after the labour of <i>l’éloquence + de billet</i>. He stopped, and, leaning over the back of the sofa on which + she reclined, repeated an Italian line in which was the word “<i>pavoneggiarsi</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lady Cecilia, you, who understand and feel Italian so well, how + expressive are some of their words! <i>Pavoneggiarsi!</i>—untranslatable. + One cannot say well in English, to peacock oneself. To make oneself like + unto a peacock is flat; but <i>pavoneggiarsi</i>—action, passion, + picture, all in one! To plume oneself comes nearest to it; but the word + cannot be given, even by equivalents, in English; nor can it be + naturalised, because, in fact, we have not the feeling. An Englishman is + too proud to boast—too bashful to strut; if ever he <i>peacocks + himself</i>, it is in a moment of anger, not in display. The language of + every country,” continued he, raising his voice, in order to reach Lady + Davenant, who just then returned to the room, as he did not wish to waste + a philosophical observation on Lady Cecilia,—“the language of every + country is, to a certain degree, evidence, record, history of its + character and manners.” Then, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, but + very distinct, turning while he spoke so as to make sure that Miss Stanley + heard—“Your young friend this morning quite captivated me by her + nature—nature, the thing that now is most uncommon, a real natural + woman; and when in a beauty, how charming! How delicious when one meets + with <i>effusion de coeur</i>: a young lady, too, who speaks pure English, + not a leash of languages at once; and cultivated, too, your friend is, for + one does not like ignorance, if one could have knowledge without + pretension—so hard to find the golden mean!—and if one could + find it, one might not be nearer to——” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia listened for the finishing word, but none came. It all ended + in a sigh, to be interpreted as she pleased. A look towards the ottoman, + where Beauclerc had now taken his seat beside Miss Stanley, seemed to + point the meaning out: but Lady Cecilia knew her man too well to + understand him. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, seated on the ottoman, was showing to Helen some passages in + the book he was reading; she read with attention, and from time to time + looked up with a smile of intelligence and approbation. What either said + Horace could not hear, and he was the more curious, and when the book was + put down, after carelessly opening others he took it up. Very much + surprised was he to find it neither novel nor poem: many passages were + marked with pencil notes of approbation, he took it for granted these were + Bleauclerc’s; there he was mistaken, they were Lady Davenant’s. She was at + her work-table. Horace, book in hand, approached; the book was not in his + line, it was more scientific than literary—it was for posterity more + than for the day; he had only turned it over as literary men turn over + scientific books, to seize what may serve for a new simile or a good + allusion; besides, among his philosophical friends, the book being talked + of, it was well to know enough of it to have something to say, and he had + said well, very <i>judiciously</i> he had praised it among the elect; but + now it was his fancy to depreciate it with all his might; not that he + disliked the author or the work now more than he had done before, but he + was in the humour to take the opposite side from Beauclerc, so he threw + the book from him contemptuously “Rather a slight hasty thing, in my + opinion,” said he. Beauclerc’s eyes took fire as he exclaimed, “Slight! + hasty! this most noble, most solid work!” + </p> + <p> + “Solid in your opinion,” said Churchill, with a smile deferential, + slightly sneering. + </p> + <p> + “Our own opinion is all that either of us can give,” said Beauclerc; “in + my opinion it is the finest view of the progress of natural philosophy, + the most enlarged, the most just in its judgments of the past, and in its + prescience of the future; in the richness of experimental knowledge, in + its theoretic invention, the greatest work by any one individual since the + time of Bacon.” + </p> + <p> + “And Bacon is under your protection, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Protection! my protection?” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I simply meant to ask if you are one of those who swear by + Lord Verulam.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear by no man, I do not swear at all, not on philosophical subjects + especially; swearing adds nothing to faith,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “I stand corrected,” said Churchill, “and I would go further, and add that + in argument enthusiasm adds nothing to reason—much as I admire, as + we all admire,” glancing at Miss Stanley, “that enthusiasm with which this + favoured work has been advocated!” + </p> + <p> + “I could not help speaking warmly,” cried Beauclerc; “it is a book to + inspire enthusiasm; there is such a noble spirit all through it, so pure + from petty passions, from all vulgar jealousies, all low concerns! Judge + of a book, somebody says, by the impression it leaves on your mind when + you lay it down; this book stands that test, at least with me, I lay it + down with such a wish to follow—with steps ever so unequal still to + follow, where it points the way.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! bravissimo! hear him, hear him! print him, print him! hot-press + from the author to the author, hot-press!” cried Churchill, and he + laughed. + </p> + <p> + Like one suddenly awakened from the trance of enthusiasm by the cold touch + of ridicule, stood Beauclerc, brought down from heaven to earth, and by + that horrid little laugh, not the heart’s laugh. + </p> + <p> + “But my being ridiculous does not make my cause so, and that is a + comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “And another comfort you may have, my dear Granville,” said Lady Davenant, + “that ridicule is not the test of truth; truth should be the test of + ridicule.” + </p> + <p> + “But where is the book?” continued Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + Helen gave it to him. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Churchill,” said Beauclerc; “I am really anxious, I know you are + such a good critic, will you show me these faults? blame as well as praise + must always be valuable from those who themselves excel.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too good,” said Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “Will you then be good enough to point out the errors for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by no means,” cried Churchill, “don’t note me, do not quote me, I am + nobody, and I cannot give up my authorities.” + </p> + <p> + “But the truth is all I want to get at,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “Let her rest, my dear sir, at the bottom of her well; there she is, and + there she will be for ever and ever, and depend upon it none of our + windlassing will ever bring her up.” + </p> + <p> + “Such an author as this,” continued Beauclerc, “would have been so glad to + have corrected any error.” + </p> + <p> + “So every author tells you, but I never saw one of them who did not look + blank at a list of errata—if you knew how little one is thanked for + them!” + </p> + <p> + “But you would be thanked now,” said Beauclerc:—“the faults in + style, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I am no critic,” said Churchill, confident in his habits of literary + detection; “but if you ask me,” said he, as he disdainfully flirted the + leaves back and forward with a “There now!” and a “Here now!” “We should + not call that good writing—you could not think this correct? I may + be wrong, but I should not use this phrase. Hardly English that—colloquial, + I think; and this awkward ablative absolute—never admitted now.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Beauclerc, “these faults are easily mended.” + </p> + <p> + “Easily mended, say you? I say, better make a new one.” + </p> + <p> + “WHO COULD?” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “How many faults you see,” said Helen, “which I should never have + perceived unless you had pointed them out, and I am sorry to know them + now.” Smiling at Helen’s look of sincere mortification, in contrast at + this moment with Mr. Churchill’s air of satisfied critical pride, Lady + Davenant said,— + </p> + <p> + “Why sorry, my dear Helen? No human work can be perfect; Mr. Churchill may + be proud of that strength of eye which in such a powerful light can count + the spots. But whether it be the best use to make of his eyes, or the best + use that can be made of the light, remains to be considered.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + Beyond measure was Churchill provoked to find Lady Davenant against him + and on the same side as Granville Beauclerc—all unused to + contradiction in his own society, where he had long been supreme, he felt + a difference of opinion so sturdily maintained as a personal insult. + </p> + <p> + For so young a man as Beauclerc, yet unknown to fame, not only to + challenge the combat but to obtain the victory, was intolerable; and the + more so, because his young opponent appeared no ways elated or surprised, + but seemed satisfied to attribute his success to the goodness of his + cause. + </p> + <p> + Churchill had hitherto always managed wisely his great stakes and + pretensions in both the fashionable and literary world. He had never + actually published any thing except a clever article or two in a review, + or an epigram, attributed to him but not acknowledged. Having avoided + giving his measure, it was believed he was above all who had been publicly + tried—it was always said—“If Horace Churchill would but + publish, he would surpass every other author of our times.” + </p> + <p> + Churchill accordingly dreaded and hated all who might by possibility + approach the throne of fashion, or interfere with his dictatorship in a + certain literary set in London, and from this moment he began cordially to + detest Beauclerc—he viewed him with a scornful, yet with jealous + eyes; but his was the jealousy of vanity, not of love; it regarded Lady + Davenant and his fashionable reputation in the first place—Helen + only in the second. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant observed all this, and was anxious to know how much or how + little Helen had seen, and what degree of interest it excited in her mind. + One morning, when they were alone together, looking over a cabinet of + cameos, Lady Davenant pointed to one which she thought like Mr. Beauclerc. + Helen did not see the likeness. + </p> + <p> + “People see likenesses very differently,” said Lady Davenant. “But you and + I, Helen, usually see characters, if not faces, with the same eyes. I have + been thinking of these two gentlemen, Mr. Churchill and Mr. Beauclerc—which + do you think the most agreeable?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Churchill is amusing certainly,” said Helen, “but I think Mr. + Beauclerc’s conversation much more interesting—though Mr. Churchill + is agreeable, sometimes—when—” + </p> + <p> + “When he flatters you,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “When he is not satirical—I was going to say,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “There is a continual petty brilliancy, a petty effort too,” continued + Lady Davenant, “in Mr. Churchill, that tires me—sparks struck + perpetually, but then you hear the striking of the flints, the clink of + the tinder-box.” + </p> + <p> + Helen, though she admitted the tinder-box, thought it too low a + comparison. She thought Churchill’s were not mere sparks. + </p> + <p> + “Well, fireworks, if you will,” said Lady Davenant, “that rise, blaze, + burst, fall, and leave you in darkness, and with a disagreeable smell too; + and it’s all <i>feu d’artifice</i> after all. Now in Beauclerc there is + too little art and too ardent nature. Some French friends of mine who knew + both, said of Mr. Churchill, ‘<i>De l’esprit on ne peut pas plus même à + Paris</i>,’ the highest compliment a Parisian can pay, but they allowed + that Beauclerc had ‘<i>beaucoup plus d’ame</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Helen; “how far superior!” + </p> + <p> + “It has been said,” continued Lady Davenant, “that it is safer to judge of + men by their actions than by their words, but there are few actions and + many words in life; and if women would avail themselves of their daily, + hourly, opportunities of judging people by their words, they would get at + the natural characters, or, what is of just as much consequence, they + would penetrate through the acquired habits; and here Helen, you have two + good studies before you.” + </p> + <p> + Preoccupied as Helen was with the certainty of Beauclerc being an engaged, + almost a married man, and looking, as she did, on Churchill as one who + must consider her as utterly beneath his notice, she listened to Lady + Davenant’s remarks as she would have done to observations about two + characters in a novel or on the stage. + </p> + <p> + As Churchill could not immediately manifest his hatred of Beauclerc, it + worked inwardly the more. He did not sleep well this night, and when he + got up in the morning, there was something the matter with him. Nervous, + bilious—cross it could not be;—<i>journalier</i> (a French + word settles everything)—<i>journalier</i> he allowed he was; he + rather gloried in it, because his being permitted to be so proved his + power,—his prerogative of fortune and talent combined. + </p> + <p> + In the vast competition of the London world, it is not permitted to every + man to be in his humour or out of his humour at pleasure; but, by an + uncommon combination of circumstances, Churchill had established his + privilege of caprice; he was allowed to have his bad and his good days, + and the highest people and the finest smiled, and submitted to his “<i>cachet + de faveur et de disgrace</i>;” and when he was sulky, rude, or snappish, + called it only Horace Churchill’s way. They even prided themselves on his + preferences and his aversions. “Horace is always charming when he is with + us.”—“With me you have no idea how delightful he is.”—“Indeed + I must do him the justice to say, that I never found him otherwise.”—While + the less favoured permitted him to be as rude as he pleased, and only + petted him, and told of his odd ways to those who sighed in vain to have + him at their parties. But Lady Davenant was not a person to pet or spoil a + child of any age, and to the general, Mr. Churchill was not particularly + agreeable—not his sort; while to Lady Cecilia, secure in grace, + beauty, and fashion, his humours were only matter of amusement, and she + bore with him pleasantly and laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “Such weather!” cried he in a querulous tone; “how can a man have any + sense in such weather? Some foreigner says, that the odious climate of + England is an over-balance for her good constitution. The sun of the south + is in truth well worth the liberty of the north. It is a sad thing,” said + he, with a very sentimental air, “that a free-born Briton should be + servile to these skyey influences;” and, grumbling on, he looked out of + the window as cross as he pleased, and nobody minded him. The aide-de-camp + civilly agreed with him that it was horrid weather, and likely to rain, + and it did rain; and every one knows how men, like children, are in + certain circumstances affected miserably by a rainy day. There was no + going out; horses at the door, and obliged to be dismissed. Well, since + there could be no riding, the next best thing the aide-de-camp thought, + was to talk of horses, and the officers all grew eager, and Churchill had + a mind to exert himself so far as to show them that he knew more of the + matter than they did; that he was no mere book-man; but on this unlucky + day, all went wrong. It happened that Horace fell into some grievous error + concerning the genealogy of a famous race-horse, and, disconcerted more + than he would have been at being convicted of any degree of moral + turpitude, vexed and ashamed, he talked no more of Newmarket or of + Doncaster, left the race-ground to those who prided themselves on the + excellences of their four-footed betters, and lounged into the + billiard-room. + </p> + <p> + He found Lady Cecilia playing with Beauclerc; Miss Stanley was looking on. + Churchill was a famous billiard-player, and took his turn to show how much + better than Beauclerc he performed, but this day his hand was out, his eye + not good; he committed blunders of which a novice might have been ashamed. + And there was Miss Stanley and there was Beauclerc by to see! and + Beauclerc pitied him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> O line extreme of human misery!<br /></pre> + <p> + He retreated to the book-room, but there the intellectual Horace, with all + the sages, poets, and novelists of every age within his reach, reached + them not; but, with his hands in his pockets, like any squire or schoolboy + under the load of ignorance or penalties of idleness, stood before the + chimney-piece, eyeing the pendule, and verily believing that this morning + the hands went backward. Dressing-time at last came, and dinner-time, + bringing relief how often to man and child ill-tempered; but, this day to + Churchill dinner brought only discomfiture worse discomfited. + </p> + <p> + Some of the neighbouring families were to dine at Clarendon Park. Mr. + Churchill abhorred country neighbours and country gentlemen. Among these, + however, were some not unworthy to be perceived by him; and besides these, + there were some foreign officers; one in particular, from Spain, of high + rank and birth, of the <i>sangre azul</i>, the <i>blue blood</i>, who have + the privilege of the silken cord if they should come to be hanged. This + Spaniard was a man of distinguished talent, and for him Horace might have + been expected to shine out; it was his pleasure, however, this day to + disappoint expectations, and to do “the dishonours of his country.” He + would talk only of eating, of which he was privileged not only to speak + but to judge, and pronounce upon <i>en dernier ressort</i>, though this + was only an air, for he was not really a gourmand; but after ogling + through his glass the distant dishes, when they with a wish came nigh, he, + after a cursory glance or a close inspection, made them with a nod retire. + </p> + <p> + At last he thought an opportunity offered for bringing in a well-prepared + anecdote which he had about Cambaçeres, and a hot blackbird and white + feet, but unluckily a country gentleman would tell some history of a + battle between poachers and gamekeepers, which fixed the attention of the + company till the moment for the anecdote was past. + </p> + <p> + Horace left his tale untold, and spoke word never more till a subject was + started on which he thought he could come out unrivalled. General + Clarendon had some remarkably good wines. Churchill was referred to as a + judge, and he allowed them to be all good, but he prided himself on + possessing a certain Spanish wine, esteemed above all price, because not + to be had for money—<i>amontillado</i> is its name. Horace appealed + to the Spanish officer, who confirmed all he said of this vinous + phenomenon. “No cultivator can be certain of producing it. It has puzzled, + almost to death, all the <i>growers</i> of Xeres:—it is a variety of + sherry, almost as difficult to judge of as to procure.” + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Churchill boasted he had some, undoubtedly genuine; he added, + “that Spanish judges had assured him his taste was so accurate he might + venture to pronounce upon the difficult question of amontillado or not!” + </p> + <p> + While he yet spoke, General Clarendon, unawares, placed before him some of + this very fine wine, which, as he finished speaking, Churchill swallowed + without knowing it from some other sherry which he had been drinking. He + would have questioned that it was genuine, but the Spaniard, as far as he + could pretend to judge, thought it unquestionable. + </p> + <p> + Churchill’s countenance fell in a manner that quite surprised Helen, and + exceedingly amused Lady Cecilia. He was more mortified and vexed by this + failure than by all the rest, for the whole table smiled. + </p> + <p> + The evening of this day of misfortune was not brighter than the morning, + everything was wrong—even at night—at night when at last the + dinner company, the country visitors, relieved him from their presence, + and when some comfort might be had, he thought, stretched in a good + easy-chair—Lord Davenant had set him the example. But something had + happened to all the chairs,—there was a variety of fashionable + kinds; he tried them by turns, but none of them this night would suit him. + Yet Lady Cecilia maintained (for the general had chosen them) that they + were each and all of them in their way comfortable, in the full English + spirit of the word, and according to the French explanation of <i>comfortable</i>, + given to us by the Duchess d’Abrantes, <i>convenablement bon</i>; but in + compassion to Mr. Churchill’s fastidious restlessness, she would now show + him a perfection of a chair which she had just had made for her own + boudoir. She ordered that it should be brought, and in it rolled, and it + was looked at in every direction and sat in, and no fault could be found + with it, even by the great faultfinder; but what was it called? It was + neither a lounger, nor a dormeuse, nor a Cooper, nor a Nelson, nor a + kangaroo: a chair without a name would never do; in all things fashionable + the name is more than half. Such a happy name as kangaroo Lady Cecilia + despaired of finding for her new favourite, but she begged some one would + give it a good one; whoever gave her the best name should be invited to + the honours and pleasures of the sitting in this chair for the rest of the + night. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes, and all eyes, turned upon Mr. Churchill, but whether the + occasion was too great, or that his desire to satisfy the raised + expectation of the public was too high strained, or that the time was out + of joint, or that he was out of sorts, the fact was, he could find no + name. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, who had not yet tried the chair, sank into its luxurious depth, + and leaning back, asked if it might not be appropriately called the + “Sleepy-hollow.” + </p> + <p> + “Sleepy-hollow!” repeated Lady Cecilia, “excellent!” and by acclamation + “Sleepy-hollow” was approved; but when Beauclerc was invited to the + honours of the sitting, he declined, declaring that the name was not his + invention, only his recollection; it had been given by a friend of his to + some such easy chair. + </p> + <p> + This magnanimity was too much for Horace; he looked at his watch, found it + was bed-time, pushed the chair out of his way, and departed; Beauclerc, + the first and last idea in this his day of mortifications. + </p> + <p> + Seeing a man subject to these petty irritations lowers him in the eyes of + woman. For that susceptibility of temper arising from the jealousy of + love, even when excited by trifles, woman makes all reasonable, all + natural allowance; but for the jealousy of self-love she has no pity. + Unsuited to the manly character!—so Helen thought, and so every + woman thinks. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + It was expected by all who had witnessed his discomfiture and his parting + push to the chair, that Mr. Churchill would be off early in the morning—such + was his wont when he was disturbed in vanity: but he reappeared at + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + This day was a good day with Horace; he determined it should be so, and + though it was again a wet day, he now showed that he could rule the + weather of his own humour, when intensity of will was wakened by rivalry. + He made himself most agreeable, and the man of yesterday was forgotten or + remembered only as a foil to the man of to-day. The words he so much loved + to hear, and to which he had so often surreptitiously listened, were now + repeated, ‘No one can be so agreeable as Horace Churchill is on his good + days!’ + </p> + <p> + Bright he shone out, all gaiety and graciousness; the <i>cachet de faveur</i> + was for all, but its finest impression was for Helen. He tried flattery, + and wit, each playing on the other with reflected and reflecting lustre, + for a woman naturally says to herself, “When this man has so much wit, his + flattery even must be worth something.” + </p> + <p> + And another day came, and another, and another party of friends filled the + house, and still Mr. Churchill remained, and was now the delight of all. + As far as concerned his successes in society, no one was more ready to + join in applause than Beauclerc; but when Helen was in question he was + different, though he had reasoned himself into the belief that he could + not yet love Miss Stanley, therefore he could not be jealous. But he had + been glad to observe that she had from the first seemed to see what sort + of a person Mr. Churchill was. She was now only amused, as everybody must + be, but she would never be interested by such a man as Horace Churchill, a + wit without a soul. If she were—why he could never feel any further + interest about her—that was all! + </p> + <p> + So it went on; and now Lady Cecilia was as much amused as she expected by + these daily jealousies, conflicts, and comparisons, the feelings + perpetually tricking themselves out, and strutting about, calling + themselves judgments, like the servants in Gil Blas in their masters’ + clothes, going about as counts dukes, and grandees. + </p> + <p> + “Well, really,” said Lady Cecilia to Helen, one day, as she was standing + near her tambour frame, “you are an industrious creature, and the only + very industrious person I ever could bear. I have myself a natural + aversion to a needle, but that tambour needle I can better endure than a + common one, because, in the first place, it makes a little noise in the + world; one not only sees but hears it getting on; one finds, that without + dragging it draws at every link a lengthened chain.” + </p> + <p> + “It is called chainstitch, is it not?” said the aide-de-camp; “and Miss + Stanley is working on so famously fast at it she will have us all in her + chains by and by.” + </p> + <p> + “Bow, Miss Stanley,” said Lady Cecilia; “that pretty compliment deserves + at least a bow, if not a look-up.” + </p> + <p> + “I should prefer a look-down, if I were to choose,” said Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “Beggars must not be choosers,” said the aide-de-camp. + </p> + <p> + “But the very reason I can bear to look at you working, Helen,” continued + Lady Cecilia, “is, because you do look up so often—so refreshingly. + The professed <i>Notables</i> I detest—those who never raise their + eyes from their everlasting work; whatever is said, read, thought, or + felt, is with them of secondary importance to that bit of muslin in which + they are making holes, or that bit of canvass on which they are + perpetrating such figures or flowers as nature scorns to look upon. I did + not mean anything against you mamma, I assure you,” continued Cecilia, + turning to her mother, who was also at her embroidering frame, “because, + though you do work, or have work before you, to do you justice, you never + attend to it in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! my dear Cecilia,” said Lady Davenant, smiling; “I am, indeed, + a sad bungler, but still I shall always maintain a great respect for work + and workers, and I have good reasons for it.” + </p> + <p> + “And so have I,” said Lord Davenant. “I only wish that men who do not know + what to do with their hands, were not ashamed to sew. If custom had but + allowed us this resource, how many valuable lives might have been saved, + how many rich ennuyés would not have hung themselves, even in November! + What years of war, what overthrow of empires, might have been avoided, if + princes and sultans, instead of throwing handkerchiefs, had but hemmed + them!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Lady Davenant, “recollect that the race of Spanish kings + has somewhat deteriorated since they exchanged the sword for the + tambour-frame. We had better have things as they are: leave us the + privilege of the needle, and what a valuable resource it is; sovereign + against the root of all evil—an antidote both to love in idleness + and hate in idleness—which is most to be dreaded, let those who have + felt both decide. I think we ladies must be allowed to keep the privilege + of the needle to ourselves, humble though it be, for we must allow it is a + good one.” + </p> + <p> + “Good at need,” said Churchill. “There is an excellent print, by Bouck, I + believe, of an old woman beating the devil with a distaff; distaffs have + been out of fashion with spinsters ever since, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “But as she was old, Churchill,” said Lord Davenant, “might not your lady + have defied his black majesty, without her distaff?” + </p> + <p> + “His <i>black</i> majesty! I admire your distinction, my lord,” said + Churchill, “but give it more emphasis; for all kings are not black in the + eyes of the fair, it is said, you know.” And here he began an anecdote of + regal scandal in which Lady Cecilia stopped him—— + </p> + <p> + “Now, Horace, I protest against your beginning with scandal so early in + the morning. None of your <i>on dits</i>, for decency’s sake, before + luncheon; wait till evening.” + </p> + <p> + Churchill coughed, and shrugged, and sighed, and declared he would be + temperate; he would not touch a character, upon his honour; he would only + indulge in a few little personalities; it could not hurt any lady’s + feelings that he should criticise or praise absent beauties. So he just + made a review of all he could recollect, in answer to a question one of + the officers, Captain Warmsley, had asked him, and which, in an absent + fit, he had had the ill-manners yesterday, as now he recollected, not to + answer—Whom he considered as altogether the handsomest woman of his + acquaintance? Beauclerc was now in the room, and Horace was proud to + display, before him in particular, his infinite knowledge of all the fair + and fashionable, and all that might be admitted fashionable without being + fair—all that have the <i>je ne sais quoi</i>, which is than beauty + dearer. As one conscious of his power to consecrate or desecrate, by one + look of disdain or one word of praise, he stood; and beginning at the + lowest conceivable point, his uttermost notion of want of beauty—his + <i>laid ideal</i>, naming one whose image, no doubt, every charitable + imagination will here supply, Horace next fixed upon another for his + mediocrity point—what he should call “just well enough”—<i>assez + bien, assez</i>—just up to the Bellasis motto, “<i>Bonne et belle + assez</i>.” Then, in the ascending scale, he rose to those who, in common + parlance, may be called charming, fascinating; and still for each he had + his fastidious look and depreciating word. Just keeping within the verge, + Horace, without exposing himself to the ridicule of coxcombry, ended by + sighing for that being ‘made of every creature’s best’—perfect, yet + free from the curse of perfection. Then, suddenly turning to Beauclerc, + and tapping him on the shoulder—“Do, give us your notions—to + what sort of a body or mind, now, would you willingly bend the knee?” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc could not or would not tell—“I only know that whenever I + bend the knee,” said he, “it will be because I cannot help it!” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc could not be drawn out either by Churchill’s persiflage or + flattery, and he tried both, to talk of his tastes or opinions of women. + He felt too much perhaps about love to talk much about it. This all agreed + well in Helen’s imagination with what Lady Cecilia had told her of his + secret engagement. She was sure he was thinking of Lady Blanche, and that + he could not venture to describe her, lest he should betray himself and + his secret. Then, leaving Churchill and the talkers, he walked up and down + the room alone, at the further side, seeming as if he were recollecting + some lines which he repeated to himself, and then stopping before Lady + Cecilia, repeated to her, in a very low voice, the following:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “I saw her upon nearer view,<br /> A spirit, yet a woman too!<br /> Her household motions light and free,<br /> And steps of virgin liberty;<br /> A countenance in which did meet<br /> Sweet records, promises as sweet;<br /> A creature not too bright or good<br /> For human nature’s daily food;<br /> For transient sorrows, simple wiles,<br /> Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles."<br /></pre> + <p> + Helen thought Lady Blanche must be a charming creature if she was like + this picture; but somehow, as she afterwards told Lady Cecilia, she had + formed a different idea of Lady Blanche Forrester—Cecilia smiled and + asked, “How? different how?” + </p> + <p> + Helen did not exactly know, but altogether she had imagined that she must + be more of a heroine, or perhaps more of a woman of rank and fashion. She + had not formed any exact idea—but different altogether from this + description. Lady Cecilia again smiled, and said, “Very natural; and after + all not very certain that the Lady Blanche is like this picture, which was + not drawn for her or from her assuredly—a resemblance found only in + the imagination, to which we are, all of us, more or less, dupes; and <i>tant + mieux</i> say I—<i>tant pis</i> says mamma—and all mothers.” + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing I like better in Mr. Beauclerc’s manners than in Mr. + Churchill,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “There are a hundred I like better,” said Lady Cecilia, “but what is your + one thing?” + </p> + <p> + “That he always speaks of women in general with respect—as if he had + more confidence in them, and more dependence upon them for his happiness. + Now Mr. Churchill, with all the adoration he professes, seems to look upon + them as idols that he can set up or pull down, bend the knee to or break + to pieces, at pleasure—I could not like a man for a friend who had a + bad, or even a contemptuous, opinion of women—could you, Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” Lady Cecilia said; “the general had always, naturally, + the greatest respect for women. Whatever prejudices he had taken up had + been only caught from others, and lasted only till he had got rid of the + impression of certain ‘untoward circumstances.’” Even a grave, serious + dislike, both Lady Cecilia and Helen agreed that they could bear better + than that persiflage which seemed to mock even while it most professed to + admire. + </p> + <p> + Horace presently discovered the mistakes he had made in his attempts, and + repaired them as fast as he could by his infinite versatility. The changes + shaded off with a skill which made them run easily into each other. He + perceived that Mr. Beauclerc’s respectful air and tone were preferred, and + he now laid himself out in the respectful line, adding, as he flattered + himself, something of a finer point, more polish in whatever he said, and + with more weight of authority. + </p> + <p> + But he was mortified to find that it did not produce the expected effect, + and, after having done the respectful one morning, as he fancied, in the + happiest manner, he was vexed to perceive that he not only could not raise + Helen’s eyes from her work, but that even Lady Davenant did not attend to + him: and that, as he was rounding one of his best periods, her looks were + directed to the other side of the room, where Beauclerc sat apart; and + presently she called to him, and begged to know what it was he was + reading. She said she quite envied him the power he possessed of being + rapt into future times or past, completely at his author’s bidding, to be + transported how and where he pleased. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc brought the book to her, and put it into her hand. As she took + it she said, “As we advance in life, it becomes more and more difficult to + find in any book the sort of enchanting, entrancing interest which we + enjoyed when life, and, books, and we ourselves were new. It were vain to + try and settle whether the fault is most in modern books, or in our + ancient selves; probably not in either: the fact is, that not only does + the imagination cool and weaken as we grow older, but we become, as we + live on in this world, too much engrossed by the real business and cares + of life, to have feeling or time for factitious, imaginary interests. But + why do I say factitious? while they last, the imaginative interests are as + real as any others.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Beauclerc, “for doing justice to poor imagination, whose + pleasures are surely, after all, the highest, the most real, that we have, + unwarrantably as they have been decried both by metaphysicians and + physicians.” + </p> + <p> + The book which had so fixed Beauclerc’s attention, was Segur’s History of + Napoleon’s Russian Campaign. He was at the page where the burning of + Moscow is described—the picture of Buonaparte’s despair, when he met + resolution greater than his own, when he felt himself vanquished by the + human mind, by patriotism, by virtue—virtue in which he could not + believe, the existence of which, with all his imagination, he could not + conceive: the power which his indomitable will could not conquer. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc pointed to the account of that famous inscription on the iron + gate of a church which the French found still standing, the words written + by Rostopchin after the burning of his “delightful home.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Frenchmen, I have been eight years in embellishing this residence; I + have lived in it happily in the bosom of my family. The inhabitants of + this estate (amounting to seventeen hundred and twenty) have quitted it at + your approach; and I have, with my own hands, set fire to my own house, to + prevent it from being polluted by your presence.</i>” + </p> + <p> + “See what one, even one, magnanimous individual can do for his country,” + exclaimed Beauclerc. “How little did this sacrifice cost him! Sacrifice do + I say? it was a pride—a pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Churchill did not at all like the expression of Helen’s countenance, for + he perceived she sympathised with Beauclerc’s enthusiasm. He saw that + romantic enthusiasm had more charm for her than wit or fashion; and now he + meditated another change of style. He would try a noble style. He resolved + that the first convenient opportunity he would be a little romantic, and + perhaps, even take a touch at chivalry, a burst like Beauclerc, but in a + way of his own, at the degeneracy of modern times. He tried it—but + it was quite a failure; Lady Cecilia, as he overheard, whispered to Helen + what was once so happily said—“<i>Ah! le pauvre homme! comme il se + batte les flancs d’un enthousiasme de commande.</i>” + </p> + <p> + Horace was too clever a man to persist in a wrong line, or one in which + his test of right <i>success</i> did not crown his endeavours. If this did + not do, something else would—should. It was impossible that with all + his spirit of resource he should ultimately fail. To please, and to make + an impression on Helen, a greater impression than Beauclerc—to annoy + Beauclerc, in short, was still, independently of all serious thoughts, the + utmost object of Churchill’s endeavours. + </p> + <h3> + END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME THE SECOND. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + About this time a circumstance occurred, which seemed to have nothing to + do with Churchill, or Beauclerc, but which eventually brought both their + characters into action and passion. + </p> + <p> + Lord Davenant had purchased, at the sale of Dean Stanley’s pictures, + several of those which had been the dean’s favourites, and which, + independently of their positive merit, were peculiarly dear to Helen. He + had ordered that they should be sent down to Clarendon Park; at first, he + only begged house-room for them from the general while he and Lady + Davenant were in Russia; then he said that in case he should never return + he wished the pictures should be divided between his two dear children, + Cecilia and Helen; and that, to prevent disputes, he would make the + distribution of them himself now, and in the kindest and most playful + manner he allotted them to each, always finding some excellent reason for + giving to Helen those which he knew she liked best; and then there was to + be a <i>hanging committee</i>, for hanging the pictures, which occasioned + a great deal of talking, Beauclerc always thinking most of Helen, or of + what was really best for the paintings; Horace most of himself and his + amateurship. + </p> + <p> + Among these pictures were some fine Wouvermans, and other hunting and + hawking pieces, and one in particular of the duchess and her ladies, from + Don Quixote. Beauclerc, who had gone round examining and admiring, stood + fixed when he came to this picture, in which he fancied he discovered in + one of the figures some likeness to Helen; the lady had a hawk upon her + wrist. Churchill came up eagerly to the examination, with glass at eye. He + could not discern the slightest resemblance to Miss Stanley; but he was in + haste to bring out an excellent observation of his own, which he had made + his own from a Quarterly Review, illustrating the advantage it would be to + painters to possess knowledge, even of kinds seemingly most distant from + the line of their profession. + </p> + <p> + “For instance, now <i>à priori</i>, one should not insist upon a great + painter’s being a good ornithologist, and yet, for want of being something + of a bird-fancier, look here what he has done—quite absurd, a sort + of hawk introduced, such as never was or could be at any hawking affair in + nature: would not sit upon lady’s wrist or answer to her call—would + never fly at a bird. Now you see this is a ridiculous blunder.” + </p> + <p> + While Churchill plumed himself on this critical remark Captain Warmsley + told of who still kept hawks in England, and of the hawking parties he had + seen and heard of—“even this year, that famous hawking in Wiltshire, + and that other in Norfolk.” + </p> + <p> + Churchill asked Warmsley if he had been at Lord Berner’s when Landseer was + there studying the subject of his famous hawking scene. “Have you seen it, + Lady Cecilia?” continued he; “it is beautiful; the birds seem to be + absolutely coming out of the picture;” and he was going on with some of + his connoisseurship, and telling of his mortification in having missed the + purchase of that picture; but Warmsley got back to the hawking he had + seen, and he became absolutely eloquent in describing the sport. + </p> + <p> + Churchill, though eager to speak, listened with tolerably polite patience + till Warmsley came to what he had forgot to mention,—to the label + with the date of place and year that is put upon the heron’s leg; to the + heron brought from Denmark, where it had been caught, with the label of + having been let fly from Lord Berner’s; “for,” continued he, “the heron is + always to be saved if possible, so, when it is down, and the hawk over it, + the falconer has some raw beef ready minced, and lays it on the heron’s + back, or a pigeon, just killed, is sometimes used; the hawk devours it, + and the heron, quite safe, as soon as it recovers from its fright, mounts + slowly upward and returns to its heronry.” + </p> + <p> + Helen listened eagerly, and so did Lady Cecilia, who said, “You know, + Helen, our favourite Washington Irving quotes that in days of yore, ‘a + lady of rank did not think herself completely equipped in riding forth, + unless she had her tassel-gentel held by jesses on her delicate hand.’” + </p> + <p> + Before her words were well finished, Beauclerc had decided what he would + do, and the business was half done that is well begun. He was at the + library table, writing as fast as pen could go, to give carte blanche to a + friend, to secure for him immediately a whole hawking establishment which + Warmsley had mentioned, and which was now upon public sale, or privately + to be parted with by the present possessor. + </p> + <p> + At the very moment when Beauclerc was signing and sealing at one end of + the room, at the other Horace Churchill, to whom something of the same + plan had occurred, was charming Lady Cecilia Clarendon, by hinting to her + his scheme—anticipating the honour of seeing one of his hawks borne + upon her delicate wrist. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, after despatching his letter, came up just in time to catch the + sound and the sense, and took Horace aside to tell him what he had done. + Horace looked vexed, and haughtily observed, that he conceived his place + at Erlesmede was better calculated for a hawking party than most places in + England; and he had already announced his intentions to the ladies. The + way was open to him—but Beauclerc did not see why he should recede; + the same post might carry both their letters—both their orders! + </p> + <p> + “How far did your order go, may I ask?” said Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “Carte blanche.” + </p> + <p> + Churchill owned, with a sarcastic smile, that he was not prepared to go + quite so far. He was not quite so young as Granville; he, unfortunately, + had arrived at years of discretion—he said unfortunately; without + ironical reservation, he protested from the bottom of his heart he + considered it as a misfortune to have become that slow circumspect sort of + creature which looks before it leaps. Even though this might save him from + the fate of the man who was in Sicily, still he considered it as + unfortunate to have lost so much of his natural enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Natural enthusiasm!” Beauclerc could not help repeating to himself, and + he went on his own way. It must be confessed, as even Beauclerc’s best + friends allowed, counting among them Lady Davenant and his guardian, that + never was man of sense more subject to that kind of temporary derangement + of the reasoning powers which results from being what is called bit by a + fancy; he would then run on straight forward, without looking to the right + or the left, in pursuit of his object, great or small. That hawking + establishment now in view, completely shut out, for the moment, all other + objects; “of tercels and of lures he talks;” and before his imagination + were hawking scenes, and Helen with a hawk on her wrist, looking most + graceful—a hawk of his own training it should be. Then, how to train + a hawk became the question. While he was waiting for the answer to his + carte blanche, nothing better, or so good, could be done, as to make + himself master of the whole business, and for this purpose he found it + essential to consult every book on falconry that could be found in the + library, and a great plague he became to everybody in the course of this + book-hunt. + </p> + <p> + “What a bore!” Warmsley might be excused for muttering deep and low + between the teeth. General Clarendon sighed and groaned. Lady Davenant + bore and forebore philosophically—it was for Beauclerc; and to her + great philosophy she gave all the credit of her indulgent partiality. Lady + Cecilia, half-annoyed yet ever good-natured, carried her complaisance so + far as to consult the catalogue and book-shelves sundry times in one hour; + but she was not famous for patience, and she soon resigned him to a better + friend—Helen, the most indefatigable of book-hunters. She had been + well trained to it by her uncle; had been used to it all her life; and + really took pleasure in the tiresome business. She assured Beauclerc it + was not the least trouble, and he thought she looked beautiful when she + said so. Whosoever of the male kind, young, and of ardent, not to say + impatient, spirit, has ever been aided and abetted in a sudden whim, + assisted, forwarded, above all, sympathised with, through all the changes + and chances of a reigning fancy, may possibly conceive how charming, and + more charming every hour, perhaps minute, Helen became in Beauclerc’s + eyes. But, all in the way of friendship observe. Perfectly so—on her + part, for she could not have another idea, and it was for this reason she + was so much at her ease. He so understood it, and, thoroughly a gentleman, + free from coxcombry, as he was, and interpreting the language and manners + of women with instinctive delicacy, they went on delightfully. Churchill + was on the watch, but he was not alarmed; all was so undisguised and + frank, that now he began to feel assured that love on her side not only + was, but ever would be, quite out of the question. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc was, indeed, in the present instance, really and truly intent + upon what he was about; and he pursued the History of Falconry, with all + its episodes, from the olden time of the Boke of St. Alban’s down to the + last number of the Sporting Magazine, including Colonel Thornton’s latest + flight, with the adventures of his red falcons, Miss M’Ghee and Lord + Townsend, and his red tercels, Messrs. Croc Franc and Craignon;—not + forgetting that never-to-be forgotten hawking of the Emperor + Arambombamboberus with Trebizonian eagles, on the authority of a + manuscript in the Grand Signior’s library. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc had such extraordinary dependence upon the sympathy of his + friends, that, when he was reading any thing that interested him, no + matter what they might be doing, he must have their admiration for what + charmed him. He brought his book to Lord Davenant, who was writing a + letter. “Listen, oh listen! to this pathetic lament of the falconer,—‘Hawks, + heretofore the pride of royalty, the insignia of nobility, the + ambassador’s present, the priest’s indulgence, companion of the knight, + and nursling of the gentle mistress, are now uncalled-for and neglected.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! very well that,” said good-natured Lord Davenant, stopping his pen, + dipping again, dotting, and going on. + </p> + <p> + Then Beauclerc passaged to Lady Davenant, and, interrupting her in Scott’s + Lives of the Novelists, on which she was deeply intent, “Allow me, my dear + Lady Davenant, though you say you are no great topographer, to show you + this, it is so curious; this royal falconer’s proclamation—Henry the + Eighth’s—to preserve his partridges, pheasants, and herons, from his + palace at Westminster to St. Giles’s <i>in the Fields</i>, and from thence + to Islington, Hampstead, and Highgate, under penalty for every bird killed + of imprisonment, or whatever other punishment to his highness may seem + meet.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant vouchsafed some suitable remark, consonant to expectation, + on the changes of times and places, and men and manners, and then motioned + the quarto away with which motion the quarto reluctantly complied; and + then following Lady Cecilia from window to window, as she <i>tended</i> + her flowers, he would insist upon her hearing the table of precedence for + hawks. She, who never cared for any table of precedence in her life, even + where the higher animals were concerned, would only undertake to remember + that the merlin was a lady’s hawk, and this only upon condition, that she + should have one to sit upon her wrist like the fair ladies in Wouvermans’ + pictures. But further, as to Peregrine, Gerfalcon, or Gerkin, she would + hear nought of them, nor could she listen, though Granville earnestly + exhorted, to the several good reasons which make a falcon dislike her + master— + </p> + <p> + 1st. If he speak rudely to her. 2nd. If he feed her carelessly. + </p> + <p> + Before he could get thirdly out, Lady Cecilia stopped him, declaring that + in all her life she never could listen to any thing that began with <i>first</i> + and <i>secondly</i>—reasons especially. + </p> + <p> + Horace, meanwhile, looked superior down, and thought with ineffable + contempt of Beauclerc’s little skill in the arts of conversation, thus + upon unwilling ears to squander anecdotes which would have done him credit + at some London dinner. + </p> + <p> + “What I could have made of them! and may make of them yet,” thought he; + “but some there are, who never can contrive, as other some cleverly do, to + ride their hobby-horses to good purpose and good effect;—now + Beauclerc’s hobbies, I plainly see, will always run away with him + headlong, cost him dear certainly, and, may be, leave him in the mire at + last.” + </p> + <p> + What this fancy was to cost him, Beauclerc did not yet know. Two or three + passages in the Sporting Magazine had given some hints of the expense of + this “most delectable of all country contentments,” which he had not + thought it necessary to read aloud. And he knew that the late Lord Orford, + an ardent pursuer of this “royal and noble” sport, had expended one + hundred a-year on every hawk he kept, each requiring a separate attendant, + and being moreover indulged in an excursion to the Continent every season + during moulting-time: but Beauclerc said to himself he had no notion of + humouring his hawks to that degree; they should, aristocratic birds though + they be, content themselves in England, and not pretend to “damn the + climate like a lord.” And he flattered himself that he should be able to + pursue his fancy more cheaply than any of his predecessors; but as he had + promised his guardian that, after the indulgence granted him in the + Beltravers’ cause, he would not call upon him for any more extraordinary + supplies, he resolved, in case the expense exceeded his ways and means, to + sell his hunters, and so indulge in a new love at the expense of an old + one. + </p> + <p> + The expected pleasure of the first day’s hawking was now bright in his + imagination; the day was named, the weather promised well, and the German + cadgers and trainers who had been engaged, and who, along with the whole + establishment, were handed over to Beauclerc, were to come down to + Clarendon Park, and Beauclerc was very happy teaching the merlins to sit + on Lady Cecilia’s and on Miss Stanley’s wrist. Helen’s voice was found to + be peculiarly agreeable to the hawk, who, as Beauclerc observed, loved, + like Lear, that excellent thing in woman, a voice ever soft, gentle, and + low. + </p> + <p> + The ladies were to wear some pretty dresses for the occasion, and all was + gaiety and expectation; and Churchill was mortified when he saw how well + the thing was likely to take, that he was not to be the giver of the fête, + especially as he observed that Helen was particularly pleased—when, + to his inexpressible surprise, Granville Beauclerc came to him, a few days + before that appointed for the hawking-party, and said that he had changed + his mind, that he wished to get rid of the whole concern—that he + should be really obliged to Churchill if he would take his engagement off + his hands. The only reason he gave was, that the establishment would + altogether be more than he could afford, he found he had other calls for + money, which were incompatible with his fancy, and therefore he would give + it up. + </p> + <p> + Churchill obliged him most willingly by taking the whole upon himself, and + he managed so to do in a very ingenious way, without incurring any + preposterous expense. He was acquainted with a set of rich, fashionable + young men, who had taken a sporting lodge in a neighbouring county, who + desired no better than to accede to the terms proposed, and to distinguish + themselves by giving a fête out of the common line, while Churchill, who + understood, like a true man of the world, the worldly art of bargaining, + contrived, with off-hand gentleman-like jockeying, to have every point + settled to his own convenience, and he was to be the giver of the + entertainment to the ladies at Clarendon Park. When this change in affairs + was announced, Lady Cecilia, the general, Lady Davenant, and Helen, were + all, in various degrees, surprised, and each tried to guess what could + have been the cause of Beauclerc’s sudden relinquishment of his purpose. + He was—very extraordinary for him—impenetrable: he adhered to + the words “I found I could not afford it.” His guardian could not believe + in this wonderful prudence, and was almost certain “there must be some + imprudence at the bottom of it all.” + </p> + <p> + Granville neither admitted nor repelled that accusation. Lady Cecilia + worked away with perpetual little strokes, hoping to strike out the truth, + but, as she said, you might as well have worked at an old flint. Nothing + was elicited from him, even by Lady Davenant; nor did the collision of all + their opinions throw any light upon the matter. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the day for the hawking-party arrived. Churchill gave the fete, + and Beauclerc, as one of the guests, attended and enjoyed it without the + least appearance even of disappointment; and, so far from envying + Churchill, he assisted in remedying any little defects, and did all he + could to make the whole go off well. + </p> + <p> + The party assembled on a rising ground; a flag was displayed to give + notice of the intended sport; the falconers appeared, picturesque figures + in their green jackets and their long gloves, and their caps plumed with + herons’ feathers—some with the birds on their wrists—one with + the frame over his shoulder upon which to set the hawk. <i>Set</i>, did we + say?—no: “<i>cast</i> your hawk on the perch” is, Beauclerc + observed, the correct term; for, as Horace sarcastically remarked, Mr. + Beauclerc might be detected as a novice in the art by his over-exactness; + his too correct, too attic, pronunciation of the hawking language. But + Granville readily and gaily bore all this ridicule and raillery, sure that + it would neither stick nor stain, enjoying with all his heart the + amusement of the scene—the assembled ladies, the attendant + cavaliers; the hood-winked hawks, the ringing of their brass bells; the + falconers anxiously watching the clouds for the first appearance of the + bird; their skill in loosening the hoods, as, having but one hand at + liberty, they used their teeth to untie the string:——And now + the hoods are off, and the hawks let fly. + </p> + <p> + They were to fly many castes of hawks this day; the first flight was after + a curlew; and the riding was so hard, so dangerous, from the broken nature + of the ground, that the ladies gave it up, and were contented to view the + sport from the eminence where they remained. + </p> + <p> + And now there was a question to be decided among the sportsmen as to the + comparative rate of riding at a fox chase, and in “the short, but + terrifically hard gallop, with the eyes raised to the clouds, which is + necessary for the full enjoyment of hawking;” and then the gentlemen, + returning, gathered round the ladies, and the settling the point, watches + in hand, and bets depending, added to the interest of flight the first, + and Churchill, master of the revels, was in the highest spirits. + </p> + <p> + But presently the sky was overcast, the morning lowered, the wind rose, + and changed was Churchill’s brow; there is no such thing as hawking + against the wind—that capricious wind! + </p> + <p> + “Curse the wind!” cried Churchill; “and confusion seize the fellow who + says there is to be no more hawking to-day!” + </p> + <p> + The chief falconer, however, was a phlegmatic German, and proper-behaved, + as good falconers should be, who, as “Old Tristram’s booke” has it, even + if a bird should be lost, he should never swear, and only say, “<i>Dieu + soit loué</i>,” and “remember that the mother of hawks is not dead.” + </p> + <p> + But Horace, in the face of reason and in defiance of his German + counsellors, insisted upon letting fly the hawks in this high wind; and it + so fell out that, in the first place, all the terms he used in his haste + and spleen were wrong; and in the next, that the quarry taking down the + wind, the horsemen could not keep up with the hawks: the falconers in + great alarm, called to them by the names they gave them—“Miss + Didlington,” “Lord Berners.” “Ha! Miss Didlington’s off;—off with + Blucher, and Lady Kirby, and Lord Berners, and all of ‘em after her.” Miss + Didlington flew fast and far, and further still, till she and all the rest + were fairly out of sight—lost, lost, lost! + </p> + <p> + “And as fine a caste of hawks they were as ever came from Germany!”—the + falconers were in despair, and Churchill saw that the fault was his; and + it looked so like cockney sportsmanship! If Horace had been in a towering + rage, it would have been well enough; but he only grew pettish, snappish, + waspish: now none of those words ending in <i>ish</i> become a gentleman; + ladies always think so, and Lady Cecilia now thought so, and Helen thought + so too, and Churchill saw it, and he grew pale instead of red, and that + looks ugly in an angry man. + </p> + <p> + But Beauclerc excused him when he was out of hearing; and when others said + he had been cross, and crosser than became the giver of a gala, Beauclerc + pleaded well for him, that falconry has ever been known to be “an extreme + stirrer-up of the passions, being subject to mischances infinite.” + </p> + <p> + However, a cold and hot collation under the trees for some, and under a + tent for others, set all to rights for the present. Champagne sparkled, + and Horace pledged and was pledged, and all were gay; even the Germans at + their own table, after their own fashion, with their Rhenish and their + foaming ale, contrived to drown the recollection of the sad adventure of + the truant hawks. + </p> + <p> + And when all were refreshed and renewed in mind and body, to the hawking + they went again. For now that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “The wind was laid, and all their fears asleep,"<br /></pre> + <p> + there was to be a battle between heron and hawk, one of the finest sights + that can be in all falconry. + </p> + <p> + “Look! look! Miss Stanley,” cried Granville; “look! follow that high-flown + hawk—that black speck in the clouds. Now! now! right over the heron; + and now she will <i>canceleer</i>—turn on her wing, Miss Stanley, as + she comes down, whirl round, and balance herself—<i>chanceler</i>. + Now! now look! cancelleering gloriously!” + </p> + <p> + But Helen at this instant recollected what Captain Warmsley had said of + the fresh-killed pigeon, which the falconer in the nick of time is to lay + upon the heron’s back; and now, even as the cancelleering was going on—three + times most beautifully, Helen saw only the dove, the white dove, which + that black-hearted German held, his great hand round the throat, just + raised to wring it. “Oh, Beauclerc, save it, save it!” cried Lady Cecilia + and Helen at once. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc sprang forward, and, had it been a tiger instead of a dove, + would have done the same no doubt at that moment; the dove was saved, and + the heron killed. If Helen was pleased, so was not the chief falconer, nor + any of the falconers, the whole German council in combustion! and Horace + Churchill deeming it “Rather extraordinary that any gentleman should so + interfere with other gentlemen’s hawks.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia stepped between, and never stepped in vain. She drew a ring + from her finger—a seal; it was the seal of peace—no great + value—but a well-cut bird—a bird for the chief falconer—a + guinea-hen, with its appropriate cry, its polite motto, “Come back, come + back;” and she gave it as a pledge that the ladies would come back another + day, and see another hawking; and the gentlemen were pleased, and the + aggrieved attendant falconers pacified by a promise of another heron from + the heronry at Clarendon Park; and the clouded faces brightened, and “she + smoothed the raven down of darkness till it smiled,” whatever that may + mean; but, as Milton said it, it must be sense as well as sound. + </p> + <p> + At all events, in plain prose, be it understood that every body was + satisfied, even Mr. Churchill; for Beauclerc had repaired for him, just in + time, an error which would have been a blot on his gallantry of the day. + He had forgotten to have some of the pretty grey hairs plucked from the + heron, to give to the ladies to ornament their bonnets, but Beauclerc had + secured them for him, and also two or three of those much-valued, smooth, + black feathers, from the head of the bird, which are so much prized that a + plume of them is often set with pearls and diamonds. Horace presented + these most gracefully to Lady Cecilia and Helen, and was charmed with Lady + Cecilia’s parting compliments, which finished with the words “Quite + chivalrous.” + </p> + <p> + And so, after all the changes and chances of weather, wind, and humour, + all ended well, and no one rued the hawking of this day. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + “But all this time,” said Lady Davenant, “you have not told me whether you + have any of you found out what changed Granville’s mind about this + falconry scheme—why he so suddenly gave up the whole to Mr. + Churchill. Such a point-blank weathercock turn of fancy in most young men + would no more surprise me than the changes of those clouds in the sky, now + shaped and now unshaped by the driving wind; but in Granville Beauclerc + there is always some reason for apparent caprice, and the reason is often + so ingeniously wrong that it amuses me to hear it; and even as a study in + human nature, I am curious to know the simple fact.” + </p> + <p> + But no one could tell the simple fact, no one could guess his reason, and + from him it never would have been known—never could have been found + out, but from a mistake—from a letter of thanks coming to a wrong + person. + </p> + <p> + One morning, when Helen was sitting in Lady Davenant’s room with her, Lord + Davenant came in, reading a letter, like one walking in his sleep. + </p> + <p> + “What is all this, my dear? Can you explain it to me? Some good action of + yours, I suppose, for which I am to be thanked.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant looked at the letter. She had nothing to do with the matter, + she said; but, on second thoughts, exclaimed, “This is Granville + Beauclerc’s doing, I am clear!” + </p> + <p> + The letter was from Count Polianski, one of the poor banished Poles; now + poor, but who had been formerly master of a property estimated at about + one hundred and sixty-five thousand <i>available individuals</i>. In + attempting to increase the happiness and secure the liberty of these + available individuals, the count had lost every thing, and had been + banished from his country—a man of high feeling as well as talents, + and who had done all he could for that unhappy country, torn to pieces by + demagogues from within and tyrants from without. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant now recollected that Beauclerc had learned from her all + this, and had heard her regretting that the circumstances in which Lord + Davenant was placed at this moment, prevented the possibility of his + affording this poor count assistance for numbers of his suffering + fellow-countrymen who had been banished along with him, and who were now + in London in the utmost distress. Lady Davenant remembered that she had + been speaking to Granville on this subject the very day that he had + abandoned his falconry project. “Now I understand it all,” said she; “and + it is like all I know and all I have hoped of him. These hundreds a-year + which he has settled on these wretched exiles, are rather better disposed + of in a noble national cause, than in pampering one set of birds that they + may fly at another set.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet this is done,” said Lord Davenant, “by one of the much reviled, + high-bred English gentlemen—among whom, let the much reviling, + low-bred English democrats say what they will, we find every day instances + of subscription for public purposes from private benevolence, in a spirit + of princely charity to be found only in our own dear England—England + with all her faults.’” + </p> + <p> + “But this was a less ordinary sort of generosity of Granville’s,” said + Lady Davenant,—“the giving up a new pleasure, a new whim with all + its gloss fresh upon it, full and bright in his eye.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Lord Davenant; “I never saw a strong-pulling fancy better + thrown upon its haunches.” + </p> + <p> + The white dove, whose life Helen had saved, was brought home by Beauclerc, + and was offered to her and accepted. Whether she had done a good or a bad + action, by thus saving the life of a pigeon at the expense of a heron, may + be doubted, and will be decided according to the several tastes of ladies + and gentlemen for herons or doves. As Lady Davenant remarked, Helen’s + humanity (or dove-anity, as Churchill called it,) was of that equivocal + sort which is ready to destroy one creature to save another which may + happen to be a greater favourite. + </p> + <p> + Be this as it may, the favourite had a friend upon the present occasion, + and no less a friend than General Clarendon, who presented it with a + marble basin, such as doves should drink out of, by right of long + prescription. + </p> + <p> + The general feared, he said, “that this vase might be a little too deep—dangerously + perhaps——.” + </p> + <p> + But Helen thought nothing could be altogether more perfect in taste and in + kindness—approving Beauclerc’s kindness too—a remembrance of a + day most agreeably spent. Churchill, to whom she looked, as she said the + last words, with all becoming politeness, bowed and accepted the + compliment, but with a reserve of jealousy on the brow; and as he looked + again at the dove, caressing and caressed, and then at the classic vase—he + stood vexed, and to himself he said,— + </p> + <p> + “So this is the end of all my pains—hawking and all ‘quite + chivalrous!’ Beauclerc carries off the honours and pleasures of the day, + and his present and his dove are to be all in all. Yet still,” continued + he to himself in more consolatory thought—“she is so open in her + very love for the bird, that it is plain she has not yet any love for the + man. She would be somewhat more afraid to show it, delicate as she is. It + is only friendship—honest friendship, on her side; and if her + affections be not engaged somewhere else—she may be mine: if—if + I please—if—I can bring myself fairly to propose—we + shall see—I shall think of it.” + </p> + <p> + And now he began to think of it seriously.—Miss Stanley’s + indifference to him, and the unusual difficulty which he found in making + any impression, stimulated him in an extraordinary degree. Helen now + appeared to him even more beautiful than he had at first thought her—“Those + eyes that fix so softly,” thought he, “those dark eyelashes—that + blush coming and going so beautifully—and there is a timid grace in + all her motions, with that fine figure too—and that high-bred turn + of the neck!—altogether she is charming! and she will be thought so!—she + must be mine!” + </p> + <p> + She would do credit to his taste; he thought she would, when she had a + little more <i>usage du monde</i>, do the honours of his house well; and + it would be delightful to train her!—If he could but engage her + affections, before she had seen more of the world, she might really love + him for his own sake—and Churchill wished to be really loved, if + possible, for his own sake; but of the reality of modern love he justly + doubted, especially for a man of his fortune and his age; yet, with + Helen’s youth and innocence he began to think he had some chance of + disinterested attachment, and he determined to bring out for her the + higher powers of his mind—the better parts of his character. + </p> + <p> + One day Lady Davenant had been speaking of London conversation. “So + brilliant,” said she, “so short-lived, as my friend Lady Emmeline K——once + said, ‘London wit is like gas, which lights at a touch, and at a touch can + be extinguished;’” and Lady Davenant concluded with a compliment to him + who was known to have this “<i>touch and go</i>” of good conversation to + perfection. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Churchill bowed to the compliment, but afterwards sighed, and it + seemed an honest sigh, from the bottom of his heart. Only Lady Davenant + and Helen were in the room, and turning to Lady Davenant he said, + </p> + <p> + “If I have it, I have paid dearly for it, more than it is worth, much too + dearly, by the sacrifice of higher powers; I might have been a very + different person from what I am.” + </p> + <p> + Helen’s attention was instantly fixed; but Lady Davenant suspected he was + now only talking for effect. He saw what she thought—it was partly + true, but not quite. He felt what he said at the moment; and besides, + there is always a sincere pleasure in speaking of one’s self when one can + do it without exposing one’s self to ridicule, and with a chance of + obtaining real sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “It was my misfortune,” he said, “to be spoiled, even in childhood, by my + mother.” + </p> + <p> + As he pronounced the word “mother,” either his own heart or Helen’s eyes + made him pause with a look of respectful tenderness. It was cruel of a son + to blame the fond indulgence of a mother; but the fact was, she brought + him too forward early as a clever child, fed him too much with that sweet + dangerous fostering dew of praise. The child—the man—must + suffer for it afterwards. + </p> + <p> + “True, very true,” said Lady Davenant; “I quite agree with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I could do nothing without flattery,” continued he, pursuing the line of + confession which he saw had fixed Lady Davenant’s attention favourably. + “Unluckily, I came too early into possession of a large fortune, and into + the London world, and I lapped the stream of prosperity as I ran, and it + was sweet with flattery, intoxicating, and I knew it, and yet could not + forbear it. Then in a London life every thing is too stimulating—over-exciting. + If there are great advantages to men of science and literature in museums + and public libraries, the more than <i>Avicenna</i> advantages of having + books come at will, and ministering spirits in waiting on all your + pursuits—there is too much of every thing except time, and too + little of that. The treasures are within our reach, but we cannot clutch; + we have, but we cannot hold. We have neither leisure to be good, nor to be + great: who can think of living for posterity, when he can scarcely live + for the day? and sufficient for the day are never the hours thereof. From + want of time, and from the immense quantity that nevertheless must be + known, comes the necessity, the unavoidable necessity of being + superficial.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should it be unavoidable necessity?” asked Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Because <i>should</i> waits upon <i>must</i>, in London always, if not + elsewhere,” said Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “A conversation answer,” replied Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I allow it; it is even so, just so, and to such tricks, such playing + upon words, do the bad habits of London conversation lead;” and Lady + Davenant wondered at the courage of his candour, as he went on to speak of + the petty jealousies, the paltry envy, the miserable selfish + susceptibility generated by the daily competition of London society. Such + dissensions, such squabbles—an ignoble but appropriate word—such + deplorable, such scandalous squabbles among literary, and even among + scientific men. “And who,” continued he, “who can hope to escape in such a + tainted atmosphere—an atmosphere overloaded with life, peopled with + myriads of little buzzing stinging vanities! It really requires the + strength of Hercules, mind and body, to go through our labours, + fashionable, political, <i>bel esprit</i>, altogether too much for mortal. + In parliament, in politics, in the tug of war you see how the strongest + minds fail, come to untimely——” + </p> + <p> + “Do not touch upon that subject,” cried Lady Davenant, suddenly agitated. + Then, commanding herself, she calmly added—“As you are not now, I + think, in parliament, it cannot affect you. What were you saying?—your + health of mind and body, I think you said, you were sensible had been hurt + by——” + </p> + <p> + “These straining, incessant competitions have hurt me. My health suffered + first, then my temper. It was originally good, now, as you have seen, I am + afraid”—glancing at Helen, who quickly looked down, “I am afraid I + am irritable.” + </p> + <p> + There was an awkward silence. Helen thought it was for Lady Davenant to + speak; but Lady Davenant did not contradict Mr. Churchill. Now, the not + contradicting a person who is abusing himself, is one of the most heinous + offences to self-love that can be committed; and it often provokes false + candour to pull off the mask and throw it in your face; but either Mr. + Horace Churchill’s candour was true, or it was so well guarded at the + moment that no such catastrophe occurred. + </p> + <p> + “Worse than this bad effect on my temper!” continued he, “I feel that my + whole mind has been deteriorated—my ambition dwindled to the + shortest span—my thoughts contracted to the narrow view of mere + effect; what would please at the dinner-table or at the clubs—what + will be thought of me by this literary coterie, or in that fashionable + boudoir. And for this <i>reputation de salon</i> I have sacrificed all + hope of other reputation, all power of obtaining it, all hope of “——(here + he added a few words, murmured down to Lady Davenant’s embroidery frame, + yet still in such a tone that Helen could not help thinking he meant she + should hear)—“If I had a heart such as—” he paused, and, as if + struck with some agonising thought, he sighed deeply, and then added—“but + I have not a heart worth such acceptance, or I would make the offer.” + </p> + <p> + Helen was not sure what these words meant, but she now pitied him, and she + admired his candour, which she thought was so far above the petty sort of + character he had at first done himself the injustice to seem, and she + seized the first opportunity to tell Beauclerc all Mr. Churchill had said + to Lady Davenant and to her, and of the impression it had made upon them + both. Beauclerc had often discussed Mr. Churchill’s character with her, + but she was disappointed when she saw that what she told made no agreeable + impression on Beauclerc: at first he stood quite silent, and when she + asked what he thought, he said—“It’s all very fine, very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is all true,” said Helen, “And I admire Mr. Churchill’s knowing + the truth so well and telling it so candidly.” + </p> + <p> + “Every thing Mr. Churchill has said may be true—and yet I think the + truth is not in him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not usually so suspicious,” said Helen. “If you had heard Mr. + Churchill’s voice and emphasis, and seen his look and manner at the time, + I think you could not have doubted him.” + </p> + <p> + The more eager she grew, the colder Mr. Beauclerc became. “Look and + manner, and voice and emphasis,” said he, “make a great impression, I + know, on ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is your reason, Mr. Beauclerc, for disbelief? I have as yet only + heard that you believe every thing that Mr. Churchill said was true, and + yet that you do not believe in his truth,” said Helen, in a tone of + raillery. + </p> + <p> + And many a time before had Beauclerc been the first to laugh when one of + his own paradoxes stared him in the face; but now he was more out of + countenance than amused, and he looked seriously about for reasons to + reconcile his seeming self-contradiction. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place, all those allusions and those metaphorical + expressions, which you have so wonderfully well remembered, and which no + doubt were worth remembering, all those do not give me the idea of a man + who was really feeling in earnest, and speaking the plain truth about + faults, for which, if he felt at all, he must be too much ashamed to talk + in such a grand style; and to talk of them at all, except to most intimate + friends, seems so unnatural, and quite out of character in a man who had + expressed such horror of egotists, and who is so excessively circumspect + in general.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but Mr. Churchill’s forgetting all his little habits of + circumspection, and all fear of ridicule, is the best proof of his being + quite in earnest—that all he said was from his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt whether he has any heart,” said Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “Poor man, he said——” Helen began, and then recollecting the + words, ‘or I would make the offer,’ she stopped short, afraid of the + construction they might bear, and then, ashamed of her fear, she coloured + deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Poor man, he said——” repeated Beauclerc, fixing his eyes upon + her, “What did he say, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “No,—” said Helen, “I am not sure that I distinctly heard or + understood Mr. Churchill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if there was any mystery!” Beauclerc begged pardon. + </p> + <p> + And he went away very quickly. He did not touch upon the subject again, + but Helen saw that he never forgot it; and, by few words which she heard + him say to Lady Davenant about his dislike to half-confidences, she knew + he was displeased, and she thought he was wrong. She began to fear that + his mistrust of Churchill arose from envy at his superior success in + society; and, though she was anxious to preserve her newly-acquired good + opinion of Churchill’s candour, she did not like to lose her esteem for + Beauclerc’s generosity. Was it possible that he could be seriously hurt at + the readiness with which Mr. Churchill availed himself of any idea which + Beauclerc threw out, and which he dressed up, and passed as his own? + Perhaps this might be what he meant by “the truth is not in him.” She + remembered one day when she sat between him and Beauclerc, and when he did + not seem to pay the least attention to what Mr. Beauclerc was saying to + her, yet fully occupied as he had apparently been in talking for the + company in general, he had through all heard Granville telling the Chinese + fable of the “Man in the Moon, whose business it is to knit together with + an invisible silken cord those who are predestined for each other.” + Presently, before the dessert was over, Helen found the “Chinese Man in + the Moon,” whom she thought she had all to herself, figuring at the other + end of the table, and received with great applause. And was it possible + that Beauclerc, with his abundant springs of genius, could grudge a drop + thus stolen from him? but without any envy in the case, he was right in + considering such theft, however petty, as a theft, and right in despising + the meanness of the thief. Such meanness was strangely incompatible with + Mr. Churchill’s frank confession of his own faults. Could that confession + be only for effect? + </p> + <p> + Her admiration had been sometimes excited by a particular happiness of + thought, beauty of expression, or melody of language in Mr. Churchill’s + conversation. Once Beauclerc had been speaking with enthusiasm of modern + Greece, and his hopes that she might recover her ancient character; and + Mr. Churchill, as if admiring the enthusiasm, yet tempering it with better + judgment, smiled, paused, and answered. + </p> + <p> + “But Greece is a dangerous field for a political speculator; the + imagination produces an illusion resembling the beautiful appearances + which are sometimes exhibited in the Sicilian straits; the reflected + images of ancient Grecian glory pass in a rapid succession before the + mental eye; and, delighted with the captivating forms of greatness and + splendour, we forget for a moment that the scene is in reality a naked + waste.” + </p> + <p> + Some people say they can distinguish between a written and a spoken style, + but this depends a good deal on the art of the speaker. Churchill could + give a colloquial tone to a ready-written sentence, and could speak it + with an off-hand grace, a carelessness which defied all suspicion of + preparation; and the look, and pause, and precipitation—each and all + came in aid of the actor’s power of perfecting the illusion. If you had + heard and seen him, you would have believed that, in speaking this + passage, the thought of the <i>Fata Morgana</i> rose in his mind at the + instant, and that, seeing it pleased you, and pleased with it himself, + encouraged by your look of intelligence, and borne along by your sympathy, + the eloquent man followed his own idea with a happiness more than care, + admirable in conversation. A few days afterwards, Helen was very much + surprised to find her admired sentence word for word in a book, from which + Churchill’s card fell as she opened it. + </p> + <p> + Persons without a name Horace treated as barbarians who did not know the + value of their gold; and he seemed to think that, if they chanced to + possess rings and jewels, they might be plucked from them without remorse, + and converted to better use by some lucky civilised adventurer. Yet in his + most successful piracies he was always haunted by the fear of discovery, + and he especially dreaded the acute perception of Lady Davenant; he + thought she suspected his arts of appropriation, and he took the first + convenient opportunity of sounding her opinion on this point. + </p> + <p> + “How I enjoy,” said he to Lady Cecilia “telling a good story to you, for + you never ask if it is a fact. Now, in a good story, no one sticks to + absolute fact; there must be some little embellishment. No one would send + his own or his friend’s story into the world without ‘putting a hat on its + head, and a stick into its hand,’” Churchill triumphantly quoted; this + time he did not steal. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Lady Davenant, “I find that even the pleasure I have in mere + characteristic or humorous narration is heightened by my dependence on the + truth—the character for truth—of the narrator.” + </p> + <p> + Not only Horace Churchill, but almost every body present, except Helen, + confessed that they could not agree with her. The character for truth of + the story-teller had nothing to do with his story, unless it was <i>historique</i>, + or that he was to swear to it. + </p> + <p> + “And even if it were <i>historique</i>,” cried Horace, buoyed up at the + moment by the tide in his favour, and floating out farther than was + prudent—“and even if it were <i>historique</i>, how much pleasanter + is graceful fiction than grim, rigid truth; and how much more amusing in + my humble opinion!” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Lady Davenant, “for instance, this book I am reading—(it + was Dumont’s ‘Mémoires de Mirabeau’)—this book which I am reading, + gives me infinitely increased pleasure, from my certain knowledge, my + perfect conviction of the truth of the author. The self-evident nature of + some of the facts would support themselves, you may say, in some + instances; but my perceiving the scrupulous care he takes to say no more + than what he knows to be true, my perfect reliance on the relater’s + private character for integrity, gives a zest to every anecdote he tells—a + specific weight to every word of conversation which he repeats—appropriate + value to every trait of wit or humour characteristic of the person he + describes. Without such belief, the characters would not have to me, as + they now have, all the power, and charm, and life, of nature and reality. + They are all now valuable as records of individual varieties that have + positively so existed. While the most brilliant writer could, by fiction, + have produced an effect, valuable only as representing the general average + of human nature, but adding nothing to our positive knowledge, to the data + from which we can reason in future.” + </p> + <p> + Churchill understood Lady Davenant too well to stand quite unembarrassed + as he listened; and when she went on to say how differently she should + have felt in reading these memoirs if they had been written by Mirabeau + himself; with all his brilliancy, all his talents, how inferior would have + been her enjoyment as well as instruction! his shrinking conscience told + him how this might all be applied to himself; yet, strange to say, though + somewhat abashed, he was nevertheless flattered by the idea of a parallel + between himself and Mirabeau. To <i>Mirabeauder</i> was no easy task; it + was a certain road to notoriety, if not to honest fame. + </p> + <p> + But even in the better parts of his character, his liberality in money + matters, his good-natured patronage of rising genius, the meanness of his + mind broke out. There was a certain young poetess whom he had encouraged; + she happened to be sister to Mr. Mapletofft, Lord Davenant’s secretary, + and she had spoken with enthusiastic gratitude of Mr. Churchill’s + kindness. She was going to publish a volume of Sonnets under Mr. + Churchill’s patronage, and, as she happened to be now at some country town + in the neighbourhood, he requested Lady Cecilia to allow him to introduce + this young authoress to her. She was invited for a few days to Clarendon + Park, and Mr. Churchill was zealous to procure subscriptions for her, and + eager to lend the aid of his fashion and his literary reputation to bring + forward the merits of her book. “Indeed,” he whispered, “he had given her + some little help in the composition,” and all went well till, in an evil + hour, Helen praised one of the sonnets rather too much—more, he + thought, than she had praised another, which was his own. His jealousy + wakened—he began to criticise his protegée’s poetry. Helen defended + her admiration, and reminded him that he had himself recommended these + lines to her notice. + </p> + <p> + “Well!—yes—I did say the best I could for the whole thing, and + for her it is surprising—that is, I am anxious the publication + should take. But if we come to compare—you know this cannot stand + certain comparisons that might be made. Miss Stanley’s own taste and + judgment must perceive—when we talk of genius—that is quite + out of the question, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Horace was so perplexed between his philanthropy and his jealousy, his + desire to show the one and his incapability of concealing the other, that + he became unintelligible; and Helen laughed, and told him that she could + not now understand what his opinion really was. She was quite ready to + agree with him, she said, if he would but agree with himself: this made + him disagree still more with himself and unluckily with his better self, + his benevolence quite gave way before his jealousy and ill-humour, and he + vented it upon the book; and, instead of prophecies of its success, he now + groaned over “sad careless lines,”—“passages that lead to nothing,”—“similes + that will not hold when you come to examine them.” + </p> + <p> + Helen pointed out in the dedication a pretty, a happy thought. + </p> + <p> + Horace smiled, and confessed that was his own. + </p> + <p> + What! in the dedication to himself?—and in the blindness of his + vanity he did not immediately see the absurdity. + </p> + <p> + The more he felt himself in the wrong, of course the more angry he grew, + and it finished by his renouncing the dedication altogether, declaring he + would have none of it. The book and the lady might find a better patron. + There are things which no man of real generosity could say or do, or + think, put him in ever so great a passion. He would not be harsh to an + inferior—a woman—a protegée on whom he had conferred + obligations; but Mr. Churchill was harsh—he showed neither + generosity nor feeling; and Helen’s good opinion of him sank to rise no + more. + </p> + <p> + Of this, however, he had not enough of the sympathy or penetration of + feeling to be aware. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + The party now at Clarendon Park consisted chiefly of young people. Among + them were two cousins of Lady Cecilia’s, whom Helen had known at + Cecilhurst before they went abroad, while she was still almost a child. + Lady Katrine Hawksby, the elder, was several years older than Cecilia. + When Helen last saw her, she was tolerably well-looking, very fashionable, + and remarkable for high spirits, with a love for <i>quizzing</i>, and for + all that is vulgarly called <i>fun</i>, and a talent for ridicule, which + she indulged at everybody’s expense. She had always amused Cecilia, who + thought her more diverting than really ill-natured; but Helen thought her + more ill-natured than diverting, never liked her, and had her own private + reasons for thinking that she was no good friend to Cecilia: but now, in + consequence either of the wear and tear of London life, or of a + disappointment in love or matrimony, she had lost the fresh plumpness of + youth; and gone too was that spirit of mirth, if not of good humour, which + used to enliven her countenance. Thin and sallow, the sharp features + remained, and the sarcastic without the arch expression; still she had a + very fashionable air. Her pretensions to youth, as her dress showed, were + not gone; and her hope of matrimony, though declining, not set. Her + many-years-younger sister, Louisa, now Lady Castlefort, was beautiful. As + a girl, she had been the most sentimental, refined, delicate creature + conceivable; always talking poetry—and so romantic—with such a + soft, sweet, die-away voice—lips apart—and such fine eyes, + that could so ecstatically turn up to heaven, or be so cast down, + charmingly fixed in contemplation:—and now she is married, just the + same. There she is, established in the library at Clarendon Park, with the + most sentimental fashionable novel of the day, beautifully bound, on the + little rose-wood table beside her, and a manuscript poem, a great secret, + “Love’s Last Sigh,” in her bag with her smelling-bottle and embroidered + handkerchief; and on that beautiful arm she leaned so gracefully, with her + soft languishing expression; so perfectly dressed too—handsomer than + ever. + </p> + <p> + Helen was curious to know what sort of man Lady Louisa had married, for + she recollected that no hero of any novel that ever was read, or talked + of, came up to her idea of what a hero ought to be, of what a man must be, + whom she could ever think of loving. Cecilia told Helen that she had seen + Lord Castlefort, but that he was not Lord Castlefort, or likely to be Lord + Castlefort, at that time; and she bade her guess, among all she could + recollect having ever seen at Cecilhurst, who the man of Louisa’s choice + could be. Lady Katrine, with infinite forbearance, smiled, and gave no + hint, while Helen guessed and guessed in vain. She was astonished when she + saw him come into the room. He was a little deformed man, for whom Lady + Louisa had always expressed to her companions a peculiar abhorrence. He + had that look of conceit which unfortunately sometimes accompanies + personal deformity, and which disgusts even Pity’s self. Lord Castlefort + was said to have declared himself made for love and fighting! Helen + remembered that kind-hearted Cecilia had often remonstrated for humanity’s + sake, and stopped the quizzing which used to go on in their private + coteries, when the satirical elder sister would have it that <i>le petit + bossu</i> was in love with Louisa. + </p> + <p> + But what <i>could</i> make her marry him? Was there anything within to + make amends for the exterior? Nothing—nothing that could “rid him of + the lump behind.” But superior to the metamorphoses of love, or of fairy + tale, are the metamorphoses of fortune. Fortune had suddenly advanced him + to uncounted thousands and a title, and no longer <i>le petit bossu</i>, + Lord Castlefort obtained the fair hand—the very fair hand of Lady + Louisa Hawksby, <i>plus belle que fée!</i> + </p> + <p> + Still Helen could not believe that Louisa had married him voluntarily; but + Lady Cecilia assured her that it was voluntarily, quite voluntarily. “You + could not have so doubted had you seen the <i>trousseau</i> and the <i>corbeille</i>, + for you know, ‘<i>Le présent fait oublier le futur</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + Helen could scarcely smile. + </p> + <p> + “But Louisa had feeling—really some,” continued Lady Cecilia; “but + she could not afford to follow it. She had got into such debt, I really do + not know what she would have done if Lord Castlefort had not proposed; but + she has some little heart, and I could tell you a secret; but no, I will + leave you the pleasure of finding it out.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be no pleasure to me,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw anybody so out of spirits,” cried Lady Cecilia, laughing, “at + another’s unfortunate marriage, which all the time she thinks very + fortunate. She is quite happy, and even Katrine does not laugh at him any + longer, it is to be supposed; it is no laughing matter now.” + </p> + <p> + “No indeed,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Nor a crying matter either,” said Cecilia. “Do not look shocked at me, my + dear, I did not do it; but so many do, and I have seen it so often, that I + cannot wonder with such a foolish face of blame—I do believe, my + dear Helen, that you are envious because Louisa is married before you! for + shame, my love! Envy is a naughty passion, you know our Madame Bonne used + to say; but here’s mamma, now talk to her about Louisa Castlefort, pray.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant took the matter with great coolness, was neither shocked nor + surprised at this match, she had known so many worse; Lord Castlefort, as + well as she recollected, was easy enough to live with. “And after all,” + said she, “it is better than what we see every day, the fairest of the + fair knowingly, willingly giving themselves to the most profligate of the + profligate, In short, the market is so overstocked with accomplished young + ladies on the one hand, and on the other, men find wives and + establishments so expensive, clubs so cheap and so much more luxurious + than any home, liberty not only so sweet but so fashionable, that their + policy, their maxim is, ‘Marry not at all, or if marriage be ultimately + necessary to pay debts and leave heirs to good names, marry as late as + possible;’ and thus the two parties with their opposite interests stand at + bay, or try to outwit or outbargain each other. And if you wish for the + moral of the whole affair, here it is from the vulgar nursery-maids, with + their broad sense and bad English, and the good or bad French of the + governess, to the elegant innuendo of the drawing-room, all is working to + the same effect: dancing-masters, music-masters, and all the tribe, what + is it all for, but to prepare young ladies for the grand event; and to + raise in them, besides the natural, a factitious, an abstract idea of good + in being married! Every girl in these days is early impressed with the + idea that she must be married, that she cannot be happy unmarried. Here is + an example of what I meant the other day by strength of mind; it requires + some strength of mind to be superior to such a foolish, vain, and vulgar + belief.” + </p> + <p> + “It will require no great strength of mind in me,” said Helen, “for I + really never have formed such notions. They never were early put into my + head; my uncle always said a woman might be very happy unmarried. I do not + think I shall ever be seized with a terror of dying an old maid.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not come to the time yet, my dear,” said Lady Davenant smiling. + “Look at Lady Katrine; strength of mind on this one subject would have + saved her from being a prey to envy, and jealousy, and all the vulture + passions of the mind. + </p> + <p> + “In the old French <i>régime</i>,” continued Lady Davenant, “the young + women were at least married safely out of their convents; but our young + ladies, with their heads full of high-flown poetry and sentimental novels, + are taken out into the world before marriage, expected to see and not to + choose, shown the most agreeable, and expected, doomed to marry the most + odious. But, in all these marriages for establishment, the wives who have + least feeling are not only likely to be the happiest, but also most likely + to conduct themselves well. In the first place they do not begin with + falsehood. If they have no hearts, they cannot pretend to give any to the + husband, and that is better than having given them to somebody else. + Husband and wife, in this case, clearly understand the terms of agreement, + expect, imagine no more than they have, and jog-trot they go on together + to the end of life very comfortably.” + </p> + <p> + “Comfortably!” exclaimed Helen, “it must be most miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “Not most miserable, Helen,” said Lady Davenant, “keep your pity for + others; keep your sighs for those who need them—for the heart which + no longer dares to utter a sigh for itself, the faint heart that dares to + love, but dares not abide by its choice. Such infatuated creatures, with + the roots of feeling left aching within them, must take what opiates they + can find; and in after-life, through all their married existence, their + prayer must be for indifference, and thankful may they be if that prayer + is granted.” + </p> + <p> + These words recurred to Helen that evening, when Lady Castlefort sang some + tender and passionate airs; played on the harp with a true Saint Cecilia + air and attitude; and at last, with charming voice and touching + expression, sung her favourite—“Too late for redress.” + </p> + <p> + Both Mr. Churchill and Beauclerc were among the group of gentlemen; + neither was a stranger to her. Mr. Churchill admired and applauded as a + connoisseur. Beauclerc listened in silence. Mr. Churchill entreated for + more—more—and named several of his favourite Italian airs. Her + ladyship really could not. But the slightest indication of a wish from + Beauclerc, was, without turning towards him, heard and attended to, as her + sister failed not to remark and to make others remark. + </p> + <p> + Seizing a convenient pause while Mr. Churchill was searching for some + master-piece, Lady Katrine congratulated her sister on having recovered + her voice, and declared that she had never heard her play or sing since + she was married till tonight. + </p> + <p> + “You may consider it as a very particular compliment, I assure you,” + continued she, addressing herself so particularly to Mr. Beauclerc that he + could not help being a little out of countenance,—“I have so begged + and prayed, but she was never in voice or humour, or heart, or something. + Yesterday, even Castlefort was almost on his knees for a song,—were + not you, Lord Castlefort?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Castlefort pinched his pointed chin, and casting up an angry look, + replied in a dissonant voice,—“I do not remember!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tout voir, tout entendre, tout oublier</i>,” whispered Lady Katrine to + Mr. Churchill, as she stooped to assist him in the search for a music-book—“<i>Tout + voir, tout entendre, tout oublier</i>, should be the motto adopted by all + married people.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Castlefort seemed distressed, and turned over the leaves in such a + flutter that she could not find anything, and she rose, in spite of all + entreaties, leaving the place to her sister, who was, she said, “so much + better a musician and not so foolishly nervous.” Lady Castlefort said her + “voice always went away when she was at all—” + </p> + <p> + There it ended as far as words went; but she sighed, and retired so + gracefully, that all the gentlemen pitied her. + </p> + <p> + There is one moment in which ill-nature sincerely repents—the moment + when it sees pity felt for its victim. + </p> + <p> + Horace followed Lady Castlefort to the ottoman, on which she sank. + Beauclerc remained leaning on the back of Lady Katrine’s chair, but + without seeming to hear what she said or sung. After some time Mr. + Churchill, not finding his attentions well received, or weary of paying + them, quitted Lady Castlefort but sat down by Helen; and in a voice to be + heard by her, but by no one else, he said— + </p> + <p> + “What a relief!—I thought I should never get away!” Then, favoured + by a loud bravura of Lady Katrine’s, he went on—“That beauty, + between you and me, is something of a bore—she—I don’t mean + the lady who is now screaming—she should always sing. Heaven blessed + her with song, not sense—but here one is made so fastidious!” + </p> + <p> + He sighed, and for some moments seemed to be given up to the duet which + Lady Katrine and an officer were performing; and then exclaimed, but so + that Helen only could hear,—“Merciful Heaven! how often one wishes + one had no ears: that Captain Jones must be the son of Stentor, and that + lady!—if angels sometimes saw themselves in a looking-glass when + singing—there would be peace upon earth.” + </p> + <p> + Helen, not liking to be the secret receiver of his contraband good things, + was rising to change her place, when softly detaining her, he said, “Do + not be afraid, no danger—trust me, for I have studied under Talma.” + </p> + <p> + “What can you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” continued he, “that Talma taught me the secret of his dying + scenes—how every syllable of his dying words might be heard to the + furthest part of the audience; and I—give me credit for my ingenuity—know + how, by reversing the art, to be perfectly inaudible at ten paces’ + distance, and yet, I trust, perfectly intelligible, always, to you.” + </p> + <p> + Helen now rose decidedly, and retreated to a table at the other side of + the room, and turned over some books that lay there—she took up a + volume of the novel Lady Castlefort had been reading—“Love + unquestionable.” She was surprised to find it instantly, gently, but + decidedly drawn from her hand: she looked up—it was Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Miss Stanley, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! thank you!” said Helen; “you need not beg my pardon.” + </p> + <p> + This was the first time Beauclerc had spoken in his friendly, cordial, + natural manner, to her, since their incomprehensible misunderstanding. She + was heartily glad it was over, and that he was come to himself again. And + now they conversed very happily together for some time; though what they + said might not be particularly worth recording. Lady Katrine was at + Helen’s elbow before she perceived her “looking for her sac;” and Lady + Castlefort came for her third volume, and gliding off, wished to all—“<i>Felice, + felicissima notte</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Neither of these sisters had ever liked Helen; she was too true for the + one, and too good-natured for the other. Lady Katrine had always, even + when she was quite a child, been jealous of Lady Cecilia’s affection for + Helen; and now her indignation and disappointment were great at finding + her established at Clarendon Park—to live with the Clarendons, to <i>go + out</i> with Lady Cecilia. Now, it had been the plan of both sisters, that + Lady Katrine’s present visit should be eternal. How they would ever have + managed to fasten her ladyship upon the General, even if Helen had been + out of the question, need not now be considered. Their disappointment and + dislike to Helen were as great as if she had been the only obstacle to the + fulfilment of their scheme. + </p> + <p> + These two sisters had never agreed— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> —“Doom’d by Fate<br /> To live in all the elegance of hate;"<br /></pre> + <p> + and since Lady Castlefort’s marriage, the younger, the beautiful being now + the successful lady of the ascendant, the elder writhed in all the + combined miseries of jealousy and dependance, and an everyday lessening + chance of bettering her condition. Lord Castlefort, too, for good reasons + of his own, well remembered, detested Lady Katrine, and longed to shake + her off. In this wish, at least, husband and wife united; but Lady + Castlefort had no decent excuse for her ardent impatience to get rid of + her sister. She had magnificent houses in town and country, ample room + everywhere—but in her heart. She had the smallest heart conceivable, + and the coldest; but had it been ever so large, or ever so warm, Lady + Katrine was surely not the person to get into it, or into any heart, male + or female: there was the despair. “If Katrine was but married—Mr. + Churchill, suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Faint was the <i>suppose</i> in Lady Castlefort’s imagination. Not so the + hope which rose in Lady Katrine’s mind the moment she saw him here. “How + fortunate!” Her ladyship had now come to that no particular age, when a + remarkable metaphysical phenomenon occurs; on one particular subject hope + increases as all probability of success decreases. This aberration of + intellect is usually observed to be greatest in very clever women; while + Mr. Churchill, the flattered object of her present hope, knew how to + manage with great innocence and modesty, and draw her on to overt acts of + what is called flirtation. + </p> + <p> + Rousseau says that a man is always awkward and miserable when placed + between two women to whom he is making love. But Rousseau had never seen + Mr. Churchill, and had but an imperfect idea of the dexterity, the + ambiguity, that in our days can be successfully practised by an + accomplished male coquette. Absolutely to blind female jealousy may be + beyond his utmost skill; but it is easy, as every day’s practice shows, to + keep female vanity pleasantly perplexed by ocular deception—to make + her believe that what she really sees she does not see, and that what is + unreal is reality: to make her, to the amusement of the spectators, + continually stretch out her hand to snatch the visionary good that for + ever eludes her grasp, or changes, on near approach, to grinning mockery. + </p> + <p> + This delightful game was now commenced with Lady Katrine, and if Helen + could be brought to take a snatch, it would infinitely increase the + interest and amusement of the lookers on. Of this, however, there seemed + little chance; but the evil eye of envy was set upon her, and the demon of + jealousy was longing to work her woe. + </p> + <p> + Lady Castlefort saw with scornful astonishment that Mr. Beauclerc’s eyes, + sometimes when she was speaking, or when she was singing, would stray to + that part of the room where Miss Stanley might be; and when she was + speaking to him, he was wonderfully absent. Her ladyship rallied him, + while Lady Katrine, looking on, cleared her throat in her horrid way, and + longed for an opportunity to discomfit Helen, which supreme pleasure her + ladyship promised herself upon the first convenient occasion,—convenient + meaning when Lady Davenant was out of the room; for Lady Katrine, though + urged by prompting jealousy, dared not attack her when under cover of that + protection. From long habit, even her sarcastic nature stood in awe of a + certain power of moral indignation, which had at times flashed upon her, + and of which she had a sort of superstitious dread, as of an + incomprehensible, incalculable power. + </p> + <p> + But temper will get the better of all prudence. Piqued by some little + preference which Lady Cecilia had shown to Helen’s taste in the choice of + the colour of a dress, an occasion offered of signalising her revenge, + which could not be resisted. It was a question to be publicly decided, + whether blue, green, or white should be adopted for the ladies’ uniform at + an approaching <i>fête</i>. She was deputed to collect the votes. All the + company were assembled; Lady Davenant, out of the circle, as it was a + matter that concerned her not, was talking to the gentlemen apart. + </p> + <p> + Lady Katrine went round canvassing. “Blue, green, or white? say blue, <i>pray</i>.” + But when she came to Helen, she made a full stop, asked no question—preferred + no prayer, but after fixing attention by her pause, said, “I need not ask + Miss Stanley’s vote or opinion, as I know my cousin’s, and with Miss + Stanley it is always ‘I say ditto to Lady Cecilia;’ therefore, to save + trouble, I always count two for Cecilia—one for herself and one for + her <i>double</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Right, Lady Katrine Hawksby,” cried a voice from afar, which made her + start; “you are quite right to consider Helen Stanley as my daughter’s + double, for my daughter loves and esteems her as her second self—her + better self. In this sense Helen is Lady Cecilia’s double, but if you mean——” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me! I don’t know what I meant, I declare. I could not have + conceived that Lady Davenant——Miss Stanley, I beg a thousand + million of pardons.” + </p> + <p> + Helen, with anxious good-nature, pardoned before she was asked, and + hastened to pass on to the business of the day, but Lady Davenant would + not so let it pass; her eye still fixed she pursued the quailing enemy—“One + word more. In justice to my daughter, I must say her love has not been won + by flattery, as none knows better than the Lady Katrine Hawksby.” + </p> + <p> + The unkindest cut of all, and on the tenderest part. Lady Katrine could + not stand it. Conscious and trembling, she broke through the circle, fled + into the conservatory, and, closing the doors behind her, would not be + followed by Helen, Cecilia, or any body. + </p> + <p> + Lady Castlefort sighed, and first breaking the silence that ensued, said, + “‘Tis such a pity that Katrine will always so let her wit run away with + her—it brings her so continually into——for my part, in + all humility I must confess, I can’t help thinking that, what with its + being unfeminine and altogether so incompatible with what in general is + thought amiable—I cannot but consider wit in a woman as a real + misfortune. What say the gentlemen? they must decide, gentlemen being + always the best judges.” + </p> + <p> + With an appealing tone of interrogation she gracefully looked up to the + gentlemen; and after a glance towards Granville Beauclerc, unluckily + unnoticed or unanswered, her eyes expected reply from Horace Churchill. + He, well feeling the predicament in which he stood, between a fool and a + <i>femme d’esprit</i>, answered, with his ambiguous smile, “that no doubt + it was a great misfortune to have ‘<i>plus d’esprit qu’on ne sait mêner</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + “This is a misfortune,” said Lady Davenant, “that may be deplored for a + great genius once in an age, but is really rather of uncommon occurrence. + People complain of wit where, nine times in ten, poor wit is quite + innocent; but such is the consequence of having kept bad company. Wit and + ill-nature having been too often found together, when we see one we expect + the other; and such an inseparable false association has been formed, that + half the world take it for granted that there is wit if they do but see + ill-nature.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Mr. Mapletofft, the secretary, entered with his face full + of care, and his hands full of papers. Lady Katrine needed not to feign or + feel any further apprehensions of Lady Davenant; for, an hour afterwards, + it was announced that Lord and Lady Davenant were obliged to set off for + town immediately. In the midst of her hurried preparations Lady Davenant + found a moment to comfort Helen with the assurance that, whatever + happened, she would see her again. It might end in Lord Davenant’s embassy + being given up. At all events she would see her again—she hoped in a + few weeks, perhaps in a few days. “So no leave-takings, my dear child, and + no tears—it is best as it is. On my return let me find——” + </p> + <p> + “Lord Davenant’s waiting, my lady,” and she hurried away. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + Absent or present, the guardian influence of a superior friend is one of + the greatest blessings on earth, and after Lady Davenant’s departure Helen + was so full of all she had said to her, and of all that she would approve + or disapprove, that every action, almost every thought, was under the + influence of her friend’s mind. Continually she questioned her motives as + well as examined her actions, and she could not but condemn some of her + conduct, or if not her conduct, her manner, towards Horace Churchill; she + had been flattered by his admiration, and had permitted his attentions + more than she ought, when her own mind was perfectly made up as to his + character. Ever since the affair of the poetess, she had been convinced + that she could never make the happiness or redeem the character of one so + mean. + </p> + <p> + According to the ladies’ code, a woman is never to understand that a + gentleman’s attentions mean anything more than common civility; she is + supposed never to see his mind, however he may make it visible, till he + declares it in words. But, as Helen could not help understanding his + manner, she thought it was but fair to make him understand her by her + manner. She was certain that if he were once completely convinced, not + only that he had not made any impression, but that he never could make any + impression, on her heart, his pursuit would cease. His vanity, mortified, + might revenge itself upon her, perhaps; but this was a danger which she + thought she ought to brave; and now she resolved to be quite sincere, as + she said to herself, at whatever hazard (probably meaning at the hazard of + displeasing Cecilia) she would make her own sentiments clear, and put an + end to Mr. Churchill’s ambiguous conduct: and this should be done on the + very first opportunity. + </p> + <p> + An opportunity soon occurred—Horace had a beautiful little topaz + ring with which Lady Katrine Hawksby fell into raptures; such a charming + device!—Cupid and Momus making the world their plaything. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that Lady Katrine expected that the seal should be + presented to her. Besides being extravagantly fond of baubles, she desired + to have this homage from Horace. To her surprise and mortification, + however, he was only quite flattered by her approving of his taste:—it + was his favourite seal, and so “he kept the topaz, and the rogue was bit.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Katrine was the more mortified by this failure, because it was + witnessed by many of the company, among whom, when she looked round, she + detected smiles of provoking intelligence. Soon afterwards the + dressing-bell rang and she quitted the room; one after another every one + dropped off, except Helen, who was finishing a letter, and Horace, who + stood on the hearth playing with his seal. When she came to sealing-time, + he approached and besought her to honour him by the acceptance of this + little seal. “If he could obliterate Momus—if he could leave only + Cupid, it would be more appropriate. But it was a device invented for him + by a French friend, and he hoped she would pardon his folly, and think + only of his love!” + </p> + <p> + This was said so that it might pass either for mere jest or for earnest; + his look expressed very sentimental love, and Helen seized the moment to + explain herself decidedly. + </p> + <p> + It was a surprise—a great surprise to Mr. Churchill, a severe + disappointment, not only to his vanity but to his heart, for he had one. + It was some comfort, however, that he had not quite committed himself, and + he recovered—even in the moment of disappointment he recovered + himself time enough dexterously to turn the tables upon Helen. + </p> + <p> + He thanked her for her candour—for her great care of his happiness, + in anticipating a danger which might have been so fatal to him; but he + really was not aware that he had said anything which required so serious + an answer. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards he amused himself with Lady Katrine at Miss Stanley’s expense, + representing himself as in the most pitiable case of Rejected Addresses—rejected + before he had offered. He had only been guilty of Folly, and he was + brought in guilty of Love. + </p> + <p> + Poor Helen had to endure not only this persiflage, which was soon made to + reach her ear, but also the reproaches of Lady Cecilia, who said, “I + should have warned you, Helen, not to irritate that man’s relentless + vanity; now you see the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + “But, after all, what harm can he do me?” thought Helen. “It is very + disagreeable to be laughed at, but still my conscience is satisfied, and + that is a happiness that will last; all the rest will soon be over. I am + sure I did the thing awkwardly, but I am glad it is done.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Churchill soon afterwards received an invitation—a command to + join a royal party now at some watering-place; an illustrious person could + not live another day without Horace <i>le désiré</i>. He showed the note, + and acted despair at being compelled to go, and then he departed. To the + splendid party he went, and drowned all recollections of whatever love he + had felt in the fresh intoxication of vanity—a diurnal stimulus + which, however degrading, and he did feel it degrading, was now become + necessary to his existence. + </p> + <p> + His departure from Clarendon Park was openly regretted by Lady Cecilia, + while Lady Katrine secretly mourned over the downfall of her projects, and + Beauclerc attempted not to disguise his satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + He was all life and love, and would then certainly have declared his + passion, but for an extraordinary change which now appeared in Helen’s + manner towards him. It seemed unaccountable; it could not be absolute + caprice, she did not even treat him as a friend, and she evidently avoided + explanation. He thought, and thought, and came as near the truth without + touching it as possible. He concluded that she had understood his joy at + Churchill’s departure; that she now clearly perceived his attachment; and + was determined against him. Not having the slightest idea that she + considered him as a married man, he could not even guess the nature of her + feelings. And all the time Helen did not well understand herself; she + began to be extremely alarmed at her own feelings—to dread that + there was something not quite right. This dread, which had come and gone + by fits,—this doubt as to her own sentiments,—was first + excited by the death of her dove—Beauclerc’s gift. The poor dove was + found one morning drowned in the marble vase in which it went to drink. + Helen was very sorry—that was surely natural; but she was + wonderfully concerned. Lady Katrine scoffingly said; and before everybody, + before Beauclerc, worse than all, her ladyship represented to the best of + her ability the attitude in which she had found Helen mourning over her + misfortune, the dove in her hand pressed close to her bosom—“And in + tears—absolutely.” She would swear to the tears. + </p> + <p> + Helen blushed, tried to laugh, and acknowledged it was very foolish. Well, + that passed off as only foolish, and she did not at first feel that it was + a thing much to be ashamed of in any other way. But she was sorry that + Beauclere was by when Lady Katrine mimicked her; most sorry that he should + think her foolish. But then did he? His looks expressed tenderness. He was + very tender-hearted. Really manly men always are so; and so she observed + to Lady Cecilia. Lady Katrine heard the observation, and smiled—her + odious smile—implying more than words could say. Helen was not quite + clear, however, what it meant to say. + </p> + <p> + Some days afterwards Lady Katrine took up a book, in which Helen’s name + was written in Beauclerc’s hand. “<i>Gage d’amitié?</i>” said her + ladyship; and she walked up and down the room, humming the air of an old + French song; interrupting herself now and then to ask her sister if she + could recollect the words. “The <i>refrain</i>, if I remember right, is + something like this— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> Sous le nom d’amitié—sous le nom d’amitié,<br /> La moitié du monde trompe l’autre moitié,<br /> Sous le nom, sous le nom, sous le nom d’amitié.<br /></pre> + <p> + And it ends with + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> Sous le nom d’amitié, Damon, je vous adore,<br /> Sous le nom, sous le nom d’amitié.<br /></pre> + <p> + “Miss Stanley, do you know that song?” concluded her malicious ladyship. + No—Miss Stanley had never heard it before; but the marked emphasis + with which Lady Katrine sung and looked, made Helen clear that she meant + to apply the words tauntingly to her and Beauclerc,—but which of + them her ladyship suspected was cheating, or cheated—“<i>sous le nom + d’amitié</i>,” she did not know. All was confusion in her mind. After a + moment’s cooler reflection, however, she was certain it could not be + Beauclerc who was to blame—it must be herself, and she now very much + wished that every body, and Lady Katrine in particular, should know that + Mr. Beauclerc was engaged—almost married; if this were but known, it + would put an end to all such imputations. + </p> + <p> + The first time she could speak to Cecilia on the subject, she begged to + know how soon Mr. Beauclerc’s engagement would be declared. Lady Cecilia + slightly answered she could not tell—and when Helen pressed the + question she asked,— + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so anxious, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + Helen honestly told her, and Lady Cecilia only laughed at her for minding + what Lady Katrine said,—“When you know yourself, Helen, how it is, + what can it signify what mistakes others may make?” + </p> + <p> + But Helen grew more and more uneasy, for she was not clear that she did + know how it was, with herself at least. Her conscience faltered, and she + was not sure whether she was alarmed with or without reason. She began to + compare feelings that she had read of, and feelings that she had seen in + others, and feelings that were new to herself, and in this maze and mist + nothing was distinct—much was magnified—all alarming. + </p> + <p> + One day Beauclerc was within view of the windows on horseback, on a very + spirited horse, which he managed admirably; but a shot fired suddenly in + an adjoining preserve so startled the horse that it——oh! what + it did Helen did not see, she was so terrified: and why was she so much + terrified? She excused herself by saying it was natural to be frightened + for any human creature. But, on the other hand, Tom Isdall was a human + creature, and she had seen him last week actually thrown from his horse, + and had not felt much concern. But then he was not a friend; and he fell + into a soft ditch: and there was something ridiculous in it which + prevented people from caring about it. With such nice casuistry she went + on pretty well; and besides, she was so innocent—so ignorant, that + it was easy for her to be deceived. She went on, telling herself that she + loved Beauclerc as a brother—as she loved the general. But when she + came to comparisons, she could not but perceive a difference. Her heart + never bounded on the general’s appearance, let him appear ever so + suddenly, as it did one day when Beauclerc returned unexpectedly from Old + Forest. Her whole existence seemed so altered by his approach, his + presence, or his absence. Why was this? Was there any thing wrong in it? + She had nobody whose judgment she could consult—nobody to whom she + could venture to describe her feelings, or lay open her doubts and + scruples. Lady Cecilia would only laugh; and she could not quite trust + either her judgment or her sincerity, though she knew her affection. + Besides, after what Cecilia had said of her being safe; after all she had + told her of Beauclerc’s engagement, how astonished and shocked Cecilia + would be! + </p> + <p> + Then Helen resolved that she would keep a strict watch over herself, and + repress all emotion, and be severe with her own mind to the utmost: and it + was upon this resolution that she had changed her manner, without knowing + how much, towards Beauclerc; she was certain he meant nothing but + friendship. It was her fault if she felt too much pleasure in his company; + the same things were, as she wisely argued, right or wrong according to + the intention with which they were said, done, looked, or felt. Rigidly + she inflicted on herself the penance of avoiding his delightful society, + and to make sure that she did not try to attract, she repelled him with + all her power—thought she never could make herself cold, and stiff, + and disagreeable enough to satisfy her conscience. + </p> + <p> + Then she grew frightened at Beauclerc’s looks of astonishment—feared + he would ask explanation—avoided him more and more. Then, on the + other hand, she feared he might guess and interpret <i>wrong</i>, or + rather <i>right</i>, this change; and back she changed, tried in vain to + keep the just medium—she had lost the power of measuring—altogether + she was very unhappy, and so was Beauclerc; he found her incomprehensible, + and thought her capricious. His own mind was fluttered with love, so that + he could not see or judge distinctly, else he might have seen the truth; + and sometimes, though free from conceit, he did hope it might be all love. + But why then so determined to discourage him? he had advanced sufficiently + to mark his intentions, she could not doubt his sincerity. He would see + farther before he ventured farther. He thought a man was a fool who + proposed before he had tolerable reason to believe he should not be + refused. + </p> + <p> + Lord Beltravers and his sisters were now expected at Old Forest + immediately, and Beauclerc went thither early every morning, to press + forward the preparations for the arrival of the family, and he seldom + returned till dinner-time; and every evening Lady Castlefort contrived to + take possession of him. It appeared to be indeed as much against his will + as it could be between a well-bred man and a high-bred belle; but to do + her bidding, seemed if not a moral, at least a polite necessity. She had + been spoiled, she owned, by foreign attentions, not French, for that is + all gone now at Paris, but Italian manners, which she so much preferred. + She did not know how she could live out of Italy, and she must convince + Lord Castlefort that the climate was necessary for her health. Meanwhile + she adopted, she acted, what she conceived to be foreign manners, and with + an exaggeration common with those who have very little sense and a vast + desire to be fashionable with a certain set. Those who knew her best (all + but her sister Katrine, who shook her head,) were convinced that there was + really no harm in Lady Castlefort, “only vanity and folly.” How frequently + folly leads farther than fools ever, or wise people often foresee, we need + not here stop to record. On the present occasion, all at Clarendon Park, + even those most inclined to scandal, persons who, by the by, may be always + known by their invariable preface of, “I hate all scandal,” agreed that + “no one <i>so far</i> could behave better than Granville Beauclerc—so + far,”—“as yet.” But all the elderly who had any experience of this + world, all the young who had any intuitive prescience in these matters, + could not but fear that things could not long go on as they were now + going. It was sadly to be feared that so young a man, and so very handsome + a man, and such an admirer of beauty, and grace, and music, and of such an + enthusiastic temper, must be in danger of being drawn on farther than he + was aware, and before he knew what he was about. + </p> + <p> + The general heard and saw all that went on without seeming to take heed, + only once he asked Cecilia how long she thought her cousins would stay. + She did not know, but she said “she saw he wished them to be what they + were not—cousins once removed—and quite agreed with him.” He + smiled, for a man is always well pleased to find his wife agree with him + in disliking her cousins. + </p> + <p> + One night—one fine moonlight night—Lady Castlefort, standing + at the conservatory door with Beauclerc, after talking an inconceivable + quantity of nonsense about her passion for the moon, and her notions about + the stars, and congenial souls born under the same planet, proposed to him + a moonlight walk. + </p> + <p> + The general was at the time playing at chess with Helen, and had the best + of the game, but at that moment he made a false move, was check-mated, + rose hastily, threw the men together on the board, and forgot to regret + his shameful defeat, or to compliment Helen upon her victory. Lady + Castlefort, having just discovered that the fatality nonsense about the + stars would not quite do for Beauclerc, had been the next instant seized + with a sudden passion for astronomy; she must see those charming rings of + Saturn, which she had heard so much of, which the general was showing Miss + Stanley the other night; she must beg him to lend his telescope; she came + up with her sweetest smile to trouble the general for his glass. Lord + Castlefort, following, objected strenuously to her going out at night; she + had been complaining of a bad cold when he wanted her to walk in the + daytime, she would only make it worse by going out in the night air. If + she wanted to see Saturn and his rings, the general, he was sure, would + fix a telescope at the window for her. + </p> + <p> + But that would not do, she must have a moonlight walk; she threw open the + conservatory door, beckoned to Mr. Beauclerc, and how it ended Helen did + not stay to see. She thought that she ought not even to think on the + subject, and she went away as fast as she could. It was late, and she went + to bed wishing to be up early, to go on with a drawing she was to finish + for Mrs. Collingwood—a view by the river side, that view which had + struck her fancy as so beautiful the day she went first to Old Forest. + Early the next morning—and a delightful morning it was—she was + up and out, and reached the spot from which her sketch was taken. She was + surprised to find her little camp-stool, which she had looked for in vain + in the hall, in its usual place, set here ready for her, and on it a + pencil nicely cut. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc must have done this. But he was not in general an early riser. + However, she concluded that he had gone over thus early to Old Forest, to + see his friend Lord Beltravers, who was to have arrived the day before, + with his sisters. She saw a boat rowing down the river, and she had no + doubt he was gone. But just as she had settled to her drawing, she heard + the joyful bark of Beauclerc’s dog Nelson, who came bounding towards her, + and the next moment his master appeared, coming down the path from the + wood. With quick steps he came till he was nearly close to her, then + slackened his pace. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning!” said Helen; she tried to speak with composure, but her + heart beat—she could not help feeling surprise at seeing him—but + it was only surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were gone to Old Forest?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said he. + </p> + <p> + His voice sounded different from usual, and she saw in him some suppressed + agitation. She endeavoured to keep her own manner unembarrassed—she + thanked him for the nicely-cut pencil, and the exactly well-placed seat. + He advanced a step or two nearer, stooped, and looked close at her + drawing, but he did not seem to see or know what he was looking at. + </p> + <p> + At this moment Nelson, who had been too long unnoticed, put up one paw on + Miss Stanley’s arm, unseen by his master, and encouraged by such gentle + reproof as Helen gave, his audacious paw was on the top of her + drawing-book the next moment, and the next was upon the drawing—and + the paw was wet with dew.—“Nelson!” exclaimed his master in an angry + tone. + </p> + <p> + “O do not scold him,” cried Helen, “do not punish him; the drawing is not + spoiled—only wet, and it will be as well as ever when it is dry.” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc ejaculated something about the temper of an angel while she + patted Nelson’s penitent head. + </p> + <p> + “As the drawing must be left to dry,” said Beauclerc, “perhaps Miss + Stanley would do me the favour to walk as far as the landing-place, where + the boat is to meet me—to take me—if—if I MUST go to Old + Forest!” and he sighed. + </p> + <p> + She took his offered arm and walked on—surprised—confused;—wondering + what he meant by that sigh and that look—and that strong emphasis on + <i>must</i>. “If I <i>must</i> go to Old Forest.” Was not it a pleasure?—was + it not his own choice?—what could he mean?—What could be the + matter? + </p> + <p> + A vague agitating idea rose in her mind, but she put it from her, and they + walked on for some minutes, both silent. They entered the wood, and + feeling the silence awkward, and afraid that he should perceive her + embarrassment, and that he should suspect her suspicion, she exerted + herself to speak—to say something, no matter what. + </p> + <p> + “It is a charming morning!” + </p> + <p> + After a pause of absence of mind, he answered, + </p> + <p> + “Charming!—very!” + </p> + <p> + Then stopping short, he fixed his eyes upon Helen with an expression that + she was afraid to understand. It could hardly bear any interpretation but + one—and yet that was impossible—ought to be impossible—from + a man in Beauclerc’s circumstances—engaged—almost a married + man, as she had been told to consider him. She did not know at this moment + what to think—still she thought she must mistake him, and she should + be excessively ashamed of such a mistake, and now more strongly felt the + dread that he should see and misinterpret or interpret too rightly her + emotion; she walked on quicker, and her breath grew short, and her colour + heightened. He saw her agitation—a delightful hope arose in his + mind. It was plain she was not indifferent—he looked at her, but + dared not look long enough—feared that he was mistaken. But the + embarrassment seemed to change its character even as he looked, and now it + was more like displeasure—decidedly, she appeared displeased. And so + she was; for she thought now that he must either be trifling with her, or, + if serious, must be acting most dishonourably;—her good opinion of + him must be destroyed for ever, if, as now it seemed, he wished to make an + impression upon her heart—yet still she tried not to think, not to + see it. She was sorry, she was very wrong to let such an idea into her + mind—and still her agitation increased. + </p> + <p> + Quick as she turned from him these thoughts passed in her mind, + alternately angry and ashamed, and at last, forcing herself to be + composed, telling herself she ought to see farther and at least to be + certain before she condemned him—condemned so kind, so honourable a + friend, while the fault might be all her own; she now, in a softened tone, + as if begging pardon for the pain she had given, and the injustice she had + done him, said some words, insignificant in themselves, but from the voice + of kindness charming to Beauclerc’s ear and soul. + </p> + <p> + “Are not we walking very fast?” said she, breathless. He slackened his + pace instantly, and with a delighted look, while she, in a hurried voice, + added, “But do not let me delay you. There is the boat. You must be in + haste—impatient!” + </p> + <p> + “In haste! impatient! to leave you, Helen!” She blushed deeper than he had + ever seen her blush before. Beauclerc in general knew— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “Which blush was anger’s, which was love’s!”<br /></pre> + <p> + —But now he was so much moved he could not decide at the first + glance: at the second, there was no doubt; it was anger—not love. + Her arm was withdrawn from his. He was afraid he had gone too far. He had + called her Helen! He begged pardon, half humbly, half proudly. “I beg + pardon; Miss Stanley, I should have said. I see I have offended. I fear I + have been presumptuous, but Lady Davenant taught me to trust to Miss + Stanley’s sincerity, and I was encouraged by her expressions of confidence + and friendship.” + </p> + <p> + “Friendship! Oh, yes! Mr. Beauclerc,” said Helen, in a hurried voice, + eagerly seizing on and repeating the word friendship; “yes, I have always + considered you as a friend. I am sure I shall always find you a sincere, + good friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Friend!” he repeated in a disappointed tone—all his hopes sunk. She + took his arm again, and he was displeased even with that. She was not the + being of real sensibility he had fancied—she was not capable of real + love. So vacillated his heart and his imagination, and so quarrelled he + alternately every instant with her and with himself. He could not + understand her, or decide what he should next do or say himself; and there + was the boat nearing the land, and they were going on, on, towards it in + silence. He sighed. + </p> + <p> + It was a sigh that could not but be heard and noticed; it was not meant to + be noticed, and yet it was. What could she think of it? She could not + believe that Beauclerc meant to act treacherously. This time she was + determined not to take anything for granted, not to be so foolish as she + had been with Mr. Churchill. + </p> + <p> + “Is not that your boat that I see, rowing close?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe—certainly. Yes,” said he. + </p> + <p> + But now the vacillation of Beauclerc’s mind suddenly ceased. Desperate, he + stopped her, as she would have turned down that path to the landing-place + where the boat was mooring. He stood full across the path. “Miss Stanley, + one word—by one word, one look decide. You must decide for me + whether I stay—or go—for ever!” + </p> + <p> + “I!—Mr. Beauclerc!—” + </p> + <p> + The look of astonishment—more than astonishment, almost of + indignation—silenced him completely, and he stood dismayed. She + pressed onwards, and he no longer stopped her path. For an instant he + submitted in despair. “Then I must not think of it. I must go—must + I, Miss Stanley? Will not you listen to me, Helen? Advise me; let me open + my heart to you as a friend.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped under the shady tree beneath which they were passing, and, + leaning against it, she repeated, “As a friend—but, no, no, Mr. + Beauclerc—no; I am not the friend you should consult—consult + the general, your guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “I have consulted him, and he approves.” + </p> + <p> + “You have! That is well, that is well at all events,” cried she; “if he + approves, then all is right.” + </p> + <p> + There was a ray of satisfaction on her countenance. He looked as if + considering what she exactly meant. He hoped again, and was again resolved + to hazard the decisive words. “If you knew all!” and he pressed her arm + closer to him—“if I might tell you all——?” + </p> + <p> + Helen withdrew her arm decidedly. “I know all,” said she; “all I ought to + know, Mr. Beauclerc.” + </p> + <p> + “You know all!” cried he, astonished at her manner. + </p> + <p> + “You know the circumstances in which I am placed?” + </p> + <p> + He alluded to the position in which he stood with Lady Castlefort; she + thought he meant with respect to Lady Blanche, and she answered—“Yes: + I know all!” and her eye turned towards the boat. + </p> + <p> + “I understand you,” said he; “you think I ought to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said she. It never entered into her mind to doubt the truth + of what Lady Cecilia had told her, and she had at first been so much + embarrassed by the fear of betraying what she felt she ought not to feel, + and she was now so shocked by what she thought his dishonourable conduct, + that she repeated almost in a tone of severity—“Certainly, Mr. + Beauclerc, you ought to go.” + </p> + <p> + The words, “since you are engaged,”—“you know you are engaged,” she + was on the point of adding, but Lady Cecilia’s injunctions not to tell him + that she had betrayed his secret stopped her. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her for an instant, and then abruptly, and in great + agitation, said; “May I ask, Miss Stanley, if your affections are + engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a question, Mr. Beauclerc, which you have a right to ask me?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no right—no right, I acknowledge—I am answered.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away from her, and ran down the bank towards the boat, but + returned instantly, and exclaimed, “If you say to me, go! I am gone for + ever!” + </p> + <p> + “Go!” Helen firmly pronounced. “You never can be more than a friend to me! + Oh never be less!—go!” + </p> + <p> + “I am gone,” said he, “you shall never see me more.” + </p> + <p> + He went, and a few seconds afterwards she heard the splashing of his oars. + He was gone! Oh! how she wished that they had parted sooner—a few + minutes sooner, even before he had so looked—so spoken! + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that we had parted while I might have still perfectly esteemed him; + but now—!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + When Helen attempted to walk, she trembled so much that she could not + move, and leaning against the tree under which she was standing, she + remained fixed for some time almost without thought. Then she began to + recollect what had been before all this, and as soon as she could walk she + went back for her drawing-book, threw from her the pencil which Beauclerc + had cut, and made her way home as fast as she could, and up to her own + room, without meeting anybody; and as soon as she was there she bolted the + door and threw herself upon her bed. She had by this time a dreadful + headache, and she wanted to try and get rid of it in time for breakfast—that + was her first object; but her thoughts were so confused that they could + not fix upon anything rightly. She tried to compose herself, and to think + the whole affair over again; but she could not. There was something so + strange in what had passed! The sudden—the total change in her + opinion—her total loss of confidence! She tried to put all thoughts + and feelings out of her mind, and just to lie stupified if she could, that + she might get rid of the pain in her head. She had no idea whether it was + late or early, and was going to get up to look at her watch, when she + heard the first bell, half an hour before breakfast, and this was the time + when Cecilia usually opened the door between their rooms. She dreaded the + sound, but when she had expected it some minutes, she became impatient + even for that which she feared; she wanted to have it over, and she raised + herself on her elbow, and listened with acute impatience: at last the door + was thrown wide open, and bright and gay as ever, in came Cecilia, but at + the first sight of Helen on her bed, wan and miserable, she stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest Helen! what can be the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Beauclerc—” + </p> + <p> + “Well! what of him?” cried Cecilia, and she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cecilia! do not smile; you cannot imagine—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! but I can,” cried Cecilia. “I see how it is; I understand it + all; and miserable and amazed as you look at this moment, I will set all + right for you in one word. He is not going to be married—not + engaged.” + </p> + <p> + Helen started up. “Not engaged!” + </p> + <p> + “No more than you are, my dear! Oh! I am glad to see your colour come + again!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven!” cried Helen, “then he is not—” + </p> + <p> + “A villain!—not at all. He is all that’s right; all that is + charming, my dear. So thank Heaven, and be as happy as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot understand it,” said Helen, sinking back; “I really cannot + understand how it is, Cecilia.” Cecilia gave her a glass of water in great + haste, and was very sorry, and very glad, and begged forgiveness, and all + in a breath: but as yet Helen did not know what she had to forgive, till + it was explained to her in direct words, that Cecilia had told her not + only what was not true, but what she at the time of telling knew to be + false. + </p> + <p> + “For what purpose, oh! my dear Cecilia! All to save me from a little + foolish embarrassment at first, you have made us miserable at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Miserable! my dear Helen; at worst miserable only for half an hour. + Nonsense! lie down again, and rest your poor head. I will go this minute + to Granville. Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone! Gone for ever! Those were his last words.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! absurd! Only what a man says in a passion. But where is he + gone? Only to Old Forest! Gone for ever—gone till dinner-time! + Probably coming back at this moment in all haste, like a true lover, to + beg your pardon for your having used him abominably ill. Now, smile; do + not shake your head, and look so wretched; but tell me exactly, word for + word and look for look, all that passed between you, and then I shall know + what is best to be done.” + </p> + <p> + Word for word Helen could not answer, for she had been so much confused, + but she told to the best of her recollection; and Cecilia still thought no + great harm was done. She only looked a little serious from the + apprehension, now the real, true apprehension, of what might happen about + Lady Blanche, who, as she believed, was at Old Forest. “Men are so + foolish; men in love, so rash. Beauclerc, in a fit of anger and despair on + being so refused by the woman he loved, might go and throw himself at the + feet of another for whom he did not care in the least, in a strange sort + of revenge. But I know how to settle it all, and I will do it this + moment.” + </p> + <p> + But Helen caught hold of her hand, and firmly detaining it, absolutely + objected to her doing anything without telling her exactly and truly what + she was going to do. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia assured her that she was only going to inquire from the + general whether Lady Blanche was with her sister at Old Forest, or not. + “Listen to me, my dear Helen; what I am going to say can do no mischief. + If Lady Blanche is there, then the best thing to be done is, for me to go + immediately, this very morning, to pay the ladies a visit on their coming + to the country, and I will bring back Granville. A word will bring him + back. I will only tell him there was a little mistake, or if you think it + best, I will tell him the whole truth. Let me go—only let me go and + consult the general before the breakfast-bell rings, for I shall have no + time afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + Helen let her go, for as Beauclerc had told her that he had opened his + mind to the general, she thought it was best that he should hear all that + had happened. + </p> + <p> + The moment the general saw Lady Cecilia come in, he smiled, and said, + “Well! my dear Cecilia, you have seen Helen this morning, and she has seen + Beauclerc—what is the result? Does he stay, or go?” + </p> + <p> + “He is gone!” said Cecilia. The general looked surprised and sorry. “He + did not propose for her,” continued Cecilia, “he did not declare himself—he + only began to sound her opinion of him, and she—she contrived to + misunderstand—to offend him, and he is gone, but only to Old Forest, + and we can have him back again directly.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not likely,” said the general, “because I know that Beauclerc had + determined, that if he went he would not return for some time. Your friend + Helen was to decide. If she gave him any hope, that is, permitted him to + appear as her declared admirer, he could, with propriety, happiness, and + honour, remain here; if not, my dear Cecilia, you must be sensible that he + is right to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone for some time!” repeated Cecilia, “you mean as long as Lady + Castlefort is here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “I wish she was gone, I am sure, with all my heart,” said Cecilia; “but in + the mean time, tell me, my dear Clarendon, do you know whether Lord + Beltravers’ sisters are at Old Forest?” + </p> + <p> + The general did not think that Lady Blanche had arrived; he was not + certain, but he knew that the Comtesse de St. Cymon had arrived yesterday. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Cecilia, “it would be but civil to go to see the comtesse. I + will go this morning.” + </p> + <p> + General Clarendon answered instantly, and with decision, that she must not + think of such a thing—that it could not be done. “Madame de St. + Cymon is a woman of doubtful reputation, not a person with whom Lady + Cecilia Clarendon ought to form any acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not form an acquaintance—I’m quite aware of that,” and eagerly + she pleaded that she had no intention of doing anything; “but just one + morning visit paid and returned, you know, leads to nothing. Probably we + shall neither of us be at home, and never meet; and really it would be + such a marked thing not to pay this visit to the Beltravers family on + their return to the country. Formerly there was such a good understanding + between the Forresters and your father; and really hospitality requires + it. Altogether this one visit really must be paid, it cannot be helped, so + I will order the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “It must not be done!” the general said; “it is a question of right, not + of expediency.” + </p> + <p> + “Right, but there is nothing really wrong, surely; I believe all that has + been said of her is scandal. Nobody is safe against reports—the + public papers are so scandalous! While a woman lives with her husband, it + is but charitable to suppose all is right. That’s the rule. Besides, we + should not throw the first stone.” Then Lady Cecilia pleaded, lady this + and lady that, and the whole county, without the least scruple would visit + Madame de St. Cymon. + </p> + <p> + “Lady this and lady that may do as they please, or as their husbands think + proper or improper, that is no rule for Lady Cecilia Clarendon; and as to + the whole county, or the whole world, what is that to me, when I have + formed my own determination?” + </p> + <p> + The fact was, that at this very time Madame de St. Cymon was about to be + separated from her husband. A terrible discovery had just been made. Lord + Beltravers had brought his sister to Old Forest to bide her from London + disgrace; there he intended to leave her to rusticate, while he should + follow her husband to Paris immediately, to settle the terms of separation + or divorce. + </p> + <p> + “Beauclerc, no doubt, will go to Paris with him,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “To Paris! when will he set out?” + </p> + <p> + “To-day—directly, if Helen has decidedly rejected him; but you say + he did not declare himself. Pray tell me all at once.” + </p> + <p> + And if she had done so, all might have been well; but she was afraid. Her + husband was as exact about <i>some things</i> as her mother; he would + certainly be displeased at the deception she had practised on Helen; she + could not tell him that, not at this moment, for she had just fooled him + to the top of his bent about this visit; she would find a better time; she + so dreaded the instant change of his smile—the look of + disapprobation; she was so cowardly; in short, the present pain of + displeasing—the consequences even of her own folly, she never could + endure, and to avoid it she had always recourse to some new evasion; and + now, when Helen—her dear Helen’s happiness, was at stake, she + faltered—she paltered—she would not for the world do her any + wrong; but still she thought she could manage without telling the whole—she + would tell nothing <i>but</i> the truth. So, after a moment’s hesitation, + while all these thoughts went through her mind, when the general repeated + his question, and begged to know at once what was passing in her little + head; she smiled in return for that smile which played on her husband’s + face while he fondly looked upon her, and she answered, “I am thinking of + poor Helen. She has made a sad mistake—and has a horrid headache at + this moment—in short she has offended Beauclerc past endurance—past + his endurance—and he went off in a passion before she found out her + mistake. In short, we must have him back again; could you go, my dear love—or + write directly?” + </p> + <p> + “First let me understand,” said the general. “Miss Stanley has made a + mistake—what mistake?” + </p> + <p> + “She thought Beauclerc was engaged to Lady Blanche.” + </p> + <p> + “How could she think so? What reason had she?” + </p> + <p> + “She had been told so by somebody.” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody!—that eternal scandal-monger Lady Katrine, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “No—not Lady Katrine,” said Cecilia; “but I am not at liberty to + tell you whom.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter; but Miss Stanley is not a fool; she could not believe somebody + or anybody, contrary to common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but Beauclerc did not come quite to proposing—and you know she + had been blamed for refusing Mr. Churchill before she was asked—and + in short—in love, people do not always know what they are about.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand one word of it,” said the general; “nor I am sure do + you, my dear Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I really do, but——” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Cecilia, I assure you it is always best to let people settle + their love affairs their own way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly—I would not interfere in the least—only to get + Granville back again—and then let them settle it their own way. + Cannot you call at Old Forest?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you not write?” + </p> + <p> + “No—not unless I know the whole. I will do nothing in the dark. + Always tell your confessor, your lawyer, your physician, your friend, your + whole case, or they are fools or rogues if they act for you; go back and + repeat this to Helen Stanley from me.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear, she will think it so unkind.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her show me how I can serve her, and I will do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Only write a line to Beauclerc—say, ‘Beauclerc come back,—here + has been a mistake.’” She would have put a pen into his hand, and held + paper to him. + </p> + <p> + “Let me know the whole, and then, and not till then, can I judge whether I + should be doing right for her or not.” The difficulty of telling the whole + had increased to Lady Cecilia, even from the hesitation and prevarication + she had now made. “Let me see Helen,—let me speak to her myself, and + learn what this strange nonsensical mystery is.” He was getting impatient. + “Cannot I see Miss Stanley?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no, my dear love, not just now, she has such a headache! She is lying + down. There is the breakfast-bell—after breakfast, if you please. + But I am clear she would rather not speak to you herself on the subject.” + </p> + <p> + “Then come down to breakfast, my dear, and let her settle it her own way—that + is much the best plan. Interference in love matters always does mischief. + Come to breakfast, my dear—I have no time to lose—I must be + off to a court-martial.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at his watch, and Cecilia went half down stairs with him, and + then ran back to keep Helen quiet by the assurance that all would be + settled—all would be right, and that she would send her up some + breakfast—she must not think of coming down; and Cecilia lamented + half breakfast-time—how subject to headaches poor Helen was; and + through this and through all other conversation she settled what she would + do for her. As the last resource, she would tell the whole truth—not + to her husband, she loved him too well to face his displeasure for one + moment—but to Beauclerc; and writing would be so much easier than + speaking—without being put to the blush she could explain it all to + Beauclerc, and turn it playfully; and he would be so happy that he would + be only too glad to forgive her, and to do anything she asked. She + concocted and wrote a very pretty letter, in which she took all the blame + fully on herself—did perfect justice to Helen; said she wrote + without her knowledge, and depended entirely upon his discretion, so he + must come back of his own accord, and keep her counsel. This letter, + however, she could not despatch so soon as she had expected; she could not + send a servant with it till the general should be off to his + court-martial. Now had Cecilia gone the straight-forward way to work, her + husband could in that interval, and would, have set all to rights; but + this to Cecilia was impossible; she could only wait in an agony of + impatience till the general and his officers were all out of the way, and + then she despatched a groom with her letter to Old Forest, and desired him + to return as fast as possible, while she went to Helen’s room, to while + away the time of anxious suspense as well as she could; and she soon + succeeded in talking herself into excellent spirits again. “Now, my dear + Helen, if that unlucky mistake had not been made,—if you had not + fancied that Granville was married already,—and if he had actually + proposed for you,—what would you have said?—in short—would + you have accepted him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Cecilia, I do hope he will understand how it all was; I hope he will + believe that I esteem him as I always did: as to love—” + </p> + <p> + Helen paused, and Lady Cecilia went on: “As to love, nobody knows anything + about it till it comes—and here it is coming, I do believe!” + continued she, looking out of the window.—No! not Mr. Beauclerc, but + the man she had sent with her letter, galloping towards the house. + Disappointed not to see Beauclerc himself, she could only conclude that as + he had not his horse with him, he was returning in the boat. The answer to + her letter was brought in. At the first glance on the direction, her + countenance changed. “Not Granville’s hand!—what can have happened?” + She tore open the note, “He is gone!—gone with Lord Beltravers—set + off!—gone to Paris!” Helen said not one word, and Cecilia, in + despair, repeated, “Gone!—gone!—absolutely gone! Nothing more + can be done. Oh, that I had done nothing about it! All has failed! Heaven + knows what may happen now! Oh! if I could but have let it all alone! I + never, never can forgive myself! My dear Helen, be angry with me—reproach + me: pray—pray reproach me as I deserve!” But Helen could not blame + one who so blamed herself—one who, however foolish and wrong she had + been, had done it all from the kindest motives. In the agony of her + penitence, she now told Helen all that had passed between her and the + general; that, to avoid the shame of confessing to him her first + deception, she had gone on another and another step in these foolish + evasions, contrivances, and mysteries; how, thinking she could manage it, + she had written without his knowledge; and now, to complete her + punishment, not only had every thing which she had attempted failed, but a + consequence which she could never have foreseen had happened.—“Here + I am, with a note actually in my hand from this horrid Madame de St. + Cymon, whom Clarendon absolutely would not hear of my even calling upon! + Look what she writes to me. She just took advantage of this opportunity to + begin a correspondence before an acquaintance: but I will never answer + her. Here is what she says:— + </p> + <p> + “‘The Comtesse de St. Cymon exceedingly regrets that Lady Cecilia + Clarendon’s servant did not arrive in time to deliver her ladyship’s + letter into Mr. Beauclerc’s own hand. Mr. B. left Old Forest with Lord + Beltravers early to-day for Paris. The Comtesse de St. Cymon, + understanding that Lady Cecilia Clarendon is anxious that there should be + as little delay as possible in forwarding her letter, and calculating that + if returned by her ladyship’s servant it must be too late for this day’s + post from Clarendon Park, has forwarded it immediately with her own + letters to Paris, which cannot fail to meet Mr. Beauclerc directly on his + arrival there.’ + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Lady Cecilia, “how angry the general would be if he knew of + this!” She tore the note to the smallest bits as she spoke, and threw them + away; and next she begged that Helen would never say a word about it. + There was no use in telling the general what would only vex him, and what + could not be helped; and what could lead to nothing, for she should never + answer this note, nor have any further communication of any kind with + Madame de St. Cymon. + </p> + <p> + Helen, nevertheless, thought it would be much better to tell the general + of it, and she wondered how Cecilia could think of doing otherwise, and + just when she had so strongly reproached herself, and repented of these + foolish mysteries; and this was going on another step. “Indeed, Cecilia,” + said Helen, “I wish—on my own account I wish you would not conceal + anything. It is hard to let the general suspect me of extreme folly and + absurdity, or of some sort of double dealing in this business, in which I + have done my utmost to do right and to go straightforward.” Poor Helen, + with her nervous headache beating worse and worse, remonstrated and + entreated, and came to tears; and Lady Cecilia promised that it should be + all done as she desired; but again she charged and besought Helen to say + nothing herself about the matter to the general: and this acceded to, Lady + Cecilia’s feelings being as transient as they were vehement, all her + self-reproaches, penitence, and fears passed away, and, taking her bright + view of the whole affair, she ended with the certainty that Beauclerc, + would return the moment he received her letter; that he would have it in a + very few days, and all would end well, and quite as well as if she had not + been a fool. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + THE first tidings of Beauclerc came in a letter from him to the general, + written immediately after his arrival at Paris. But it was plain that it + must have been written before Lady Cecilia’s letter, forwarded by Madame + de St. Cymon, could have reached him. It was evident that matters were as + yet unexplained, from his manner of writing about “the death-blow to all + his hopes,” and now he was setting off with Lord Beltravers for Naples, to + follow M. de St. Cymon, and settle the business of the sister’s divorce. + Lady Cecilia could only hope that her letter would follow him thither, + enclosed in this Madame de St. Cymon’s despatches to her brother; and now + they could know nothing more till they could hear from Naples. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Helen perceived that, though the general continued to be as + attentive and kind to her as usual, yet that there was something more + careful and reserved in his manner than formerly, less of spontaneous + regard, and cordial confidence. It was not that he was displeased by her + having discouraged the addresses of his ward, fond as he was of Beauclerc, + and well as he would have been pleased by the match. This he distinctly + expressed the only time that he touched upon the subject. He said, that + Miss Stanley was the best and the only judge of what would make her happy; + but he could not comprehend the nature of the mistake she had made; + Cecilia’s explanations, whatever they were, had not made the matter clear. + There was either some caprice, or some mystery, which he determined not to + inquire into, upon his own principle of leaving people to settle their + love affairs in their own way. Helen’s spirits were lowered: naturally of + great sensibility, she depended more for her happiness on her inward + feelings than upon any external circumstances. A great deal of gaiety was + now going on constantly among the young people at Clarendon Park, and this + made her want of spirits more disagreeable to herself, more obvious, and + more observed by others. Lady Katrine rallied her unmercifully. Not + suspecting the truth, her ladyship presumed that Miss Stanley repented of + having, before she was asked, said No instead of Yes, to Mr. Churchill. + Ever since his departure she had evidently worn the willow. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was excessively vexed by this ill-natured raillery: conscious + that she had been the cause of all this annoyance to Helen, and of much + more serious evil to her, the zeal and tenderness of her affection now + increased, and was shown upon every little occasion involuntarily, in a + manner that continually irritated her cousin Katrine’s jealousy. Helen had + been used to live only with those by whom she was beloved, and she was not + at all prepared for the sort of warfare which Lady Katrine carried on; her + perpetual sneers, innuendoes, and bitter sarcasms, Helen did not resent, + but she felt them. The arrows, ill-aimed and weak, could not penetrate + far; it was not with their point they wounded, but by their venom—wherever + that touched it worked inward mischief. Often to escape from one false + imputation she exposed herself to another more grievous. One night, when + the young people wished to dance, and the usual music was not to be had, + Helen played quadrilles, and waltzes, for hours with indefatigable + good-nature, and when some of the party returned their cordial thanks, + Lady Katrine whispered, “our musician has been well paid by Lord + Estridge’s admiration of her white hands.” His lordship had not danced, + and had been standing all the evening beside Helen, much to the + discomfiture of Lady Katrine, who intended to have had him for her own + partner. The next night, Helen did not play, but joined the dance, and + with a boy partner, whom nobody could envy her. The general, who saw + wonderfully quickly the by-play of society, marked all this, and now his + eye followed Helen through the quadrille, and he said to some one standing + by, that Miss Stanley danced charmingly, to his taste, and in such a + lady-like manner. He was glad to see her in good spirits again; her colour + was raised, and he observed that she looked remarkably well. “Yes,” Lady + Katrine answered, “remarkably well; and black is so becoming to that sort + of complexion, no doubt this is the reason Miss Stanley wears it so much + longer than is customary for an uncle. Short or long mournings are, to be + sure, just according to fashion, or feeling, as some say. For my part, I + hate long mournings—so like ostentation of sentiment; whatever I + did, at any rate I would be consistent. I never would dance in black. + Pope, you know, has such a good cut at that sort of thing. Do you + recollect the lines?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “‘And bear about the mockery of woe<br /> To midnight dances and the public show.’”<br /></pre> + <p> + Lady Castlefort took Miss Stanley aside, after the dance was over, to + whisper to her so good-naturedly, how shockingly severe Katrine had been; + faithfully repeating every word that her sister had said. “And so cruel, + to talk of your bearing about the <i>mockery</i> of woe!—But, my + sweet little lamb, do not let me distress you so.” Helen, withdrawing from + the false caresses of Lady Castlefort, assured her that she should not be + hurt by any thing Lady Katrine could say, as she so little understood her + real feelings; and at the moment her spirit rose against the injustice, + and felt as much superior to such petty malice as even Lady Davenant could + have desired. She had resolved to continue in mourning for the longest + period in which it is worn for a parent, because, in truth, her uncle had + been a parent to her; but the morning after Lady Katrine’s cruel remarks, + Cecilia begged that Helen would oblige her by laying aside black. “Let it + be on my birthday.” Lady Cecilia’s birth-day was to be celebrated the + ensuing week. “Well, for that day certainly I will,” Helen said; “but only + for that day.” This would not satisfy Cecilia. Helen saw that Lady + Katrine’s observations had made a serious impression, and, dreading to + become the subject of daily observation, perhaps altercation, she yielded. + The mourning was thrown aside. Then every thing she wore must be new. Lady + Cecilia and Mademoiselle Felicie, her waiting-maid, insisted upon taking + the matter into their own hands. Helen really intended only to let one + dress for her friend’s birth-day be bespoken for her; but from one thing + she was led on to another. Lady Cecilia’s taste in dress was exquisite. + Her first general principle was admirable—“Whatever you buy, let it + be the best of its kind, which is always the cheapest in the end.” Her + second maxim was—“Never have anything but from such and such people, + or from such and such places,” naming those who were at the moment + accredited by fashion. “These, of course, make you pay high for the name + of the thing; but that must be. The name is all,” said Lady Cecilia. “Does + your hat, your bonnet, whatever it be, come from the reigning fashionable + authority? then it is right, and you are quite right. You can put down all + objections and objectors with the magic of a name. You need think no more + about your dress; you have no trouble; while the poor creatures who go + toiling and rummaging in cheap shops—what comes of it? but total + exhaustion and disgrace! Yesterday, now, my dear Helen, recollect. When + Lady Katrine, after dinner, asked little Miss Isdall where she bought that + pretty hat, the poor girl was quite out of countenance. ‘Really she did + not know; she only knew it was very cheap.’ You saw that nobody could + endure the hat afterwards; so that, cheap as it might be, it was money to + all intents and purposes absolutely thrown away, for it did not answer its + purpose.” + </p> + <p> + Helen, laughing, observed, that if its purpose had been to look well, and + to make the wearer look well, it had fully succeeded. “Sophistry, my dear + Helen. The purpose was not to look well, but to have a distinguished air. + Dress, and what we call fashion and taste altogether, you know, are mere + matters of opinion, association of ideas, and so forth. When will you + learn to reason, as mamma says? Do not make me despair of you.” + </p> + <p> + Thus, half in jest, half in earnest, with truth and falsehood, sense and + nonsense, prettily blended together, Lady Cecilia prevailed in + overpowering Helen’s better judgment, and obtained a hasty submission. In + economy, as in morals, false principles are far more dangerous than any + one single error. One false principle as to laying out money is worse than + any bad bargain that can be made, because it leads to bad bargains + innumerable. It was settled that all Helen wanted should be purchased, not + only from those who sold the best goods, but from certain very expensive + houses of fashionably high name in London. And the next point Lady Cecilia + insisted upon was, that Helen’s dress should always be the same as her + own. “You know it used to be so, my dear Helen, when we were children; let + it be so now.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is such a difference <i>now</i>” said Helen; “and I cannot + afford——” + </p> + <p> + “Difference! Oh! don’t talk of differences—let there be none ever + between us. Not afford!—nonsense, my dear—the expense will be + nothing. In these days you get the materials of dress absolutely for + nothing—the fashion—the making-up is all, us Felicie and I, + and everybody who knows anything of the matter, can tell you. Now all that + sort of thing we can save you—here is my wedding paraphernalia all + at your service—patterns ready cut—and here is Felicie, whose + whole French soul is in the toilette—and there is your own little + maid, who has hands, and head, and heart, all devoted to you—so + leave it to us—leave it to us, my dear—take no thought what + you shall put on—and you will put it on all the better.” Felicie was + summoned. “Felicie, remember Miss Stanley’s dress is always to be the same + as my own. It must be so, my dear. It will be the greatest pleasure to + me,” and with her most persuasive caressing manner, she added, “My own + dear Helen, if you love me, let it be so.” + </p> + <p> + This was an appeal which Helen could not resist. She thought that she + could not refuse without vexing Cecilia; and, from a sort of sentimental + belief that she was doing Cecilia “a real kindness,”—that it was + what Cecilia called “a sisterly act,” she yielded to what she knew was + unsuited to her circumstances—to what was quite contrary to her + better judgment. It often so happens, that our friends doubly guard one + obvious point of weakness, while another exists undiscovered by them, and + unknown to ourselves. Lady Davenant had warned Helen against the dangers + of indecision and coquetry with her lovers, but this danger of + extravagance in dress she had not foreseen—and into how much expense + this one weak compliance would lead her, Helen could not calculate. She + had fancied that, at least, till she went to town, she should not want + anything expensive—this was a great mistake. Formerly in England, as + still in every other country but England, a marked difference was made in + the style of dress in the country and in town. Formerly, overdressing in + the country was reprobated as quite vulgar; but now, even persons of birth + and fashion are guilty of this want of taste and sense. They display + almost as much expensive dress in the country as in town. + </p> + <p> + It happened that, among the succession of company at Clarendon Park this + summer, there came, self-invited, from the royal party in the + neighbourhood, a certain wealthy lady, by some called “Golconda,” by + others “the Duchess of Baubleshire.” She was passionately fond of dress, + and she eclipsed all rivals in magnificence and variety of ornaments. At + imminent peril of being robbed, she brought to the country, and carried + about everywhere with her, an amazing number of jewels, wearing two or + three different sets at different times of the day—displaying them + on the most absurdly improper occasions—at a fete champêtre, or a + boat race. + </p> + <p> + Once, after a riding-party, at a pic-nic under the trees, when it had been + resolved unanimously that nobody should change their dress at dinner-time, + Golconda appeared in a splendid necklace, displayed over her riding-dress, + and when she was reproached with having broken through the general + agreement not to dress she replied, that, “Really she had put the thing on + in the greatest hurry, without knowing well what it was, just to oblige + her little page who had brought three sets of jewels for her choice—she + had chosen the <i>most undressed</i> of the three, merely because she + could not disappoint the poor little fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Every one saw the affectation and folly, and above all, the vulgarity of + this display, and those who were most envious were most eager to comfort + themselves by ridicule. Never was the “Golconda” out of hearing, but Lady + Katrine was ready with some instance of her “absurd vanity.” “If fortune + had but blessed her with such jewels,” Lady Katrine said, “she trusted she + should have worn them with better grace;” but it did not appear that the + taste for baubles was diminished by the ridicule thrown upon them—quite + the contrary, it was plain that the laughers were only envious, and + envious because they could not be envied. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, who had no envy in her nature—who was really generous—entered + not into this vain competition; on the contrary, she refrained from + wearing any of her jewels, because Helen had none; besides, simplicity was + really the best taste, the general said so—this was well thought and + well done for some time, but there was a little lurking love of ornaments + in Cecilia’s mind, nor was Helen entirely without sympathy in that taste. + Her uncle had early excited it in her mind by frequent fond presents of + the prettiest trinkets imaginable; the taste had been matured along with + her love for one for whom she had such strong affection, and it had seemed + to die with its origin. Before she left Cecilhurst, Helen had given away + every ornament she possessed; she thought she could never want them again, + and she left them as remembrances with those who had loved her and her + uncle. + </p> + <p> + Cecilia on her birthday brought her a set of forget-me-nots to match those + which she intended to wear herself, and which had been long ago given to + Lady Cecilia by the dear good dean himself. This was irresistible to + Helen, and they were accepted. But this was only the prelude to presents + of more value, which Helen scrupled to receive; yet— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “Oft to refuse and never once offend"<br /></pre> + <p> + was not so easily done as said, especially with Lady Cecilia; she was so + urgent, so caressing, and had so many plausible reasons, suitable to all + occasions. On the general’s birthday, Lady Cecilia naturally wished to + wear his first gift to her—a pair of beautiful pearl bracelets, but + then Helen must have the same. Helen thought that Roman pearl would do + quite as well for her. She had seen some such excellent imitations that no + eye could detect the difference. “No eye! very likely; but still your own + conscience, my dear!” replied Lady Cecilia. “And if people ask whether + they are real, what could you say? You know there are everywhere + impertinent people; malicious Lady Katrines, who will ask questions. Oh! + positively I cannot bear to think of your being detected in passing off + counterfeits. In all ornaments, it should be genuine or none—none or + genuine.” + </p> + <p> + “None, then, let it be for me this time, dear Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia seemed to submit, and Helen thought she had well settled it. But + on the day of the general’s <i>fête</i>, the pearl bracelets were on her + dressing-table. They were from the general, and could not be refused. + Cecilia declared she had nothing to do with the matter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cecilia!” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word!” cried Lady Cecilia; “and if you doubt me, the general + shall have the honour of presenting, and you the agony of refusing or + accepting them in full salon.” + </p> + <p> + Helen sighed, hesitated, and submitted. The general, on her appearing with + the bracelets, bowed, smiled, and thanked her with his kindest look; and + she was glad to see him look kindly upon her again. + </p> + <p> + Having gained her point so pleasantly this time, Lady Cecilia did not stop + there; and Helen found there was no resource but to bespeak beforehand for + herself whatever she apprehended would be pressed upon her acceptance. + </p> + <p> + Fresh occasions for display, and new necessities for expense, continually + occurred. Reviews, and races, and race-balls, and archery meetings, and + archery balls, had been, and a regatta was to be. At some of these the + ladies had appeared in certain uniforms, new, of course, for the day; and + now preparations for the regatta had commenced, and were going on. It was + to last several days: and after the boat-races in the morning, there were + to be balls at night. The first of these was to be at Clarendon Park, and + Mademoiselle Felicie considered her lady’s dress upon this occasion as one + of the objects of first importance in the universe. She had often sighed + over the long unopened jewel-box. Her lady might as well be nobody. + Mademoiselle Felicie could no ways understand a lady well born not wearing + that which distinguished her above the common; and if she was ever to wear + jewels, the ball-room was surely the proper place. And the sapphire + necklace would look <i>à ravir</i> with her lady’s dress, which, indeed, + without it, would have no effect; would be quite <i>mésquine</i> and <i>manquée</i>. + </p> + <p> + Now Lady Cecilia had a great inclination to wear that sapphire necklace, + which probably Felicie saw when she commenced her remonstrances, for it is + part of the business of the well-trained waiting-woman, to give utterance + to those thoughts which her lady wishes should be divined and pressed into + accomplishment. Cecilia considered whether it would not be possible to + divide the double rows of her sapphires, to make out a set for Helen as + well as for herself; she hesitated only because they had been given to her + by her mother, and she did not like to run the hazard of spoiling the set; + but still she could manage it, and she would do it. Mademoiselle Felicie + protested the attempt would be something very like sacrilege; to prevent + which, she gave a hint to Helen of what was in contemplation. + </p> + <p> + Helen knew that with Cecilia, when once she had set her heart upon a + generous feat of this kind, remonstrance would be in vain; she dreaded + that she would, if prevented from the meditated division of the sapphires, + purchase for her a new set: she had not the least idea what the expense + was, but, at the moment, she thought anything would be better than letting + Cecilia spoil her mother’s present, or put her under fresh obligations of + this sort. She knew that the sapphires had been got from the jewellers + with whom her uncle had dealt, and who were no strangers to her name; she + wrote, and bespoke a similar set to Lady Cecilia’s. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Charmante!</i> the very thing,” Mademoiselle Felicie foresaw, “a young + lady so well born would determine on doing. And if she might add a little + word, it would be good at the same opportunity to order a ruby brooch, the + same as her lady’s, as that would be the next object in question for the + second day’s regatta ball, when it would be indispensable for that night’s + appearance; <i>positivement</i>, she knew her lady would do it for Miss + Stanley if Miss Stanley did not do it of her own head.” + </p> + <p> + Helen did not think that a brooch could be very expensive; there was not + time to consider about it—the post was going—she was afraid + that Lady Cecilia would come in and find her writing, and prevent her + sending the letter. She hastily added an order for the brooch, finished + the letter, and despatched it. And when it was gone she told Cecilia what + she had done. Cecilia looked startled; she was well aware that Helen did + not know the high price of what she had bespoken. But, determining that + she would settle it her own way, she took care not to give any alarm, and + shaking her head, she only reproached Helen playfully with having thus + stolen a march upon her. + </p> + <p> + “You think you have out-generaled me, but we shall see. Remember, I am the + wife of a general, and not without resources.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + Of the regatta, of the fineness of the weather, the beauty of the + spectacle, and the dresses of the ladies, a full account appeared in the + papers of the day, of which it would be useless here to give a repetition, + and shameful to steal or seem to steal a description. We shall record only + what concerns Helen. + </p> + <p> + With the freshness of youth and of her naturally happy temper, she was + delighted with the whole, to her a perfectly new spectacle, and every body + was pleased except Lady Katrine, who, in the midst of every amusement, + always found something that annoyed her, something that “should not have + been so.” She was upon this occasion more cross than usual, because this + morning’s uniform was not becoming to her, and was most particularly so to + Miss Stanley, as all the gentlemen observed. + </p> + <p> + Just in time before the ladies went to dress for the ball at night, the + precious box arrived, containing the set of sapphires. Cecilia opened it + eagerly, to see that all was right. Helen was not in the room. Lady + Katrine stood by, and when she found that these were for Helen, her + envious indignation broke forth. “The poor daughters of peers cannot + indulge in such things,” cried she; “they are fit only for rich heiresses! + I understood,” continued she, “that Miss Stanley had given away her + fortune to pay her uncle’s debts, but I presume she has thought better of + that, as I always prophesied she would——generosity is + charming, but, after all, sapphires are so becoming!” + </p> + <p> + Helen came into the room just as this speech was ended. Lady Katrine had + one of the bracelets in her hand. She looked miserably cross, for she had + been disappointed about some ornaments she had expected by the same + conveyance that brought Miss Stanley’s. She protested that she had nothing + fit to wear to-night. Helen looked at Cecilia; and though Cecilia’s look + gave no encouragement, she begged that Lady Katrine would do her the + honour to wear these sapphires this night, since she had not received what + her ladyship had ordered. Lady Katrine suffered herself to be prevailed + on, but accepted with as ill a grace as possible. The ball went on, and + Helen at least was happier than if she had worn the bracelets. She had no + pleasure in being the object of envy, and now, when she found that Cecilia + could be and was satisfied, though their ornaments were not exactly alike, + it came full upon her mind that she had done foolishly in bespeaking these + sapphires: it was at that moment only a transient self-reproach for + extravagance, but before she went to rest this night it became more + serious. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant had been expected all day, but she did not arrive till late + in the midst of the ball, and she just looked in at the dancers for a few + minutes before she retired to her own apartment. Helen would have followed + her, but that was not allowed. After the dancing was over, however, as she + was going to her room, she heard Lady Davenant’s voice, calling to her as + she passed by; and, opening the door softly, she found her still awake, + and desiring to see her for a few minutes, if she was not too much tired. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, not in the least tired; quite the contrary,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + After affectionately embracing her, Lady Davenant held her at arms’ + length, and looked at her as the light of the lamp shone full upon her + face and figure. Pleased with her whole appearance, Lady Davenant smiled, + and said, as she looked at her—“You seem, Helen, to have shared the + grateful old fairy’s gift to Lady Georgiana B. of the never-fading rose in + the cheek. But what particularly pleases me, Helen, is the perfect + simplicity of your dress. In the few minutes that I was in the ball-room + to-night, I was struck with that over-dressed duchess: her figure has been + before my eyes ever since, hung round with jewellery, and with that <i>auréole</i> + a foot and a-half high on her head: like the Russian bride’s headgear, + which Heber so well called ‘the most costly deformity he ever beheld.’ + Really, this passion for baubles,” continued Lady Davenant, “is the + universal passion of our sex. I will give you an instance to what + extravagance it goes. I know a lady of high rank, who hires a certain pair + of emerald earrings at fifteen hundred pounds per annum. She rents them in + this way from some German countess in whose family they are an heir-loom, + and cannot be sold.” Helen expressed her astonishment. “This is only one + instance, my dear; I could give you hundreds. Over the whole world, women + of all ages, all ranks, all conditions, have been seized with this bauble + insanity—from the counter to the throne. Think of Marie Antoinette + and the story of her necklace; and Josephine and her Cisalpine pearls, and + all the falsehoods she told about them to the emperor she reverenced, the + husband she loved—and all for what?—a string of beads! But I + forget,” cried Lady Davenant, interrupting herself, “I must not forget how + late it is: and I am keeping you up, and you have been dancing: forgive + me! When once my mind is moved, I forget all hours. Good night—or + good morning, my dear child; go, and rest.” But just as Helen was + withdrawing her hand, Lady Davenant’s eye fixed on her pearl bracelets—“Roman + pearls, or real? Real, I see, and very valuable!—given to you, I + suppose, by your poor dear extravagant uncle?” + </p> + <p> + Helen cleared her uncle’s memory from this imputation, and explained that + the bracelets were a present from General Clarendon. She did not know they + were so “very valuable,” but she hoped she had not done wrong to accept of + them in the circumstances; and she told how she had been induced to take + them. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant said she had done quite right. The general was no + present-maker, and this exception in his favour could not lead to any + future inconvenience. “But Cecilia,” continued she, “is too much addicted + to trinket giving, which ends often disagreeably even between friends, or + at all events fosters a foolish taste, and moreover associates it with + feelings of affection in a way particularly deceitful and dangerous to + such a little, tender-hearted person as I am speaking to, whose common + sense would too easily give way to the pleasure of pleasing or fear of + offending a friend. Kiss me, and don’t contradict me, for your conscience + tells you that what I say is true.” + </p> + <p> + The sapphires, the ruby brooch, and all her unsettled accounts, came + across Helen’s mind; and if the light had shone upon her face at that + moment, her embarrassment must have been seen; but Lady Davenant, as she + finished the last words, laid her head upon the pillow, and she turned and + settled herself comfortably to go to sleep. Helen retired with a + disordered conscience; and the first thing she did in the morning was to + look in the red case in which the sapphires came, to see if there was any + note of their price; she recollected having seen some little bit of card—it + was found on the dressing-table. When she beheld the price, fear took away + her breath—it was nearly half her whole year’s income; still she <i>could</i> + pay it. But the ruby brooch that had not yet arrived—what would that + cost? She hurried to her accounts; she had let them run on for months + unlooked at, but she thought she must know the principal articles of + expense in dress by her actual possessions. There was a heap of little + crumpled bills which, with Felicie’s griffonage, Helen had thrown into her + table-drawer. In vain did she attempt to decipher the figures, like + apothecaries’ marks, linked to quarters and three-quarters, and yards, of + gauzes, silks, and muslins, altogether inextricably puzzling. They might + have been at any other moment laughable, but now they were quite terrible + to Helen; the only thing she could make clearly out was the total; she was + astonished when she saw to how much little nothings can amount, an + astonishment felt often by the most experienced—how much more by + Helen, all unused to the arithmetic of economy! At this instant her maid + came in smiling with a packet, as if sure of being the bearer of the very + thing her young lady most wished for; it was the brooch—the very + last thing in the world she desired to see. With a trembling hand she + opened the parcel, looked at the note of the price, and sank upon her + chair half stupified, with her eyes fixed upon the sum. She sat she knew + not how long, till, roused by the opening of Cecilia’s door, she hastened + to put away the papers. “Let me see them, my dear, don’t put away those + papers,” cried Cecilia; “Felicie tells me that you have been at these + horrid accounts these two hours, and—you look—my dear Helen, + you must let me see how much it is!” She drew the total from beneath + Helen’s hand. It was astounding even to Cecilia, as appeared by her first + unguarded look of surprise. But, recovering herself immediately, she in a + playfully scolding tone told Helen that all this evil came upon her in + consequence of her secret machinations. “You set about to counteract me, + wrote for things that I might not get them for you, you see what has come + of it! As to these bills, they are all from tradespeople who cannot be in + a hurry to be paid; and as to the things Felicie has got for you, she can + wait, is not she a waiting-woman by profession? Now, where is the + ruby-brooch? Have you never looked at it?—I hope it is pretty—I + am sure it is handsome,” cried she as she opened the case. “Yes; I like it + prodigiously, I will take it off your hands, my dear; will that do?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Cecilia, I cannot let you do that, for you have one the same, I know, + and you cannot want another—no, no.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak like an angel, my dear, but you do not look like one,” said + Cecilia. “So woe-begone, so pale a creature, never did I see! do look at + yourself in the glass; but you are too wretched to plague. Seriously, I + want this brooch, and mine it must be—it is mine: I have a use for + it, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you have a use for it, really,” said Helen, “I should indeed be + very glad——” + </p> + <p> + “Be glad then, it is mine,” said Cecilia; “and now it is yours, my dear + Helen, now, not a word! pray, if you love me!” + </p> + <p> + Helen could not accept of it; she thanked Cecilia with all her heart, she + felt her kindness—her generosity, but even the hitherto irresistible + words, “If you love me,” were urged in vain. If she had not been in actual + need of money, she might have been over-persuaded, but now her spirit of + independence strengthened her resolution, and she persisted in her + refusal. Lady Davenant’s bell rang, and Helen, slowly rising, took up the + miserable accounts, and said, “Now I must go——” + </p> + <p> + “Where!” said Cecilia; “you look as if you had heard a knell that summoned + you—what are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “To tell all my follies to Lady Davenant.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell your follies to nobody but me,” cried Lady Cecilia. “I have enough + of my own to sympathise with you, but do not go and tell them to my + mother, of all people; she, who has none of her own, how can you expect + any mercy?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not; I am content to bear all the blame I so richly deserve, but I + know that after she has heard me, she will tell me what I ought to do, she + will find out some way of settling it all rightly, and if that can but be, + I do not care how much I suffer. So the sooner I go to her the better,” + said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “But you need not be in such a hurry; do not be like the man who said, ‘Je + veux être l’enfant prodigue, je veux être l’enfant perdu.’ L’enfant + prodigue, well and good, but why l’enfant perdu?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Cecilia, do not play with me now—do not stop me,” said + Helen anxiously. “It is serious with me now, and it is as much as I can do——” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia let her go, but trembled for her, as she looked after her, and saw + her stop at her mother’s door. + </p> + <p> + Helen’s first knock was too low, it was unheard, she was obliged to wait; + another, louder, was answered by, “Come in.” And in the presence she + stood, and into the middle of things she rushed at once; the accounts, the + total, lay before Lady Davenant. There it was: and the culprit, having + made her confession, stood waiting for the sentence. + </p> + <p> + The first astonished change of look, was certainly difficult to sustain. + “I ought to have foreseen this,” said Lady Davenant; “my affection has + deceived my judgment. Helen, I am sorry for your sake, and for my own.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh do not speak in that dreadful calm voice, as if—do not give me + up at once,” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you? what can be done for one who has no strength of + mind?” I have some, thought Helen, or I should not be here at this moment. + “Of what avail, Helen, is your good heart—your good intentions, + without the power to abide by them? When you can be drawn aside from the + right by the first paltry temptation—by that most contemptible of + passions—the passion for baubles! You tell me it was not that, what + then? a few words of persuasion from any one who can smile, and fondle, + and tell you that they love you;—the fear of offending Cecilia! how + absurd! Is this what you both call friendship? But weaker still, Helen, I + perceive that you have been led blindfold in extravagance by a prating + French waiting-maid—to the brink of ruin, the very verge of + dishonesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Dishonesty! how?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask yourself, Helen: is a person honest, who orders and takes from the + owner that for which he cannot pay? Answer me, honest or dishonest.” + </p> + <p> + “Dishonest! if I had intended not to pay. But I did intend to pay, and I + will.” + </p> + <p> + “You will! The weak have no will—never dare to say I will. Tell me + how you will pay that which you owe. You have no means—no choice, + except to take from the fund you have already willed to another purpose. + See what good intentions, come to, Helen, when you cannot abide by them!” + </p> + <p> + “But I can,” cried Helen; “whatever else I do, I will not touch that fund, + destined for my dear uncle—I have not touched it. I could pay it in + two years, and I will—I will give up my whole allowance.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will you live upon in the mean time?” + </p> + <p> + “I should not have said my whole allowance, but I can do with very little, + I will buy nothing new.” + </p> + <p> + “Buy nothing—live upon nothing!” repeated Lady Davenant; “how often + have I heard these words said by the most improvident, in the moment of + repentance, even then as blind and uncalculating as ever! And you, Helen, + talk to me of your powers of forbearance,—you, who, with the + strongest motive your heart could feel, have not been able for a few short + months to resist the most foolish—the most useless fancies.” + </p> + <p> + Helen burst into tears. But Lady Davenant, unmoved, at least to all + outward appearance, coldly said, “It is not feeling that you want, or that + I require from you; I am not to be satisfied by words or tears.” + </p> + <p> + “I deserve it all,” said Helen; “and I know you are not cruel. In the + midst of all this, I know you are my best friend.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant was now obliged to be silent, lest her voice should betray + more tenderness than her countenance chose to show. + </p> + <p> + “Only tell me what I can do now,” continued Helen; “what can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “What you CAN do, I will tell you, Helen. Who was the man you were dancing + with last night?” + </p> + <p> + “I danced with several; which do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Your partner in the quadrille you were dancing when I came in.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord Estridge: but you know him—he has been often here.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he rich?” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, very rich, and very self-sufficient: he is the man Cecilia used + to call ‘<i>Le prince de mon mérite.</i>’” + </p> + <p> + “Did she? I do not remember. He made no impression on me, nor on you, I + dare say.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter, he will do as well as another, since he is rich. You can marry + him, and pay your present debts, and contract new, for thousands instead + of hundreds:—this is what you CAN do, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I can?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “You can, I suppose, as well as others. You know that young ladies often + marry to pay their debts?” + </p> + <p> + “So I once heard,” said Helen, “but is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite. You might have been told more—that they enter into regular + partnerships, joint-stock companies with dress-makers and jewellers, who + make their ventures and bargains on the more or less reputation of the + young ladies for beauty or for fashion, supply them with finery, speculate + on their probabilities of matrimonial success, and trust to being repaid + after marriage. Why not pursue this plan next season in town? You must + come to it like others, whose example you follow—why not begin it + immediately?” + </p> + <p> + There is nothing so reassuring to the conscience as to hear, in the midst + of blame that we do deserve, suppositions of faults, imputations which we + know to be unmerited—impossible. Instead of being hurt or alarmed by + what Lady Davenant had said, the whole idea appeared to Helen so utterly + beneath her notice, that the words made scarcely any impression on her + mind, and her thoughts went earnestly back to the pressing main question—“What + can I do, honestly to pay this money that I owe?” She abruptly asked Lady + Davenant if she thought the jeweller could be prevailed upon to take back + the sapphires and the brooch? + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, without a considerable loss to you,” replied Lady + Davenant; but with an obvious change for the better in her countenance, + she added, “Still the determination to give up the bauble is good; the + means, at whatever loss, we will contrive for you, if you are determined.” + </p> + <p> + “Determined!—oh yes.” She ran for the bracelets and brooch, and + eagerly put them into Lady Davenant’s hand. And now another bright idea + came into her mind: she had a carriage of her own—a very handsome + carriage, almost new; she could part with it—yes, she would, though + it was a present from her dear uncle—his last gift; and he had taken + such pleasure in having it made perfect for her. She was very, very fond + of it, but she would part with it; she saw no other means of abiding by + her promise, and paying his debts and her own. This passed rapidly through + her mind; and when she had expressed her determination, Lady Davenant’s + manner instantly returned to all its usual kindness, and she exclaimed as + she embraced her, drew her to her, and kissed her again and again—“You + are my own Helen! These are deeds, Helen, not words: I am satisfied—I + may be satisfied with you now! + </p> + <p> + “And about that carriage, my dear, it shall not go to a stranger, it shall + be mine. I want a travelling chaise—I will purchase it from you: I + shall value it for my poor friend’s sake, and for yours, Helen. So now it + is settled, and you are clear in the world again. I will never spoil you, + but I will always serve you, and a greater pleasure I cannot have in this + world.” + </p> + <p> + After this happy termination of the dreaded confession, how much did Helen + rejoice that she had had the courage to tell all to her friend. The pain + was transient—the confidence permanent. + </p> + <p> + As Helen was going into her own room, she saw Cecilia flying up stairs + towards her, with an open letter in her hand, her face radiant with joy. + “I always knew it would all end well! Churchill might well say that all + the sand in my hour-glass was diamond sand. There, my dear Helen—there,” + cried Cecilia, embracing her as she put the letter into her hand. It was + from Beauclerc, his answer to Lady Cecilia’s letter, which had followed + him to Naples. It was written the very instant he had read her + explanation, and, warm from his heart, he poured out all the joy he felt + on hearing the truth, and, in his transport of delight, he declared that + he quite forgave Lady Cecilia, and would forget, as she desired, all the + misery she had made him feel. Some confounded quarantine he feared might + detain him, but he would certainly be at Clarendon Park in as short a time + as possible. Helen’s first smile, he said, would console him for all he + had suffered, and make him forget everything. + </p> + <p> + Helen’s first smile he did not see, nor the blush which spread and rose as + she read. Cecilia was delighted. “Generous, affectionate Cecilia!” thought + Helen; “if she has faults, and she really has but one, who could help + loving her?” Not Helen, certainly, or she would have been the most + ungrateful of human beings. Besides her sympathy in Helen’s happiness, + Cecilia was especially rejoiced at this letter, coming, as it did, the + very day after her mother’s return; for though she had written to Lady + Davenant on Beauclerc’s departure, and told her that he was gone only on + Lord Beltravers’ account, yet she dreaded that, when it came to speaking, + her mother’s penetration would discover that something extraordinary had + happened. Now all was easy. Beauclerc was coming back: he had finished his + friend’s business, and, before he returned to Clarendon Park he wished to + know if he might appear there as the acknowledged admirer of Miss Stanley—if + he might with any chance of success pay his addresses to her. Secure that + her mother would never ask to see the letter, considering it either as a + private communication to his guardian, or as a love letter to Helen, + Cecilia gave this version of it to Lady Davenant; and how she settled it + with the general, Helen never knew, but it seemed all smooth and right. + </p> + <p> + And now, the regatta being at an end, the archery meetings over, and no + hope of further gaiety for this season at Clarendon Park, the Castleforts + and Lady Katrine departed. Lady Katrine’s last satisfaction was the hard + haughty look with which she took leave of Miss Stanley—a look + expressing, as well as the bitter smile and cold form of good breeding + could express it, unconquered, unconquerable hate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + There is no better test of the strength of affection than the ready + turning of the mind to the little concerns of a friend, when preoccupied + with important interests of our own. This was a proof of friendship, which + Lady Davenant had lately given to Helen, for, at the time when she had + entered with so much readiness and zeal into Helen’s little difficulties + and debts, great political affairs and important interests of Lord + Davenant’s were in suspense, and pressed heavily upon her mind. What might + be the nature of these political embarrassments had not been explained. + Lady Davenant had only hinted at them. She said, “she knew from the terror + exhibited by the inferior creatures in office that some change in + administration was expected, as beasts are said to howl and tremble before + storm, or earthquake, or any great convulsion of nature takes place.” + </p> + <p> + Since Lady Davenant’s return from town, where Lord Davenant still + remained, nothing had been said of the embassy to Russia but that it was + delayed. Lady Cecilia, who was quick, and, where she was not herself + concerned, usually right, in interpreting the signs of her mother’s + discomfiture, guessed that Lord Davenant had been circumvented by some + diplomatist of inferior talents, and she said to Helen, “When an ass kicks + you never tell it, is a maxim which mamma heard from some friend, and she + always acts upon it; but a kick, whether given by ass or not, leaves a + bruise, which sometimes tells in spite of ourselves, and my mother should + remember another maxim of that friend’s, that the faults and follies of + the great are the delight and comfort of the little. Now, my mother, + though she is so well suited, from her superior abilities and strength of + mind, and all that, to be the wife of a great political leader, yet in + some respects she is the most unfit person upon earth for <i>the situation</i>; + for, though she feels the necessity of conciliating, she cannot unbend + with her inferiors, that is, with half the world. As Catalani said of + singing, it is much more difficult to descend than to ascend well. + Shockingly mamma shows in her manner sometimes how tired she is of the + stupid, and how she despises the mean; and all the underlings think she + can undo them with papa, for it has gone abroad that she <i>governs</i>, + while in fact, though papa asks her advice, to be sure, because she is so + wise, she never does interfere in the least; but, now it has once got into + the world’s obstinate head that she does, it cannot be put out again, and + mamma is the last person upon earth to take her own part, or condescend to + explain and set things right. She is always thinking of papa’s glory and + the good of the public, but the public will never thank him and much less + her; so there she is a martyr, without her crown; now, if I were to make a + martyr of myself, which, Heaven forbid! I would at least take right good + care to secure my crown, and to have my full glory round my head, and set + on becomingly. But seriously, my dear Helen,” continued Lady Cecilia, “I + am unhappy about papa and mamma, I assure you. I have seen little clouds + of discontent long gathering, lowering, and blackening, and I know they + will burst over their heads in some tremendous storm at last.” + </p> + <p> + Helen hoped not, but looked frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you may hope not, my dear, but I know it will be—we may not + hear the thunder, but we shall see the lightning all the more dangerous. + We shall be struck down, unless—” she paused. + </p> + <p> + “Unless what?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Unless the storm be dispersed in time.” + </p> + <p> + “And how?” + </p> + <p> + “The lightning drawn off by some good conductor—such as myself; I am + quite serious, and though you were angry with me for laughing just now, as + if I was not the best of daughters, even though I laugh, I can tell you I + am meditating an act of self-devotion for my mother’s sake—a grand + <i>coup d’état</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Coup d’état</i>? you, Cecilia! my dear—” + </p> + <p> + “I, Helen, little as you think of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Of your political talents you don’t expect me to think much, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “My political talents! you shall see what they are. I am capable of a + grand <i>coup d’état</i>. I will have next week a three days’ congress, + anti-political, at Clarendon Park, where not a word of politics shall be + heard, nor any thing but nonsense if I can help it, and the result shall + be, as you shall see, goodwill between all men and all women—women? + yes, there’s the grand point. Mamma has so affronted two ladies, very + influential as they call it, each—Lady Masham, a favourite at court, + and Lady Bearcroft, risen from the ranks, on her husband’s shoulders; he, + ‘a man of law,’ Sir Benjamin Bearcroft, and very clever she is I hear, but + loud and coarse; absolutely inadmissible she was thought till lately, and + now, only tolerated for her husband’s sake, but still have her here I + must.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you had better not,” remonstrated Helen; “if she is so very + vulgar, Lady Davenant and the general will never endure her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he will! the general will bear a great deal for mamma’s sake, and + more for papa’s. I must have her, my dear, for the husband is of + consequence and, though he is ashamed of her, for that very reason he + cannot bear that any body should neglect her, and terribly mamma has + neglected her! Now, my dear Helen, do not say a word more against it.” + Very few words had Helen said. “I must ponder well,” continued Cecilia, + “and make out my list of worthies, my concordatum party.” + </p> + <p> + Helen much advised the consulting Lady Davenant first; but Lady Cecilia + feared her mother might be too proud to consent to any advance on her own + part. Helen still feared that the bringing together such discordant people + would never succeed, but Lady Cecilia, always happy in paying herself with + words answerable to her wishes, replied, “that discords well managed often + produced the finest harmony.” The only point she feared was, that she + should not gain the first step, that she should not be able to prevail + upon the general to let her give the invitations. In truth, it required + all her persuasive words, and more persuasive looks to accomplish this + preliminary, and to bring General Clarendon to invite, or permit to be + invited, to Clarendon Park, persons whom he knew but little, and liked not + at all. But as Lady Cecilia pleaded and urged that it would soon be over, + “the whole will be over in three days—only a three days’ visit; and + for mamma!—I am sure, Clarendon—you will do anything for her, + and for papa, and your own Cecilia? “—the general smiled, and the + notes were written, and the invitations were accepted, and when once + General Clarendon had consented, he was resolutely polite in his reception + of these to him unwelcome guests. His manner was not false; it was only + properly polite, not tending to deceive any one who understood the tokens + of conventional good breeding. It however required considerable power over + himself to keep the line of demarcation correctly, with one person in + particular to whom he had a strong political aversion: Mr. Harley.—His + very name was abhorrent to General Clarendon, who usually designated him + as “That Genius, Cecilia—that favourite of your mother’s! “—while + to Lady Davenant Mr. Harley was the only person from whose presence she + anticipated any pleasure, or who could make the rest of the party to her + endurable. Helen, though apprehensive of what might be the ultimate result + of this congress, yet could not help rejoicing that she should now have an + opportunity of seeing some of those who are usually considered “high as + human veneration can look.” It is easy, after one knows who is who, to + determine that we should have found out the characteristic qualities and + talents in each countenance. Lady Cecilia, however, would not tell Helen + the names of the celebrated unknown who were assembled when they went into + the drawing-room before dinner, and she endeavoured to guess from their + conversation the different characters of the speakers; but only a few + sentences were uttered, signifying nothing; snuff-boxes were presented, + pinches taken and inclinations made with becoming reciprocity, but the + physiognomy of a snuff-box Helen could not interpret, though Lavater + asserts that every thing in nature, even a cup of tea, has a physiognomy. + </p> + <p> + Dinner was announced, and the company paired off, seemingly not standing + on the order of their going; yet all, especially as some were strangers, + secretly mindful of their honours, and they moved on in precedence just, + and found themselves in places due at the dinner-table. + </p> + <p> + But Helen did not seem likely to obtain more insight into the characters + of these great personages in the dining-room than she had done in the + drawing-room. For it often happens that, when the most celebrated, and + even the most intellectual persons are brought together expressly for the + purpose of conversation, then it does not flow, but sinks to silence, and + ends at last in the stagnation of utter stupidity. Each seems oppressed + with the weight of his own reputation, and, in the pride of high + celebrity, and the shyness, real or affected, of high rank, each fears to + commit himself by a single word. People of opposite parties, when thrown + together, cannot at once change the whole habit of their minds, nor + without some effort refrain from that abuse of their opposites in which + they are accustomed to indulge when they have it all to themselves. Now + every subject seems laboured—for in the pedantry of party spirit no + partisan will speak but in the slang or cant of his own craft. Knowledge + is not only at one entrance, but at every entrance quite shut out, and + even literature itself grows perilous, so that to be safe they must all be + dumb. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia Clarendon was little aware of what she undertook when she + called together this heterogeneous assembly of uncongenials and + dissimilars round her dinner-table. After she had in vain made what + efforts she could, and, well skilled in throwing the ball of conversation, + had thrown it again and again without rebound from either side, she felt + that all was flat, and that the silence and the stupidity were absolutely + invincible. Helen could scarcely believe, when she tried afterwards to + recollect, that she had literally this day, during the whole of the first + course, heard only the following sentences, which came out at long + intervals between each couple of questions and answers—or + observations and acquiescences:—“We had a shower.”—“Yes, I + think so.” “But very fine weather we have had.”—“Only too hot.”—“Quite.” + “The new buildings at Marblemore—are they getting on, my Lord?”—“Do + not know; did not come that way.” “Whom have they now at Dunstanbury?” was + the next question. Then in reply came slowly a list of fashionable names. + “Sir John died worth a million, they say.”—“Yes, a martyr to the + gout.” “Has Lady Rachel done any thing for her eyes?”—“Gone to + Brighton, I believe.” “Has any thing been heard of the North Pole + expedition?”—“Not a word.” “Crockly has got a capital cook, and + English too.”—“English! eh?”—“English—yes.” Lord + Davenant hoped this English cook would, with the assistance of several of + his brother <i>artistes</i> of the present day, redeem our country from + one-half of the Abbé Gregoire’s reproach. The abbé has said that England + would be the finest country in the world, but that it wants two + essentials, <i>sunshine</i> and <i>cooks</i>. “Good! Good! Very!” voices + from different sides of the table pronounced; and there was silence again. + </p> + <p> + At the dessert, however, after the servants had withdrawn, most people + began to talk a little to their next neighbours; but by this Helen + profited not, for each pair spoke low, and those who were beside her on + either hand, were not disposed to talk; she was seated between Sir + Benjamin Bearcroft and Mr. Harley—Sir Benjamin the man of law, and + Mr. Harley the man of genius, each eminent in his kind; but he of law + seemed to have nothing in him but law, of which he was very full. In Sir + Benjamin’s economy of human life it was a wholesome rule, which he + practised invariably, to let his understanding sleep in company, that it + might waken in the courts, and for his repose he needed not what some + great men have professed so much to like—“the pillow of a woman’s + mind.” Helen did not much regret the silence of this great legal + authority, but she was very sorry that the man of genius did not talk; she + did not expect him to speak to her, but she wished to hear him converse + with others. But something was the matter with him; from the moment he sat + down to dinner Helen saw he seemed discomfited. He first put his hand + across his eyes, then pressed his forehead: she feared he had a bad + headache. The hand went next to his ear, with a shrinking, excruciating + gesture; it must be the earache thought Helen. Presently his jaws were + pinched together; toothache perhaps. At last she detected the disturbing + cause. Opposite to Mr. Harley, and beside Lady Davenant, sat a person whom + he could not endure; one, in the first place, of an opposite party, but + that was nothing; a man who was, in Mr. Harley’s opinion, a disgrace to + any party, and what could bring him here? They had had several battles in + public, but had never before met in private society, and the aversion of + Mr. Harley seemed to increase inversely as the squares of the distance. + Helen could not see in the object adequate cause for this antipathy: the + gentleman looked civil, smiling, rather mean, and quite insignificant, and + he really was as insignificant as he appeared—not of consequence in + any point of view. He was not high in office, nor ambassador, nor <i>chargé-d’affaires</i>; + not certain that he was an <i>attaché</i> even, but he was said to have + the ear of <i>somebody</i>, and was reputed to be secretly employed in + diplomatic transactions of equivocal character; disclaimed, but used, by + his superiors, and courted by his timid inferiors, whom he had persuaded + of his great influence <i>somewhere</i>. Lady Cecilia had been assured, + from good authority, that he was one who ought to be propitiated on her + father’s account, but now, when she perceived what sort of creature he + was, sorely did she repent that he had been invited; and her mother, by + whom he sat, seemed quite oppressed and nauseated. + </p> + <p> + So ended the dinner. And, as Lady Cecilia passed the general in going out + of the room, she looked her contrition, her acknowledgment that he was + perfectly right in his prophecy that it would never do. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + It was rather worse when the ladies were by themselves. Some of the party + were personally strangers to Lady Davenant; all had heard of her + sufficiently; most had formed a formidable and false opinion of her. Helen + was quite astonished at the awe her ladyship inspired in strangers. Lady + Davenant’s appearance and manner at this moment were not, indeed, + calculated to dispel this dread. She was unusually distant and haughty, + from a mistaken sort of moral pride. Aware that some of the persons now + before her had, in various ways, by their own or their husbands’ means, + power to serve or to injure Lord Davenant, she disdained to propitiate + them by the slightest condescension. + </p> + <p> + But how any persons in England—in London—could be strangers to + Lady Davenant, was to a foreign lady who was present, matter of + inexpressible surprise. She could not understand how the wives of persons + high in political life, some of opposite, but some of the same parties, + should often be personally strangers to each other. Foreigners are, on + first coming to England, apt to imagine that all who act together in + public life must be of the same private society; while, on the contrary, + it often happens that the ladies especially of the same party are in + different grades of fashion—moving in different orbits. The number + of different circles and orbits in London is, indeed, astonishing to + strangers, and the manner in which, though touching at tangents, these + keep each their own path, attracted and repelled, or mutually influential, + is to those who have not seen and studied the planisphere, absolutely + incomprehensible. And, as she pondered on this difficulty, the + ambassadress, all foreigner as she was, and all unused to silence, spoke + not, and no one spoke: and nought was heard but the cup on the saucer, or + the spoon in the cup, or the buzzing of a fly in the window. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this awful calm it was that Lady Bearcroft blurted out + with loud voice—“Amazing entertaining we are! so many clever people + got together, too, for what?” It was worth while to have seen Lady + Masham’s face at that moment! Lady Bearcroft saw it, and, fearing no + mortal, struck with the comic of that look of Lady Masham’s, burst into + laughter uncontrolled, and the contrast of dignity and gravity in Lady + Davenant only made her laugh the more, till out of the room at last she + ran. Lady Masham all the while, of course, never betrayed the slightest + idea that she could by any possibility have been the object of Lady + Bearcroft’s mirth. But Lady Davenant—how did she take it? To her + daughter’s infinite relief, quite quietly; she looked rather amused than + displeased. She bore with Lady Bearcroft, altogether, better than could + have been expected; because she considered her only as a person + unfortunately out of her place in society, and, without any fault of her + own, dragged up from below to a height of situation for which nature had + never intended, and neither art nor education had ever prepared her; whose + faults and deficiencies were thus brought into the flash of day at once, + before the malice of party and the fastidiousness of fashion, which knows + not to distinguish between <i>manque d’esprit</i>, and <i>manque d’usage</i>. + </p> + <p> + Not so Lady Davenant: she made liberal and philosophic allowance for even + those faults of manner which were most glaring, and she further suspected + that Lady Bearcroft purposely exaggerated her own vulgarity, partly for + diversion, partly to make people stare, and partly to prevent their seeing + what was habitual, and what involuntary, by hiding the bounds of reality. + Of this Lady Masham had not the most distant conception; on the contrary, + she was now prepared to tell a variety of odd anecdotes of Lady Bearcroft. + She had seen, she said, this extraordinary person before, but had never + met her in society, and delighted she was unexpectedly to find her here—“quite + a treat.” Such characters are indeed seldom met with at a certain height + in the atmosphere of society, and such were peculiarly and justly Lady + Masham’s delight, for they relieved and at the same time fed a sense of + superiority insufficient to itself. Such a person is fair, privileged, + safe game, and Lady Masham began, as does a reviewer determined to be + especially severe, with a bit of praise. + </p> + <p> + “Really very handsome, Lady Bearcroft must have been! Yes, as you say, + Lady Cecilia, she is not out of blow yet certainly, only too full blown + rather for some tastes—fortunately not for Sir Benjamin; he married + her, you know, long ago, for her beauty; she is a very correct person—always + was; but they do repeat the strangest things she says—so very odd! + and they tell such curious stories, too, of the things she does.” Lady + Masham then detailed a variety of anecdotes, which related chiefly to Lady + Bearcroft’s household cares, which never could she with haste despatch; + then came stories of her cheap magnificence and extraordinary toilette + expedients. “I own,” continued Lady Masham, “that I always thought the + descriptions I heard must be exaggerated; but one is compelled to + acknowledge that there is here in reality a terrible want of tact. Poor + Sir Benjamin! I quite pity him, he must so see it! Though not of the first + water himself, yet still he must feel, when he sees Lady Bearcroft with + other people! He has feeling, though nobody would guess it from his look, + and he shows it too, I am told; sadly annoyed he is sometimes by her <i>malapropoisms</i>. + One day, she at one end of the table and he at the other, her ladyship, in + her loud voice called out to him, ‘Sir Benjamin! Sir Benjamin! this is our + wedding-day!’ He, poor man, did not hear; she called out again louder, + ‘Sir Benjamin, my dear, this day fifteen years ago you and I were + married!’ ‘Well, my dear,’ he answered, ‘well, my dear, how can I possibly + help that now!’” + </p> + <p> + Pleased with the success of this anecdote, which raised a general smile, + Lady Masham vouched for its perfect correctness, “she had it from one, who + heard it from a person who was actually present at the time it happened.” + Lady Davenant had not the least doubt of the correctness of the story, but + she believed the names of the parties were different; she had heard it + years ago of another person. It often happens, as she observed, to those + who make themselves notoriously ridiculous, as to those who become famous + for wit, that all good things in their kinds are attributed to them; + though the one may have no claim to half the witticisms, and the other may + not be responsible for half the absurdities for which they have the + reputation. It required all Lady Masham’s politeness to look pleased, and + all her candour to be quite happy to be set right as to that last + anecdote. But many she had heard of Lady Bearcroft were really incredible. + “Yet one would almost believe anything of her.” While she was yet + speaking, Lady Bearcroft returned, and her malicious enemy, leaning back + in her chair as if in expectation of the piece beginning, waited for her + puppet to play or be played off. + </p> + <p> + All this time Lady Cecilia was not at ease; she, well aware what her + mother would feel, and had felt, while Lady Masham was going on with this + gossip-talk, had stood between her ladyship and Lady Davenant, and, as + Lady Masham did not speak much above her breath, Cecilia had for some time + flattered herself that her laudable endeavours to intercept the sound, or + to prevent the sense from reaching her mother’s ear, had succeeded, + especially as she had made as many exclamations as she could of “Really!” + “Indeed!” “How extraordinary!” “You do not say so?” which, as she + pronounced them, might have excited the curiosity of commonplace people, + but which she knew would in her mother’s mind deaden all desire to listen. + However, Lady Masham had raised her voice, and from time to time had + stretched her neck of snow beyond Lady Cecilia’s intercepting drapery, so + as actually to claim Lady Davenant’s attention. The consequences her + daughter heard and felt. She heard the tap, tap, tap of the ivory + folding-knife upon the table; and well interpreting, she knew, even before + she saw her mother’s countenance, that Lady Masham had undone herself, + and, what was of much more consequence, had destroyed all chance of + accomplishing that reconciliation with “mamma,” that projected coalition + which was to have been of such ultimate advantage to “papa.” + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding Lady Bearcroft’s want of knowledge of the great world, she + had considerable knowledge of human nature, which stood her wonderfully in + stead. She had no notion of being made sport of for the <i>élégantes</i>, + and, with all Lady Masham’s plausibility of persiflage, she never obtained + her end, and never elicited anything really absurd by all attempts to draw + her out—out she would not be drawn. After an unconquerable silence + and all the semblance of dead stupidity, Lady Bearcroft suddenly showed + signs of life, however, and she, all at once, began to talk—to Helen + of all people!—And why?—because she had taken, in her own + phrase, a monstrous fancy to Miss Stanley; she was not sure of her name, + but she knew she liked her nature, and it would be a pity that her reason + should not be known and in the words in which she told it to Lady Cecilia, + “Now I will just tell you why I have taken such a monstrous fancy to your + friend here, Miss Hanley—” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Stanley—give me leave to mention,” said Lady Cecilia. “Let me + introduce you regularly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! by no means; don’t trouble yourself now, Lady Cecilia, for I hate + regular introductions. But, as I was going to tell you how, before dinner + to-day, as I came down the great staircase, I had an uncommon large, big, + and, for aught I know, yellow corking-pin, which that most careless of all + careless maids of mine—a good girl, too—had left sticking + point foremost out of some part of me. Miss Hanley—Stanley (beg + pardon) was behind, and luckily saw and stopped. Out she pulled it, + begging my pardon; so kindly too, I only felt the twitch on my sleeve, and + turned, and loved the first sight I had of that pretty face, which need + never blush, I am sure, though it’s very becoming the blush too. So + good-natured, you know, Lady Cecilia, it was, when nobody was looking, and + before any body was the wiser. Not like some young ladies, or old even, + that would have <i>showed one up</i>, rather than help one out in any + pin’s point of a difficulty.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia herself was included in Lady Bearcroft’s good graces, for she + liked that winning way, and saw there was a real good-nature there, too. + She opened to both friends cordially, <i>à propos</i> to some <i>love</i> + of a lace trimming. Of lace she was a famous judge, and she went into + details of her own good bargains, with histories of her expeditions into + the extremity of the city in search of cheap goods and unheard of wonders + at prime cost, in regions unknown. She told how it was her clever way to + leave her carriage and her <i>people</i>, and go herself down narrow + streets and alleys, where only wheel-barrows and herself could go; she + boasted of her feats in diving into dark dens in search of run goods, + charming things—French warranted—that could be had for next to + nothing, and, in exemplification, showed the fineness of her embroidered + cambric handkerchiefs, and told their price to farthing! + </p> + <p> + Lady Masham’s “Wonderful!” was worthy of any Jesuit male or female, that + ever existed. + </p> + <p> + From her amazing bargains, the lady of the law-knight went on to + smuggling; and, as she got into spirits, talking loudly, she told of some + amber satin, a whole piece capitally got over in an old gentleman’s “Last + Will and Testament,” tied up with red tape so nicely, and sealed and + superscribed and all, got through untouched! “But a better thing I did + myself,” continued she; “the last trip I made to Paris—coming back, + I set at defiance all the searchers and <i>stabbers</i>, and custom-house + officers of both nations. I had hundreds of pounds worth of Valenciennes + and Brussels lace hid—you would never guess where. I never told a + servant—not a mortal maid even; that’s the only way; had only a + confidante of a coachmaker. But when it came to packing-up time, my own + maid smelt out the lace was missing; and gave notice, I am, confident, to + the custom-house people to search me. So much the more glory to me. I got + off clear; and, when they had stabbed the cushions, and torn the inside of + my carriage all to pieces, I very coolly made them repair the mischief at + their own cost. Oh, I love to do things bravely! and away I drove + triumphant with the lace, well stuffed, packed, and covered within the + pole leather of the carriage they had been searching all the time.” + </p> + <p> + At this period of her narrative the gentlemen came into the drawing-room. + “But here comes Sir Benjamin! mum, mum! not a word more for my life! You + understand, Lady Cecilia! husbands must be minded. And let me whisper a + favour—a whist-party I must beg; nothing keeps Sir Ben in + good-humour so certainly as whist—when he wins, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + The whist-party was made, and Lady Cecilia took care that Sir Benjamin + should win, while she lost with the best grace possible. By her + conciliating manners and good management in dividing to govern, all + parties were arranged to general satisfaction. Mr. Harley’s antipathy, the + <i>attaché</i>, she settled at ecartê with Lady Masham, who found him + “quite a well-mannered, pleasant person.” Lady Cecilia explained to Mr. + Harley, that it was her fault—her mistake entirely—that this + person had been invited. Mr. Harley was now himself again, and happy in + conversation with Lady Davenant, beside whom he found his place on the + sofa. + </p> + <p> + After Helen had done her duty at harp and piano-forte, Cecilia relieved + her, and whispered that she might now go to her mother’s sofa, and rest + and be happy. “Mamma’s work is in some puzzle, Helen; you must go and set + it to rights, my dear.” Lady Davenant welcomed her with a smile, made room + for her on the sofa, and made over to her the tambour-frame; and now that + Helen saw and heard Mr. Harley in his natural state, she could scarcely + believe that he was the same person who had sat beside her at dinner. + Animated and delightful he was now, and, what she particularly liked in + him, there was no display—nothing in the Churchill style. Whenever + any one came near, and seemed to wish to hear or speak, Mr. Harley not + only gave them fair play, but helped them in their play. Helen observed + that he possessed the art which she had often remarked in Lord Davenant, + peculiar to good-natured genius—the art of drawing something good + out of every body; sometimes more than they knew they had in them till it + was brought out. Even from Lord Masham, insipid and soulless though he + was, as any courtier-lord in waiting could be, something was extracted: + Lord Masham, universally believed to have nothing in him, was this evening + surprisingly entertaining. He gave Lady Davenant a description of what he + had been so fortunate as to see—the first public dinner of the king + of France on his restoration, served according to all the <i>ci-devant</i> + ceremonials, and in the etiquette of Louis the Fourteenth’s time. Lord + Masham represented in a lively manner the Marquis de Dreux, in all his + antiquarian glory, going through the whole form prescribed: first, + knocking with his cane at the door; then followed by three guards with + shouldered carbines, marching to buttery and hall, each and every officer + of the household making reverential obeisance as they passed to the <i>Nef</i>—the + <i>Nef</i> being, as Lord Masham explained to Miss Stanley, a piece of + gilt plate in the shape of the hull of a ship, in which the napkins for + the king’s table are kept. “But why the hull of a ship should be + appropriated to the royal napkins?” was asked. Lord Masham confessed that + this was beyond him, but he looked amazingly considerate—delicately + rubbed his polished forehead with the second finger of the right hand, + then regarded his ring, and turned it thrice slowly round, but the + talismanic action produced nothing, and he received timely relief by a new + turn given to the conversation, in which he was not, he thought, called + upon to take any share—the question indeed appeared to him + irrelevant, and retiring to the card-table, he “left the discussion to + abler heads.” + </p> + <p> + The question was, why bow to the Nef at all?—This led to a + discussion upon the advantages of ceremonials in preserving respect for + order and reverence for authority, and then came an inquiry into the + abuses of this real good. It was observed that the signs of the times + should always be consulted, and should guide us in these things.—How + far? was next to be considered. All agreed on the principle that ‘order is + Heaven’s first law,’ yet there were in the application strong shades of + difference between those who took part in the conversation. On one side, + it was thought that overturning the <i>tabouret</i> at the court of France + had been the signal for the overthrow of the throne; while, on the other + hand, it was suggested that a rigid adherence to forms unsuited to the + temper of the times only exasperates, and that, wherever reliance on forms + is implicit, it is apt to lead princes and their counsellors to depend too + much on the strength of that fence which, existing only in the + imagination, is powerless when the fashion changes. In a court quite + surrounded and enveloped by old forms, the light of day cannot penetrate + to the interior of the palace, the eyes long kept in obscurity are + weakened, so that light cannot be borne: when suddenly it breaks in, the + royal captive is bewildered, and if obliged to act, he gropes, blunders, + injures himself, and becomes incapable of decision in extremity of danger, + reduced to the helplessness which marks the condition of the Eastern + despot, or <i>les rois fainéans</i> of any time or country. + </p> + <p> + As Helen sat by, listening to this conversation, what struck and + interested her most was, the manner in which it went on and went off + without leading to any unpleasant consequences, notwithstanding the + various shades of opinion between the parties. This she saw depended much + on the good sense and talents, but far more on the good breeding and + temper of those who spoke and those who listened. Time in the first place + was allowed and taken for each to be understood, and no one was urged by + exclamation, or misconception, or contradiction, to say more than just the + thing he thought. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, who had now joined the party, was a little in pain when she + heard Louis the Fourteenth’s love for punctuality alluded to. She dreaded, + when the general quoted “Punctuality is the virtue of princes,” that Mr. + Harley, with the usual impatience of genius, would have ridiculed so + antiquated a notion; but, to Lady Cecilia’s surprise, he even took the + part of punctuality: in a very edifying manner he distinguished it from + mere ceremonial etiquette—the ceremonial of the German courts, where + “they lose time at breakfast, at dinner, at supper; at court, in the + antechamber, on the stairs, everywhere:”—punctuality was, he + thought, a habit worthy to be ranked with the virtues, by its effects upon + the mind, the power it demands and gives of self-control, raising in us a + daily, hourly sense of duty, of something that ought, that must be done, + one of the best habits human creatures can have, either for their own sake + or the sake of those with whom they live. And to kings and courtiers more + particularly, because it gives the idea of stability—of duration; + and to the aged, because it gives a sort of belief that life will last for + ever. The general had often thought this, but said he had never heard it + so well expressed; he afterwards acknowledged to Cecilia that he found Mr. + Harley was quite a different person from what he had expected—“He + has good sense, as well as genius and good breeding. I am glad, my dear + Cecilia, that you asked him here.” This was a great triumph. + </p> + <p> + Towards the close of the evening, when mortals are beginning to think of + bed-chamber candles, Lady Cecilia looked at the <i>ecarté</i> table, and + said to her mother, “How happy they are, and how comfortable we are! A + card-table is really a necessary of life—not even music is more + universally useful.” Mr. Harley said, “I doubt,” and then arose between + Lady Davenant and him an argument upon the comparative power in modern + society of music and cards. Mr. Harley took the side of music, but Lady + Davenant inclined to think that cards, in their day, and their day is not + over yet, have had a wider range of influence. “Nothing like that happy + board of green cloth; it brings all intellects to one level,” she said. + Mr. Harley pleaded the cause of music, which, he said, hushes all + passions, calms even despair. Lady Davenant urged the silent superiority + of cards, which rests the weary talker, and relieves the perplexed + courtier, and, in support of her opinion, she mentioned an old ingenious + essay on cards and tea, by Pinto, she thought; and she begged that Helen + would some time look for it in the library. Helen went that instant. She + searched, but could not find; where it ought to have been, there it of + course was not. While she was still on the book-ladder, the door opened, + and enter Lady Bearcroft. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hanley!” cried she, “I have a word to say to you, for, though you + are a stranger to me, I see you are a dear good creature, and I think I + may take the liberty of asking your advice in a little matter.” + </p> + <p> + Helen, who had by this time descended from the steps, stood and looked a + little surprised, but said all that was properly civil, “gratified by Lady + Bearcroft’s good opinion—happy to be of any service,”—&c. + &c. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—sit ye down one instant, Miss Hanley.” + </p> + <p> + Helen suggested that her name was Stanley. + </p> + <p> + “Stanley!—eh?—Yes, I remember. But I want to consult you, + since you are so kind to allow me, on a little matter—but do sit + down, I never can talk of business standing. Now I just want you, my dear + Miss Hanley, to do a little job for me with Lady Davenant, who, with half + an eye can see, is a great friend of yours.—Aren’t I right?” + </p> + <p> + Helen said Lady Davenant was indeed a very kind friend of hers, but still + what it could be in which Lady Bearcroft expected her assistance she could + not imagine. + </p> + <p> + “You need not be frightened at the word job; if that is what alarms you,” + continued Lady Bearcroft, “put your heart at ease, there is nothing of + that sort here. It is only a compliment that I want to make, and nothing + in the world expected in return for it—as it is a return in itself. + But in the first place look at this cover.” She produced the envelope of a + letter. “Is this Lady Davenant’s handwriting, think you?” She pointed to + the word “<i>Mis-sent</i>,” written on the corner of the cover. Helen said + it was Lady Davenant’s writing. “You are certain?—Well, that is odd!—Mis-sent! + when it was directed to herself, and nobody else on earth, as you see as + plain as possible—Countess Davenant, surely that is right enough?” + Then opening a red morocco case she showed a magnificent diamond Sevigné. + “Observe now,” she continued, “these diamonds are so big, my dear Miss + Hanley—Stanley, they would have been quite out of my reach, only for + that late French invention, which maybe you may not have heard of, nor + should I, but for the hint of a friend at Paris, who is in the jewellery + line. The French, you must know, have got the art of sticking small + diamonds together so as to make little worthless ones into large, so that, + as you see, you would never tell the difference; and as it was a new + discovery, and something ingenious and scientific, and Lady Davenant being + reported to be a scientific lady, as well as political and influential, + and all that, I thought it a good opportunity, and a fine excuse for + paying her a compliment, which I had long wished to pay, for she was once + on a time very kind to Sir Ben, and got him appointed to his present + station; and though Lord Davenant was the ostensible person, I considered + her as the prime mover behind the curtain. Accordingly, I sat me down, and + wrote as pretty a note as I could pen, and Sir Ben approved of the whole + thing; but I don’t say that I’m positive he was as off-handed and + clean-hearted in the matter as I was, for between you and I his gratitude, + as they say of some people’s, is apt to squint with one eye to the future + as well as one to the past—you comprehend?” + </p> + <p> + Helen was not clear that she comprehended all that had been said; still + less had she any idea what she could have to do in this matter; she waited + for further explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Now all I want from you then, Miss Hanley—Stanley I would say, I + beg pardon, I’m the worst at proper names that lives—but all I want + of you, Miss Hanley, is—first, your opinion as to the validity of + the handwriting,—well, you are positive, then, that this <i>mis-sent</i> + is her hand. Now then, I want to know, do you think Lady Davenant knew + what she was about when she wrote it?” + </p> + <p> + Helen’s eyes opened to their utmost power of distension, at the idea of + anybody’s questioning that Lady Davenant knew what she was about. + </p> + <p> + “La! my dear,” said Lady Bearcroft; “spare the whites of your eyes, I + didn’t mean she didn’t know what she was about in <i>that</i> sense.” + </p> + <p> + “What sense?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Not in any particular sense,” replied Lady Bearcroft. “But let me go on, + or we shall never come to an understanding; I only meant that her ladyship + might have just sat down to answer my note, as I often do myself, without + having read the whole through, or before I have taken it in quite.” Helen + thought this very unlikely to have happened with Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “But still it might have happened,” continued Lady Bearcroft, “that her + ladyship did not notice the delicacy of the way in which the thing was <i>put</i>—for + it really was put so that nobody could take hold of it against any of us—you + understand; and after all, such a curiosity of a Sevigné as this, and such + fine ‘di’monds,’ was too pretty, and too good a thing to be refused + hand-over-head, in that way. Besides, my note was so respectable, and + respectful, it surely required and demanded something more of an answer, + methinks, from a person of birth or education, than the single bald word + ‘mis-sent,’ like the postman! Surely, Miss Hanley, now, putting your + friendship apart, candidly you must think as I do? And, whether or no, at + least you will be so obliging to do me the favour to find out from Lady + Davenant if she really made the reply with her eyes open or not, and + really meant what she said.” + </p> + <p> + Helen being quite clear that Lady Davenant always meant what she said, and + had written with her eyes open, declined, as perfectly useless, making the + proposed inquiry. It was plain that Lady Davenant had not thought proper + to accept of this present, and to avoid any unpleasant explanations, had + presumed it was not intended for her, but had been sent by mistake. Helen + advised her to let the matter rest. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” said Lady Bearcroft, “thank you, Miss Hanley, at all events + for your good advice. But, neck or nothing, I am apt to go through with + whatever I once take into my head, and, since you cannot aid and abet, I + will trouble you no further, only not to say a word of what I have + mentioned. But all the time I thank you, my dear young lady, as much as if + I took your dictum. So, my dear Miss Hanley—Stanley—do not let + me interrupt you longer in your book-hunt. Take care of that step-ladder, + though; it is <i>coggledy</i>, as I observed when you came down—Good + night, good night.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + “My dear Helen, there is an end of every thing!” cried Lady Cecilia, the + next day, bursting into Helen’s room, and standing before her with an air + of consternation. “What has brought things to this sad pass, I know not,” + continued she, “for, but an hour before, I left every body in good-humour + with themselves—all in good train. But now——” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Helen, “for you have not given me the least idea of what has + happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have not the least idea myself, my dear. All I know is, that + something has gone wrong, dreadfully! between my mother and Lady + Bearcroft. Mamma would not tell me what it is; but her indignation is at + such a height she declares she will not see that <i>woman,</i> again:—positively + will not come forth from her chamber as long as Lady Bearcroft remains in + the house. So there is a total break up—and I wish I had never + meddled with any thing. O that I had never brought together these + unsuitabilities, these incompatibilities! Oh, Helen! what shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + Quite pale, Lady Cecilia stood, really in despair; and Helen did not know + what to advise. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know any thing about it, Helen, for you look as if you did?” + </p> + <p> + An abrupt knock at the door interrupted them, and, without waiting for + permission, in came Lady Bearcroft, as if blown by a high wind, looking + very red: half angry, half frightened, and then laughing, she exclaimed—“A + fine <i>boggle-de-botch,</i> I have made of it!” But seeing Lady Cecilia, + she stopped short—“Beg pardon—thought you were by yourself, + Miss Hanley.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia instantly offered to retire, yet intimated, as she moved + towards the door, a wish to stay, and, if it were not too much, to ask + what was meant by—— + </p> + <p> + “By <i>boggle-de-botch</i>, do you mean?” said Lady Bearcroft. “I am aware + it is not a canonical word—classical, I mean; nor in nor out of any + dictionary, perhaps—but when people are warm, they cannot stand + picking terms.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” said Lady Cecilia; “but what is the matter? I am sorry + any thing unpleasant has occurred.” + </p> + <p> + “Unpleasant indeed!” cried Lady Bearcroft; “I have been treated actually + like a dog, while paying a compliment too, and a very handsome compliment, + beyond contradiction. Judge for yourself, Lady Cecilia, if this Sevigné is + to be <i>sneezed at</i>?” + </p> + <p> + She opened the case; Lady Cecilia said the diamonds were certainly very + handsome, but—— + </p> + <p> + “But!” repeated Lady Bearcroft, “I grant you there may be a but to + everything in life; still it might be said civilly, as you say it, Lady + Cecilia, or looked civilly, as you look it, Miss Hanley: and if that had + been done, instead of being affronted, I might after all have been well + enough pleased to pocket my diamonds; but nobody can without compunction + pocket an affront.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was sure her mother could not mean any affront. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do not know what she could or could not mean; but I will tell you + what she did—all but threw the diamonds in my face.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Possible—and I will show you how, Miss Hanley. This way: just shut + down the case—snap!—and across the table she threw it, just as + you would deal a card in a passion, only with a Mrs. Siddons’ air to boot. + I beg your pardons, both ladies, for mimicking your friend and your + parent, but flesh and blood could not stand that sort of style, you know, + and a little wholesome mimicry breaks no bones, and is not very offensive, + I hope?” The mimicry could not indeed be very offensive, for the imitation + was so utterly unlike the reality, that Lady Cecilia and Helen with + difficulty repressed their smiles. “Ladies may smile, but they would smile + on the wrong sides of their pretty little mouths if they had been treated + as I have been—so ignominiously. I am sure I wish I had taken your + advice, Miss Hanley; but the fact was, last night I did not quite believe + you: I thought you were only saying the best you could to set off a + friend; for, since I have been among the great, and indeed even when I + lived with the little, I have met with so many fair copies of false + countenances, that I could not help suspecting there might be something of + that sort with your Lady Davenant, but I am entirely convinced all you + told me is true, for I peeped quite close at her, lifted up the hood, and + found there were not two faces under it—only one very angry one for + my pains. But I declare I would rather see that than a double one, like my + Lady Masham’s, with her spermaceti smile. And after all, do you know,” + continued Lady Bearcroft in a right vulgarly-cordial tone—“Do you + know now, really, the first anger over, I like Lady Davenant—I + protest and vow, even her pride I like—it well became her—birth + and all, for I hear she is straight from Charlemagne! But I was going to + mention, now my recollection is coming to me, that when I began talking to + her ladyship of Sir Ben’s gratitude about that place she got for him, she + cut me short with her queer look, and said she was sure that Lord Davenant + (and if he had been the king himself, instead of only her husband, and + your father, Lady Cecilia, she could not have pronounced his name with + more distinction)—she was sure, she said, that Lord Davenant would + not have been instrumental in obtaining that place for Sir Benjamin + Bearcroft if he had known any man more worthy of it, which indeed I did + not think at the time over and above civil—for where, then, was the + particular compliment to Sir Ben?” + </p> + <p> + But when Lady Bearcroft saw Lady Cecilia’s anxiety and real distress at + her mother’s indignant resolution, she, with surprising good-humour said,—“I + wish I could settle it for you, my dear. I cannot go away directly, which + would be the best move, because Sir Benjamin has business here to-day with + Lord Davenant—some job of his own, which must take place of any + movements of mine, he being the more worthy gender.. But I will tell you + what I can do, and will, and welcome. I will keep my room instead of your + mother keeping hers; so you may run and tell Lady Davenant that she is a + prisoner at large, with the range of the whole house, without any danger + of meeting me, for I shall not stir till the carriage is at the door + to-morrow morning, when she will not be up, for we will have it at six. I + will tell Sir Benjamin, he is in a hurry back to town, and he always is. + So all is right on my part. And go you to your mother, my dear Lady + Cecilia, and settle her. I am glad to see you smile again; it is a pity + you should ever do any thing else.” It was not long before Cecilia + returned, proclaiming, “Peace, peace!” She had made such an amusing report + to her mother of all that Lady Bearcroft had said and done, and purposed + to do, that Lady Davenant could not help seeing the whole in a ludicrous + light, felt at once that it was beneath her serious notice, and that it + would be unbecoming to waste indignation upon such a person. The result + was, that she commissioned Helen to release Lady Bearcroft as soon as + convenient, and to inform her that an act of oblivion was passed over the + whole transaction. + </p> + <p> + There had been a shower, and it had cleared up. Lady Cecilia thought the + sky looked bluer, and birds sang sweeter, and the air felt pleasanter than + before the storm. “Nothing like a storm,” said she, “for clearing the air; + nothing like a little honest hurricane. But with Lady Masham there never + is anything like a little honest hurricane. It is all still and close with + an indescribable volcano-like feeling; one is not sure of what one is + standing upon. Do you know, Helen,” continued she, “I am quite afraid of + some explosion between mamma and Lady Masham. If we came to any difficulty + with her, we could not get out of it quite so well as with Lady Bearcroft, + for there is no resource of heart or frankness of feeling with her. Before + we all meet at dinner, I must sound mamma, and see if all is tolerably + safe.” And when she went this day at dressing-time with a bouquet, as was + her custom, for her mother, she took Helen with her. + </p> + <p> + At the first hint of Lady Cecilia’s fears, that Lady Masham could do her + any mischief, Lady Davenant smiled in scorn. “The will she may have, my + dear, but she has not the power.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very foolish, to be sure,” said Lady Cecilia; “still she might do + mischief, and there is something monstrously treacherous in that smile of + hers.” + </p> + <p> + “Monstrously!” repeated Lady Davenant. “No, no, my dear Cecilia; nothing + monstrous. Leave to Lady Bearcroft the vulgar belief in court-bred + monsters; we know there are no such things. Men and women there, as + everywhere else, are what nature, education, and circumstances have made + them. Once an age, once in half-a-dozen ages, nature may make a + Brinvilliers, or art allow of a Zeluco; but, in general, monsters are mere + fabulous creatures—mistakes often, from bad drawings, like the + unicorn.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mamma, yes; now I feel much more comfortable. The unicorn has + convinced me,” said Lady Cecilia, laughing and singing + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> ‘’Tis all a mere fable; there’s nothing to fear.‘<br /></pre> + <p> + “And I shall think of her henceforth as nothing but what she appears to + be, a well-dressed, well-bred, fine lady. Ay—every inch a fine lady; + every word, look, motion, thought, suited to that <i>metier</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “That vocation,” said Lady Davenant; “it is above a trade; with her it + really is a sacred duty, not merely a pleasure, to be fine. She is a fine + lady of the first order; nothing too professional in her manner—no + obvious affectation, for affectation in her was so early wrought into + habit as to have become second nature, scarcely distinguishable from real—all + easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so, mamma; one gets on so easy with her.” + </p> + <p> + “A curious illusion,” continued Lady Davenant, “occurs with every one + making acquaintance with such persons as Lady Masham, I have observed; + perhaps it is that some sensation of the tread-mill life she leads, + communicates itself to those she is talking to; which makes you fancy you + are always getting on, but you never do get beyond a certain point.” + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly what I feel,” said Helen, “while Lady Masham speaks, or + while she listens, I almost wonder how she ever existed without me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and though one knows it is all an illusion,” said Lady Cecilia, + “still one is pleased, knowing all the time that she cannot possibly care + for one in the least; but then one does not expect every body to care for + one really; at least I know I cannot like all my acquaintance as much as + my friends, much less can I love all my neighbours as myself—” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come! Cecilia!” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “By ‘come, come!’ mamma means, don’t go any further, Cecilia,” said she, + turning to Helen. “But now, mamma, I am not clear whether you really think + her your friend or your enemy, inclined to do you mischief or not. Just as + it may be for her interest or not, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “And just as it may be the fashion or not,” said Lady Davenant. “I + remember hearing old Lady—, one of the cleverest women of the last + century, and one who had seen much of the world, say, ‘If it was the + fashion to burn me, and I at the stake, I hardly know ten persons of my + acquaintance who would refuse to throw on a faggot.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh mamma!—Oh Lady Davenant!” exclaimed Helen and Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “It was a strong way of putting the matter,” said Lady Davenant, laughing:—“but + fashion has, I assure you, more influence over weak minds, such as Lady + Masham’s, than either party or interest. And since you do not like my + illustration by fire, take one by water—She is just a person to go + out with, on a party of pleasure, on the smooth surface of a summer sea, + and if a slight shower comes on would pity your bonnet sincerely, but if a + serious squall arose and all should be in danger——” + </p> + <p> + “Then, of course, every body would take care of themselves,” interrupted + Lady Cecilia, “excepting such a simpleton as Helen, who would take care of + you first, mamma, of me next and of herself last.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it—I do believe it,” cried Lady Davenant, and, her eyes + and thoughts fixing upon Helen, she quite forgot what further she was + going to say of Lady Masham. + </p> + <p> + The perfectly unimpassioned tone, in which her mother had discussed this + lady’s character, even the candour, convinced Lady Cecilia as well as + Helen, that nothing further could be done as to drawing them together. No + condescension of manner, no conciliation, could be expected from Lady + Davenant towards Lady Masham, but at the same time there was no fear of + any rupture. And to this humble consolation was Lady Cecilia brought. She + told Helen that she gave up all hope of doing any good, she would now be + quite content if she avoided doing harm, and if this visit ended without + coming to any further outrage on the part of Lady Bearcroft, and without + her mother’s being <i>guilty of contempt</i> to Lady Masham. She had done + some little service, however, with respect to the ambassadress, and her + mother knew it. It was well known that the ambassadress governed the + ambassador, and Lady Cecilia had quite won her heart, “so that he will be + assuredly a friend to papa. Indeed, this has been almost promised. Madame + l’Ambassadrice assured me that her husband looks upon Lord Davenant as one + of the first sages of England, that is to say, of Europe; and she says he + is well acquainted with all Lord Davenant’s works—and it is my + belief,” concluded Lady Cecilia, “that all Sir William Davenant’s works go + with her to papa’s credit, for as she spoke she gave a polite glance + towards the bookcase where she saw their gilded backs, and I found the + ambassador himself, afterwards, with ‘Davenant on Trade’ in his hand! Be + it so: it is not, after all, you know, robbing the dead, only inheriting + by mistake from a namesake, which with foreigners is allowable, because + impossible to avoid, from the time of <i>‘Monsieur Robinson parent + apparemment de Monsieur Crusoe?’’</i> to the present day.” + </p> + <p> + By dint of keeping well asunder those who would not draw well together, + Lady Cecilia did contrive to get through the remaining morning of this + operose visit; some she sent out to drive with gallant military outriders + to see places in the neighbourhood famed for this or that; others walked + or boated, or went through the customary course of conservatories, + pheasantry, flower-garden, pleasure-grounds, and best views of Clarendon + Park—and billiards always. The political conferences were held in + Lord Davenant’s apartment: to what these conferences tended we never knew + and never shall; we consider them as matters of history, and leave them + with due deference to the historian; we have to do only with biography. + Far be it from us to meddle with politics—we have quite enough to do + with manners and morality. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + The next day, as Helen was going across the hall, she saw the members of + the last political conclave coming out of Lord Davenant’s room, each + looking as if the pope had not been chosen according to his wish—dark + and disappointed; even Mr. Harley’s radiant countenance was dimmed, and + the dry symptomatic cough which he gave after taking leave of Lady + Davenant, convinced Helen that all was not well within. He departed, and + there seemed to be among those who remained a greater constraint than + ever. There appeared to be in each an awakened sense that there were + points on which they could never agree; all seemed to feel how different + it would have been if Mr. Harley had remained. True, the absence or + presence of a person of genius makes as much difference in the whole + appearance of things, as sunshine or no sunshine on the landscape. + </p> + <p> + Dinner, however, was got through, for time and the hour, two hours, or + three, will get through the roughest dinner or the smoothest. “Never saw a + difficult dinner-party better bothered!” was Lady Bearcroft’s compliment, + whispered to Cecilia as they went into the drawing-room; and Helen, + notwithstanding Lady Bearcroft’s vulgarity, could not help beginning + absolutely to like her for her good nature and amazingly prompt sympathy; + but, after all, good nature without good manners is but a blundering ally, + dangerous to its best friend. + </p> + <p> + This evening, Lady Cecilia felt that every one was uncomfortable, and, + flitting about the room, she touched here and there to see how things were + going on. They were not going on well, and she could not make them better; + even her efforts at conciliation were ineffectual; she had stepped in + between her mother, some of the gentlemen, and the general, in an argument + in which she heard indications of strife, and she set about to explain + away contradictions, and to convince every body that they were really all + of the same opinion. With her sweet voice and pretty persuasive look, this + might have done for the general, as a relaxing smile seemed to promise; + but it would not do at all with Lady Davenant, who, from feelings foreign + to the present matter, was irritated, and spoke, as Helen thought, too + harshly:—“Cecilia, you would act Harmony in the comedy to + perfection; but, unfortunately, I am not one of those persons who can be + persuaded that when I say one thing I mean quite another—probably + because it is not my practice so to do. That old epigram, Sir Benjamin, do + you know it,” continued she, “which begins with a bankrupt’s roguish + ‘Whereas?’ + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “Whereas the religion and fate of three nations<br /> Depend on th’ importance of our conversations:<br /> Whereas some objections are thrown in our way,<br /> And words have been construed to mean what they say,—<br /> Be it known from henceforth to each friend and each brother,<br /> When’er we say one thing we mean quite another."<br /></pre> + <p> + Sir Benjamin gravely remarked that it was good law practice. The courts + themselves would be shut up if some such doctrine were not understood in + the practice there, <i>subaudito,</i> if not publicly proclaimed with an + absolute “Whereas be it known from henceforth.” Whether this was dry + humour of Sir Benjamin’s, or plain matter of fact and serious opinion, the + gravity with which it was delivered indicated not; but it produced the + good effect of a smile, a laugh, at him or with him. Lady Cecilia did not + care which, the laugh was good at all events; her invincible good-nature + and sweetness of temper had not been soured or conquered even by her + mother’s severity; and Lady Davenant, observing this, forgave and wished + to be forgiven. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest Cecilia,” said she, “clasp this bracelet for me, will you? It + would really be a national blessing, if, in the present times, all women + were as amiable as you, + </p> + <p style="margin-left: 40px;"> + ‘Fond to spread friendships, but to cover heats.’” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning to a French gentleman, she spoke of the change she had + observed when she was last at Paris, from the overwhelming violence of + party spirit on all sides. + </p> + <p> + “Dreadfully true,” the French gentleman replied—“party spirit, + taking every Proteus form, calling itself by a hundred names and with a + thousand devices and watchwords, which would be too ridiculous, if they + were not too terrible—domestic happiness destroyed, all society + disordered, disorganised—literature not able to support herself, + scarcely appearing in company—all precluded, superseded by the + politics of the day.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant joined with him in his regrets, and added, that she feared + society in England would soon be brought to the same condition. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the French gentleman, “English ladies will never be so vehement + as my countrywomen; they will never become, I hope, like some of our lady + politicians, ‘<i>qui heurlent comme des demons</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia said that, from what she had seen at Paris, she was persuaded + that if the ladies did bawl too loud it was because the gentlemen did not + listen to them; that above half the party-violence which appeared in + Parisian belles was merely dramatic, to produce a sensation, and draw the + gentlemen, from the black <i>pelotons</i> in which they gathered, back to + their proper positions round the <i>fauteuils</i> of the fair ladies. + </p> + <p> + The foreigner, speaking to what he saw passing in Lady Davenant’s mind, + went on;—“Ladies can do much, however, in this as in all other + dilemmas where their power is, and ought to be, omnipotent.” + </p> + <p> + “Female <i>influence</i> is and ought to be <i>potent,</i>” said the + general, with an emphasis on influence, contradistinguishing it from + power, and reducing the exaggeration of omnipotent by the short process of + lopping off two syllables. + </p> + <p> + “So long as ladies keep in their own proper character,” said Lady + Davenant, “all is well; but, if once they cease to act as women, that + instant they lose their privilege—their charm: they forfeit their + exorcising power; they can no longer command the demon of party nor + themselves, and he transforms them directly, as you say,” said she to the + French gentleman, “into actual furies.” + </p> + <p> + “And, when so transformed, sometimes unconscious of their state,” said the + general, drily, his eye glancing towards the other end of the room, and + lighting upon Lady Bearcroft, who was at the instant very red and very + loud; and Lady Cecilia was standing, as if watchful for a moment’s pause, + in which to interpose her word of peace. She waited for some time in vain, + for when she hastened from the other end of the room to this—the + scene of action, things had come to such a pass between the ladies Masham + and Bearcroft, that mischief, serious mischief, must have ensued, had not + Lady Cecilia, at utmost need, summoned to her aid the happy genius of + Nonsense—the genius of Nonsense, in whose elfin power even Love + delights; on whom Reason herself condescends often to smile, even when + Logic frowns, and chops him on his block: but cut in twain, the ethereal + spirit soon unites again, and lives, and laughs. But mark him well—this + little happy genius of Nonsense; see that he be the true thing—the + genuine spirit. You will know him by his well-bred air and tone, which + none can counterfeit; and by his smile; for while most he makes others + laugh, the arch little rogue seldom goes beyond a smile himself! Graceful + in the midst of all his pranks, he never goes too far—though far + enough he has been known to go—he has crept into the armour of the + great hero, convulsed the senate in the wig of a chancellor, and + becomingly, decorously, put on now and then the mitre of an archbishop. + “If good people,” said Archbishop Usher, “would but make goodness + agreeable, and smile, instead of frowning in their virtue, how many they + would win to the good cause!” Lady Cecilia in this was good at need, and + at her utmost need, obedient to her call, came this happy little genius, + and brought with him song and dance, riddle and charade, and comic prints; + and on a half-opened parcel of books Cecilia darted, and produced a Comic + Annual, illustrated by him whom no risible muscles can resist. All smiled + who understood, and mirth admitted of her crew all who smiled, and + party-spirit fled. But there were foreigners present. Foreigners cannot + well understand our local allusions; our Cruikshank is to them + unintelligible, and Hood’s “Sorrows of Number One” quite lost upon them. + Then Lady Bearcroft thought she would do as much as Lady Cecilia, and more—that + she would produce what these poor foreigners could comprehend. But not at + her call came the genius of lively nonsense, he heard her not. In his + stead came that counterfeit, who thinks it witty to be rude: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “And placing raillery in railing,<br /> Will tell aloud your greatest failing—“<br /></pre> + <p> + that vulgar imp yclept Fun—known by his broad grin, by his loud + tone, and by his rude banter. Head foremost forcing himself in, came he, + and brought with him a heap of coarse caricatures, and they were party + caricatures. + </p> + <p> + “Capital!” Lady Bearcroft, however, pronounced them, as she spread all + upon the table for applause—but no applause ensued. + </p> + <p> + Not such, these, as real good English humour produces and enjoys, + independently of party—these were all too broad, too coarse. Lady + Davenant despised, the general detested. Helen turned away, and Lady + Cecilia threw them under the table, that they might not be seen by the + foreigners. “For the honour of England, do not let them be spread abroad, + pray, Lady Bearcroft.” + </p> + <p> + “The world is grown mighty nice!” said Lady Bearcroft; “for my part, give + me a good laugh when it is to be had.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we shall find one here,” said Lady Cecilia, opening a portfolio + of caricatures in a different style, but they were old, and Lady Bearcroft + would have thrown them aside; but Lord Davenant observed that, if they + have lasted so long,—they must be good, because their humour only + can ensure their permanence; the personality dies with the person: for + instance, in the famous old print of the minister rat-catcher, in the + Westminster election, the likeness to each rat of the day is lost to us, + but the ridicule on placemen ratters remains. The whole, however, is + perfectly incomprehensible to foreigners. “Rats! rat!” repeated one of the + foreigners, as he looked at and studied the print. It was amusing to see + the gravity with which this foreign diplomatist, quite new to England, + listened to Lady Bearcroft’s explanation of what is meant in English by a + <i>rat political</i>. She was at first rather good on this topic, + professing a supernatural acuteness of the senses, arising from an + unconquerable antipathy, born with her, to the whole race of <i>rats</i>. + She declared that she could see a rat a mile off in any man—could, + from the moment a man opened his mouth in parliament, or on the hustings, + prophesy whether he would turn into a rat at last, or not. She, moreover, + understood the language of rats of every degree, and knew even when they + said “No,” that they meant “Yes,”—two monosyllables, the test of + rats, which betray them all sooner or later, and transform the biped into + the quadruped, who then turns tail, and runs always to the other side, + from whatever side he may be of. + </p> + <p> + The <i>chargé-d’affaires</i> stood in half bow, lending deferential ear + and serious attention the whole time of this lecture upon rats, without + being able from beginning to end to compass its meaning, and at the close, + with a disconsolate shrug, he exclaimed, “<i>Ah! Je renonce à ça</i>—” + </p> + <p> + Lady Bearcroft went on—“Since I cannot make your excellency + understand by description what I mean by an English rat-political, I must + give you an example or two, dead and living—living best, and I have + more than one noted and branded rat in my eye.” + </p> + <p> + But Lady Cecilia, anxious to interrupt this perilous business, hastily + rang for wine and water; and as the gentlemen went to help themselves she + gave them a general toast, as sitting down to the piano-forte, to the tune + of—“Here’s to the maiden of blushing fifteen”— + </p> + <p> + She sang— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “Here’s to rats and ratcatchers of every degree,<br /> The rat that is trapped, and the rat that is free,<br /> The rat that is shy, sir, the rat that is bold, sir,<br /> The rat upon sale, sir, the rat that is sold, sir.<br /> Let the rats rat! Success to them all,<br /> And well off to the old ones before the house fall!”<br /></pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + Sir Benjamin and Lady Bearcroft departed at six o’clock the next morning, + and all the rest of the political and diplomatic corps <i>left</i> + immediately after breakfast. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant looked relieved, the general satisfied, and Lady Cecilia + consoled herself with the hope that, if she had done no good, she had not + done any harm. This was a bad slide, perhaps, in the magic lantern, but + would leave no trace behind. She began now to be very impatient for + Beauclerc’s appearance; always sanguine, and as rapid in her conclusions + as she was precipitate in her actions, she felt no doubt, no anxiety, as + to the future; for, though she refrained from questioning Helen as to her + sentiments for Beauclerc, she was pretty well satisfied on that subject. + Helen was particularly grateful to Lady Cecilia for this forbearance, + being almost ashamed to own, even to herself, how exceedingly happy she + felt; and now that it was no longer wrong in her to love, or dishonourable + in him to wish to be loved, she was surprised to find how completely the + idea of Beauclerc was connected with and interwoven through all her + thoughts, pursuits, and sentiments. He had certainly been constantly in + her company for several months, a whole summer, but she could scarcely + believe that during this time he could have become so necessary to her + happiness. While, with still increasing agitation, she looked forward to + his arrival, she felt as if Lady Davenant’s presence was a sort of + protection, a something to rely on, in the new circumstances in which she + was to be placed. Lord Davenant had returned to town, but Lady Davenant + remained. The Russian embassy seemed still in abeyance. + </p> + <p> + One morning as Helen was sitting in Lady Davenant’s room alone with her, + she said suddenly: “At your age, Helen, I had as little taste for what are + called politics as you have, yet you see what I am come to, and by the + same road you may, you will, arrive at the same point.” + </p> + <p> + “I! oh, I hope not!” cried Helen, almost before she felt the whole + inference that might be drawn from this exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “You hope not?” repeated her ladyship calmly. “Let us consider this matter + rationally, and put our hopes, and our fears, and our prejudices out of + the question, if possible. Let me observe to you, that the position of + women in society is somewhat different from what it was a hundred years + ago, or as it was sixty, or I will say thirty years since. Women are now + so highly cultivated, and political subjects are at present of so much + importance, of such high interest, to all human creatures who live + together in society, you can hardly expect, Helen, that you, as a rational + being, can go through the world as it now is, without forming any opinion + on points of public importance. You cannot, I conceive, satisfy yourself + with the common namby-pamby little missy phrase, ‘ladies have nothing to + do with politics.’” + </p> + <p> + Helen blushed, for she was conscious that, wrong or right, namby-pamby, + little missy, or not, she had hitherto satisfied herself very comfortably + with some such thought. + </p> + <p> + “Depend upon it, Helen,” resumed Lady Davenant, “that when you are + married, your love for a man of superior abilities, and of superior + character, must elevate your mind to sympathy with all his pursuits, with + all the subjects which claim his attention.” + </p> + <p> + Helen felt that she must become strongly interested in every subject in + which the man she loved was interested; but still she observed that she + had not abilities or information, like Lady Davenant’s, that could justify + her in attempting to follow her example. Besides, Helen was sure that, + even if she had, it would not suit her taste; and besides, in truth, she + did not think it well suited to a woman—she stopped when she came to + that last thought. But what kindness and respect suppressed was clearly + understood by her penetrating friend. Fixing her eyes upon Helen, she said + with a smile, the candour and nobleness of her character rising above all + little irritation of temper. + </p> + <p> + “I agree with you, my dear Helen, in all you do <i>not</i> say, and were I + to begin life over again, my conduct should in some respects be different. + Of the public dangers and private personal inconveniences that may result + from women becoming politicians, or, as you better express our meaning + interfering, with public affairs, no one can be more aware than I am. <i>Interfering</i>, + observe I say, for I would mark and keep the line between influence and + interference. Female influence must, will, and ought to exist on political + subjects as on all others; but this influence should always be domestic, + not public—the customs of society have so ruled it. Of the thorns in + the path of ambitious men all moralists talk, but there are little, + scarcely visible, thorns of a peculiar sort that beset the path of an + ambitious woman, the venomous prickles of the <i>domestic bramble</i>, a + plant not perhaps mentioned in Withering’s Botany, or the Hortus Kewensis, + but it is too well known to many, and to me it has been sorely known.” + </p> + <p> + At this instant General Clarendon came in with some letters, which had + been forwarded to him express. One, for Lady Davenant, he had been desired + to put into her hands himself: he retired, and Lady Davenant opened the + letter. By the first glance at her countenance, Helen saw that there was + something in it which had surprised and given her great concern. Helen + withdrew her eyes, and waited till she should speak. But Lady Davenant was + quite silent, and Helen, looking at her again, saw her put her hand to her + heart, as if from some sudden sense of violent bodily pain, and she sank + on the sofa, fell back, and became as pale as death and motionless. + Excessively frightened, Helen threw open the window, rang the bell for + Lady Davenant’s own woman, and sent the page for Lady Cecilia. In a few + moments Lady Cecilia and Elliott came. Neither was as much alarmed as + Helen had expected they would be. They had seen Lady Davenant, under + similar attacks—they knew what remedies to apply. Elliott was a + remarkably composed, steady person. She now went on doing all that was + necessary without speaking a word. The paroxysm lasted longer than usual, + as Lady Cecilia observed; and, though she continued her assurances to + Helen that “It was all nervous—only nerves,” she began evidently to + be herself alarmed. At length symptoms of returning animation appeared, + and then Cecilia retired, beckoning to Helen to follow her into the next + room. “We had better leave mamma to Elliott, she will be happier if she + thinks we know nothing of the matter.” Then, recollecting that Helen had + been in the room when this attack came on, she added—“But no, you + must go back, for mamma will remember that you were present—take as + little notice, however, as possible of what has happened.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia said that her mother, when they were abroad, had been subject to + such seizures at intervals, “and in former times, before I was born, I + believe,” said Lady Cecilia, “she had some kind of extraordinary disease + in the heart; but she has a particular aversion to being thought nervous. + Every physician who has ever pronounced her nervous has always displeased + her, and has been dismissed. She was once quite vexed with me for barely + suggesting the idea. There,” cried Cecilia, “I hear her voice, go to her.” + </p> + <p> + Helen followed Lady Cecilia’s suggestion, and took as little notice as + possible of what had happened. Elliott disappeared as she entered—the + page was waiting at the door, but to Helen’s satisfaction Lady Davenant + did not admit him. “Not yet; tell him I will ring when I want him,” said + she. The door closed: and Lady Davenant, turning to Helen, said, “Whether + I live or die is a point of some consequence to the friends who love me; + but there is another question, Helen, of far more importance to me, and, I + trust, to them. That question is, whether I continue to live as I have + lived, honoured and respected, or live and die dishonoured and despised,”—her + eye glanced towards the letter she had been reading. “My poor child,” + continued Lady Davenant, looking at Helen’s agitated countenance,—“My + poor child, I will not keep you in suspense.” She then told Helen that she + was suspected of having revealed a secret of state that had been confided + to her husband, and which it was supposed, and truly supposed, that Lord + Davenant had told to her. Beyond its political importance, the disclosure + involved a charge of baseness, in her having betrayed confidence, having + suffered a copy of a letter from an illustrious personage to be handed + about and read by several people. “Lord Davenant as yet knows nothing of + this, the effect upon him is what I most dread. I cannot show you this,” + continued she, opening again the letter she had just received, “because it + concerns others as well as myself. I am, at all events, under obligations + that can never be forgotten to the person who gave me this timely notice, + which could no otherwise have reached me, and the person to whom I am thus + obliged is one, Helen, whom neither you nor I like, and whom Cecilia + particularly dislikes—Miss Clarendon! Her manner of doing me this + service is characteristic: she begins, + </p> + <p> + “‘Miss Clarendon is aware that Lady Davenant has no liking for her, but + that shall not prevent Miss Clarendon from doing what she thinks an act of + justice towards a noble character falsely attacked.’”—Lady Davenant + read no more. + </p> + <p> + “Had not you better wait till you are stronger, my dear Lady Davenant!” + said Helen, seeing her prepare to write. + </p> + <p> + “It was once said, gloriously well,” replied Lady Davenant, “that the + duties of life are more than life itself—so I think.” + </p> + <p> + While she wrote, Helen thought of what she had just heard, and she + ventured to interrupt Lady Davenant to ask if she had formed any idea of + the means by which the secret could have been betrayed—or the copy + of the letter obtained. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she had a suspicion of one person, the diplomatist to whom Mr. Harley + had shown such a mortal antipathy. She recollected that the last morning + the <i>Congress</i> had sat in Lord Davenant’s cabinet, she had left her + writing-desk there, and this letter was in it; she thought that she had + locked the desk when she had left the room, it certainly was fast when she + returned, but it had a spring Bramah lock, and its being shut down would + have fastened it. She had no proof one way or other, her suspicion rested + where was her instinctive dislike. It was remarkable, however, that she at + once did justice to another person whom she did not like, Mr. Mapletofft, + Lord Davenant’s secretary. “His manners do not please me,” she said, “but + I have perfect confidence in his integrity.” + </p> + <p> + Helen felt and admired this generous candour, but her suspicions were not + of the diplomatist alone: she thought of one who might perhaps have been + employed by him—Carlos the page. And many circumstances, which she + recollected and put together, now strengthened this suspicion. She + wondered it had not occurred to Lady Davenant; she thought it must, but + that she did not choose to mention it. Helen had often heard Lady + Davenant’s particular friends complain that it was extremely disagreeable + to them to have this boy constantly in the room, whatever might be the + conversation. There was the page, either before or behind a screen, always + within hearing. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant said that, as Carlos was a Portuguese, and had never been in + England till she had brought him over, a few months before, he could not + understand English well enough to comprehend what was going on. This was + doubted, especially by Helen, who had watched his countenance, and had + represented her doubts and her reasons for them to Lady Davenant, but she + was not convinced. It was one of the few points on which she could justly + be reproached with adhering to her fancy instead of listening to reason. + The more Carlos was attacked, the more she adhered to him. In fact, it was + not so much because he was a favourite, as because he was a <i>protegé</i>; + he was completely dependent upon her protection: she had brought him to + England, had saved him from his mother, a profligate camp-follower, had + freed him from the most miserable condition possible, and had raised him + to easy, happy, confidential life. To the generous the having conferred an + obligation is in itself a tie hard to sever. All noble-minded people + believe in fidelity, and never doubt of gratitude; they throw their own + souls into those they oblige, and think and feel for them, as they, in + their situation, would think and feel. Lady Davenant considered it an + injustice to doubt the attachment of this boy, and a cruelty she deemed it + to suspect him causelessly of being the most base of human creatures—he, + a young defenceless orphan. Helen had more than once offended, by + attempting to stop Lady Davenant from speaking imprudently before Carlos; + she was afraid, even at this moment, to irritate her by giving utterance + to her doubts; she determined, therefore, to keep them to herself till she + had some positive grounds for her suspicions. She resolved to watch the + boy very carefully. Presently, having finished her letters, Lady Davenant + rang for him. Helen’s eyes were upon Carlos the moment he entered, and her + thoughts did not escape observation. + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, Helen,” said Lady Davenant, as she lighted the taper to + seal her letters. + </p> + <p> + “If I am not right,” said Helen, keeping her eyes upon the boy’s changing + countenance, “I am too suspicious—but observe, am I not right, at + this instant, in thinking that his countenance is <i>bad?</i>” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant could not but see that countenance change in an + extraordinary manner, in spite of his efforts to keep it steady. + </p> + <p> + “You cause that of which you complain,” said she, going on sealing her + letters deliberately. “In courts of public justice, and in private + equity,” the word <i>equity</i> she pronounced with an austere emphasis, + “how often is the change of countenance misinterpreted. The sensibility of + innocence, that cannot bear to be suspected, is often mistaken for the + confusion worse confounded of guilt.” + </p> + <p> + Helen observed, that, as Lady Davenant spoke, and spoke in his favour, the + boy’s countenance cleared up; that vacillating expression of fear, and + consciousness of having something within him unwhipt of justice, + completely disappeared, and his whole air was now bold and open—towards + Helen, almost an air of defiance. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think is the cause of this change in his countenance—you + observe it, do you not?” asked Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and the cause is as plain as the change. He sees I do not suspect + him, though you do; and seeing, Helen, that he has at least one friend in + the world, who will do him justice, the orphan boy takes courage.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could be as good as you are, my dearest Lady Davenant,” said + Helen; “but I cannot help still feeling, and saying,—I doubt. Now + observe him, while I speak; I will turn my eyes away, that my terrible + looks may not confound him. You say he knows that you do not suspect him, + and that I do. How does he know it?” + </p> + <p> + “How!” said Lady Davenant. “By the universal language of the eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Not only by that universal language, I think,” said Helen; “but I suspect + he understands every word we say.” + </p> + <p> + Helen, without ever looking up from a bunch of seals which she was rubbing + bright, slowly and very distinctly added, + </p> + <p> + “I think that he can speak, read, and write English.” + </p> + <p> + A change in the countenance of Carlos appeared, notwithstanding all his + efforts to hold his features in the same position; instead of placid + composure there was now grim rigidity. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the great seal with the coat of arms on it,” said Lady Davenant, + dropping the wax on her letter, and watching the boy’s eye as she spoke, + without herself looking towards the seal she had described. He never + stirred, and Helen began to fear she was unjust and suspicious. But again + her doubts, at least of his disposition, occurred: as she was passing + through Lady Davenant’s dressing-room with her, when they were going down + to dinner, the page following them, Helen caught his figure in a mirror, + and saw that he was making a horrible grimace at her behind her back, his + dark countenance expressing extreme hatred and revenge. Helen touched Lady + Davenant’s arm, but, before her eye could be directed to the glass, + Carlos, perceiving that he was observed, pretended to be suddenly seized + with the cramp in his foot, which obliged him to make these frightful + contortions. Helen was shocked by his artfulness, but it succeeded with + Lady Davenant: it was in vain to say more about it to her, so Helen let it + pass. When she mentioned it afterwards to Lady Cecilia, she said—“I + am sorry, for your sake, Helen, that this happened; depend upon it, that + revengeful little Portuguese gnome will work you mischief some time or + other.” Helen did not think of herself—indeed she could not imagine + any means by which he could possibly work her woe; but the face was so + horrible, that it came again and again before her eyes, and she was more + and more determined to watch Carlos constantly. + </p> + <p> + This was one of the public days at Clarendon Park, on which there was a + good deal of company; many of the neighbouring gentry were to be at + dinner. When Lady Davenant appeared, no inquiries concerning her health + were made by her daughter or by the general—no allusion to her + having been unwell. She seemed quite recovered, and Helen observed that + she particularly exerted herself, and that her manner was more gracious + than usual to commonplace people—more present to everything that was + passing. She retired however early, and took Helen with her. The + depression of her spirits, or rather the weight upon her mind, appeared + again as soon as they were alone together. She took her writing-desk, and + looked over some letters which she said ought to be burned. She could not + sleep in peace, she said—she ought not to sleep, till this was done. + Several of these, as she looked over them, seemed to give her pain, and + excited her indignation or contempt as she from time to time exclaimed—“Meanness!—corruption!—ingratitude + too!—all favours forgotten! To see—to feel this—is the + common fate of all who have lived the life I have lived; of this I am not + so inconsistent as to complain. But it is hard that my own character—the + integrity of a whole life—should avail me nothing! And yet,” added + she, after a moment’s pause of reflection, “to how few can my character be + really known! Women cannot, like men, make their characters known by + public actions. I have no right to complain; but if Lord Davenant’s honour + is to be—” She paused; her thoughts seeming too painful for + utterance. She completed the arrangement of the papers, and, as she + pressed down the lid of her writing-box, and heard the closing sound of + the lock, she said,—“Now I may sleep in peace.” She put out the + lamp, and went to her bed-room, carrying with her two or three books which + she intended to read after she should be in bed; for, though she talked of + sleeping, it was plain she thought she should not. Helen prevailed upon + her to let her remain with her, and read to her. + </p> + <p> + She opened first a volume of Shakspeare, in which was Lady Davenant’s + mark. “Yes,” said she, “read that speech of Wolsey’s; read that whole + scene, the finest picture of ambition ever drawn.” And, after she had + heard the scene, she observed that there is no proof more certain of the + truth of poetic description, than its recurring to us at the time we + strongly feel. “Those who tell us,” continued she, “that it is unnatural + to recollect poetry or eloquence at times of powerful emotion, are much + mistaken; they have not strong feelings or strong imaginations. I can + affirm from my own experience, that it is perfectly natural.” Lady + Davenant rapidly mentioned some instances of this sort which she + recollected, but seeing the anxiety of Helen’s look, she added, “You are + afraid that I am feverish; you wish me to rest; then, go on reading to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Helen read on, till Lady Davenant declared she would not let her sit up + any longer. “Only, before you go, my dear child, look here at what I have + been looking at while you have been reading.” She made Helen place herself + so as to see exactly in the same direction and light in which she was + looking, and she pointed out to her, in the lining of the bed, a place + where, from the falling of the folds and the crinkles in the material, a + figure with the head, head-dress, and perfect profile of an old woman with + a turned-up chin, appeared. At first Helen could not see it; but at last + she caught it, and was struck with it. “The same sort of curious effect of + chance resemblance and coincidence which painters, Leonardo da Vinci in + particular, have observed in the moss and stains on old stones,” observed + Lady Davenant. “But it struck me to-night, Helen, perhaps because I am a + little feverish—it struck me in a new point of view—moral, not + picturesque. If such be the effects of chance, or of coincidence, how + cautious we should be in deciding from appearances, or pronouncing from + circumstantial evidence upon the guilt of evil design in any human + creature.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean this to apply to me about Carlos?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “I do. But not only of him and you was I thinking, but of myself and those + who judge of me falsely from coincidences, attributing to me designs which + I never had, and actions of which I am incapable.” She suddenly raised + herself in her bed, and was going to say more, but the pendule striking at + that instant two o’clock, she stopped abruptly, kissed Helen, and sent her + away. + </p> + <p> + Helen gathered together and carried away with her all the books, that Lady + Davenant might not be tempted to look at them more. As she had several + piled on one arm, and had a taper in her hand, she was somewhat + encumbered, and, though she managed to open the bed-room door, and to shut + it again without letting any of the books fall, and crossed the little + ante-room between the bed-chamber and dressing-room safely, yet, as she + was opening the dressing-room door, and taking too much or too little care + of some part of her pyramid of books, down came the whole pile with a + noise which, in the stillness of the night, sounded tremendous. She was + afraid it would disturb Lady Davenant, and was going back to tell her what + it was, when she was startled by hearing, as she thought, the moving of a + chair or table in the dressing-room: she stopped short to listen—all + was silent; she thought she had mistaken the direction in which the noise + came. + </p> + <p> + She softly opened the dressing-room door, and looked in—all was + silent—no chair, or stool, or table overturned, every thing was in + its place exactly as they had left it, but there was a strong smell of a + half extinguished lamp: she thought it had been put out when they had left + the room, she now supposed it had not been sufficiently lowered, she + turned the screw, and took care now to see it completely extinguished; + then went back for the books, and as people sometimes will, when most + tired and most late, be most orderly, she would not go to bed without + putting every volume in its place in the book-case. After reaching to put + one book upon the highest shelf, as she was getting down she laid her hand + on the top of Lady Davenant’s writing-box, and, as she leaned on it, was + surprised to hear the click of its lock closing. The sound was so peculiar + she could not be mistaken; besides, she thought she had felt the lid give + way under her pressure. There was no key left in the lock—she + perfectly recollected the very sound of that click when Lady Davenant shut + the lid down before leaving the room this night. She stood looking at the + lock, and considering how this could be, and as she remained perfectly + still, she heard, or thought she heard some one breathing near her. + Holding in her own breath, she listened and cautiously looked round + without stirring from the place where she stood—one of the window + curtains moved, so at least she thought—yes, certainly there was + some living thing behind it. It might be Lady Davenant’s great dog; but + looking again at the bottom of the curtain she saw a human foot. The page, + Carlos! was her instant suspicion, and his vengeful face came before her, + and a vision of a stiletto! or she did not well know what. She trembled + all over; yet she had presence of mind enough to recollect that she should + not seem to take notice. And, while she moved about the books on the + table, she gave another look, and saw that the foot was not withdrawn. She + knew she was safe still, it had not been perceived that she had seen it; + now what was she to do? “Go up to that curtain and draw it back and face + the boy”—but she did not dare; yet he was only a boy—But it + might be a man and not the page. Better go and call somebody—tell + Lady Davenant. She MUST go through the antechamber, and pass close to that + curtain to open the door. All this was the thought of one moment, and she + went on holding up the light to the book-shelves as if in quest of some + book, and kept coasting along to gain the door; she was afraid when she + was to pass the window-curtain, either of touching it, or of stumbling + over that foot. But she got past without touching or stumbling, opened the + door, whisked through—that was done too quickly, but she could not + help it,—she shut, bolted the door, and ran across the ante-chamber + to Lady Davenant’s bed-room. She entered softly, aware of the danger to + her of sudden alarm. But Lady Davenant was not asleep, was not alarmed, + but was <i>effective</i> in a moment. First she asked:—“Did you lock + the door after you?” “Yes, bolted it,”—“That is well.” Neither of + them said. “Who do you think it is?” But each knew what the other thought. + They returned through the ante-chamber to the dressing-room. But when they + opened the door, all was quiet—no one behind the curtain, no one in + the room—they searched under the sofas, everywhere; there was no + closet or hiding-place in which any one could be concealed. The window + fastenings were unstirred. But the door into the gallery was unlocked, and + the simple thing appeared—that Helen, in her confusion, had thought + only of fastening the door into the ante-chamber, which also opened on the + gallery, but had totally forgotten to lock that from the dressing-room + into the gallery, by which whoever had been in the room had escaped + without any difficulty. Lady Davenant rather inclined to believe that no + one had been there, and that it was all Helen’s imagination. But Helen + persisted that she had seen what she had seen, and heard what she had + heard. They went into the gallery—all silence, no creature visible, + and the doors at the ends of the gallery locked outside. + </p> + <p> + After a fruitless search they retired, Lady Davenant to her own room, and + Helen to hers, full of shame and regret that she had not had the courage + to open the curtain at the right moment. Nothing could stir her belief, + however, in the evidence of her senses; the boy must have been there, and + must be still concealed somewhere in the gallery, or in some of the rooms + opening into it. Some of these were unoccupied, but they were all locked + up, as Lady Davenant had told her when she had proposed searching them; + one or two they tried and found fastened. She stood at her own door, after + having put down the candle on her table, still giving a lingering + look-out, when, through the darkness in the gallery at the further end, + she saw a ray of light on the floor, which seemed to come from under the + door of a room unoccupied—Mr. Mapletofft’s room; he had gone to town + with Lord Davenant. Helen went on tiptoe very softly along the gallery, + almost to this door, when it suddenly opened, and the page stood before + her, the lamp in his hand shining full on his face and on hers. Both + started—then both were motionless for one second—but he, + recovering instantly, shot back again into the room, flung to the door, + and locked it. + </p> + <p> + “Seen him!” cried Lady Davenant, when Helen flew to her room and told her; + “seen him! do you say?” and then ringing her bell, she bade Helen run and + knock at the general’s door, while she went herself to Mr. Mapletofft’s + room, commanding Carlos to open the door immediately. But he would not + open it, nor make any answer; the servants came, and the general ordered + one to go round to the windows of the room lest the boy should escape that + way. It was too late, he had escaped; when the door was forced, one of the + windows was found open; Carlos was not in the room; he must have swung + himself down from the height by means of a tree which was near the window. + The lamp was still burning, and papers half burnt smouldering on the + table. There were sufficient remains to tell what they had been. Lady + Davenant saw, in the handwriting of Carlos, copies of letters taken from + her desk. One half unburnt cover of the packet he had been making up, + showed by its direction to whom it was to have been sent, and there were a + few lines in the boy’s own writing within—side-addressed to his + employer, which revealed the whole. His employer was, as Lady Davenant had + suspected—the diplomatist! + </p> + <p> + A duplicate Bramah key was found under the table, and she recollected that + she had some months ago missed this duplicate key of her desk, and + supposed she had dropped it from her watch-ring while out walking; she + recollected, further, that Carlos had with great zeal assisted her in the + search for it all through the shrubbery walks. The proofs of this boy’s + artifice and long-premeditated treachery, accumulating upon Lady Davenant, + shocked her so much that she could not think of anything else. “Is it + possible? is it in human nature?” she exclaimed. “Such falsehood, such + art, such ingratitude!” As she fixed her eyes upon the writing, scarcely + yet dry, she repeated. “It <i>is</i> his writing—I see it, yet can + scarcely believe it! I, who taught him to write myself—guided that + little hand to make the first letters that he ever formed! And this is in + human nature! I could not have conceived it—it is dreadful to be so + convinced, it lowers one’s confidence in one’s fellow-creatures. That is + the worst of all!” She sighed deeply, and then, turning to Helen, said, + “But let us think no more of it to-night, we can do no more, they are in + pursuit of him; I hope I may never, never, see him more.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Some people value their friends most for active service, some for passive + kindness. Some are won by tender expressions, some convinced by solid + proofs of regard; others of a yet nobler kind, and of this sort was Lady + Davenant, are apt to be best pleased, most touched, by proofs that their + own character has been thoroughly understood, and that they have justly + appreciated the good qualities of their friend. More than by all the + kindness and sympathy Helen had ever before shown her was she now pleased + and touched by the respect for her feelings in this affair of the page. + Helen never having at the moment of his detection nor afterwards, by word + or look, indulged in the self-triumph of “You see how right I was!” which + implies, “You see how wrong you were!” On the contrary, she gave what + comfort she honestly could by showing that she knew from what humane + motives and generous feelings Lady Davenant had persisted in supporting + this boy to the last. + </p> + <p> + As to the little wretch himself, he appeared no more. Search was made for + him in every direction, but he was not to be found, and Helen thought it + was well that Lady Davenant should be spared the pain of seeing or hearing + more about him. + </p> + <p> + The whole mystery was now solved, the difficulty for Lady Davenant in a + fair way to be ended. She had felt an instinctive aversion to the fawning + tone of the diplomatist, whom she had suspected of caballing against Lord + Davenant secretly, and it was now proved that he had been base beyond what + she could have conceived possible; had been in confederacy with this boy, + whom he had corrupted, purchasing from him copies of private letters, and + bribing him to betray his benefactress. The copy of that letter from an + illustrious personage had been thus obtained. The proofs now brought home + to the guilty person, deprived him at once of all future means of injuring + Lord Davenant. Completely in their power, he would be ready to ensure + silence at any price, and, instead of caballing further, this low + intriguer would now be compelled to return from whence he came, too happy + to be permitted to retreat from his situation, and quit England without + being brought to public disgrace. No notice of the report that had been in + private circulation against Lady Davenant having yet appeared in the + public prints, it was possible to prevent the mischief that even the + mention of her name in such an affair must have occasioned. It was + necessary, however, that letters should be written immediately to the + different persons whom the private reports had reached; and Helen and her + daughter trembled for her health in consequence of this extreme hurry and + fatigue, but she repeated her favourite maxim—“Better to wear out, + than to rust out”—and she accomplished all that was to be done. Lord + Davenant wrote in triumph that all was settled, all difficulties removed, + and they were to set out for Russia immediately. + </p> + <p> + And now Lady Davenant breathed freely. Relieved from the intolerable + thought that the base finger of suspicion could point at her or at Lord + Davenant, her spirits rose, her whole appearance renovated, and all the + fears that Helen and her daughter had felt, lest she should not be able to + sustain the hardships of a long voyage and the rigour of a northern + climate, were now completely dispelled. + </p> + <p> + The day of departure was fixed—Lady Davenant remained, however, as + long as she possibly could with her daughter; and she was anxious, too, to + see Granville Beauclerc before she left Clarendon Park. + </p> + <p> + The number of the days of quarantine were gone over every morning at + breakfast by Lady Cecilia and the general; they looked in the papers + carefully for the arrivals at the hotel which Beauclerc usually + frequented. This morning, in reading the list aloud, the general came to + the name of Sir Thomas D’Aubigny, brother to the colonel. The paragraph + stated that Colonel D’Aubigny had left some manuscripts to his brother, + which would soon be published, and then followed some puff in the usual + style, which the general did not think it necessary to read. But one of + the officers, who knew some of the D’Aubignys, went on talking of the + colonel, and relating various anecdotes to prove that his souvenirs would + be amusing. Helen, who was conscious that she always blushed when Colonel + D’Aubigny’s name was mentioned, and that the general had observed it, was + glad that he never looked up from what he was reading, and when she had + courage to turn towards her, she admired Cecilia’s perfect + self-possession. Beauclerc’s name was not among the arrivals, and it was + settled consequently that they should not see him this day. + </p> + <p> + Some time after they had left the breakfast-room, Helen found Lady + Davenant in her own apartment, sitting, as it was very unusual with her, + perfectly unemployed—her head leaning on her hand, and an expression + of pain in her countenance. “Are not you well, my dear Lady Davenant?” + Helen asked. + </p> + <p> + “My mind is not well,” she replied, “and that always affects my body, and + I suppose my looks.” After a moment’s silence she fixed her eyes on Helen, + and said, “You tell me that Colonel D’Aubigny never was a lover—never + was an admirer of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Helen, low, but very decidedly. Lady Davenant sighed, but + did not speak. + </p> + <p> + After a longer continuance of silence than had almost ever occurred when + they two were alone together, Lady Davenant looked up, and said, “I hope + in God that I am mistaken. I pray that I may never live to see it!” + </p> + <p> + “To see what?” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “To see that one little black spot, invisible to you, Helen, the speck of + evil in that heart—my daughter’s heart—spread and taint, and + destroy all that is good. It must be cut out—at any pain it must be + cut away; if any part be unsound, the corruption will spread.” + </p> + <p> + “Corruption in Cecilia!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh! I know her—I know her + from dear childhood! there is nothing corrupt in her, no, not a thought!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Helen, you see her as she has been—as she is. I see her as + she may become—very—frightfully different. Helen! if truth + fail, if the principle of truth fail in her character, all will fail! All + that charming nature, all that fair semblance, all that fair reality, all + this bright summer’s dream of happiness, even love—the supreme + felicity of her warm heart—even love will fail her. Cecilia will + lose her husband’s affections!” + </p> + <p> + Helen uttered a faint cry. + </p> + <p> + “Worse!” continued Lady Davenant. “Worse! she will lose her own esteem, + she will sink, but I shall be gone,” cried she, and pressing her hand upon + her heart, she faintly repeated, “Gone!” And then abruptly added, “Call + Cecilia! I must see Cecilia, I must speak to her. But first I will tell + you, from a few words that dropped this morning from General Clarendon, I + suspect—I fear that Cecilia has deceived him!” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!—about what—about whom?” + </p> + <p> + “That Colonel D’Aubigny,” said Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “I know all about it, and it was all nothing but nonsense. Did you look at + her when the general read that paragraph this morning—did you see + that innocent countenance?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw it, Helen, and thought as you did, but I have been so deceived—so + lately in countenance!” + </p> + <p> + “Not by hers—never.” + </p> + <p> + “Not by yours, Helen, never. And yet, why should I say so? This very + morning, yours, had I not known you, yours would have misled me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my foolish absurd habit of blushing, how I wish I could prevent it!” + said Helen; “I know it will make me betray somebody some time or other.” + </p> + <p> + “Betray! What have you to betray?” cried Lady Davenant, leaning forward + with an eagerness of eye and voice that startled Helen from all power of + immediate reply. After an instant’s pause, however, she answered firmly, + “Nothing, Lady Davenant, and that there is nothing wrong to be known about + Cecilia, I as firmly believe as that I stand here at this moment. Can you + suspect anything really wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Suspect!—wrong!” cried Lady Davenant, starting up, with a look in + her eyes which made Helen recoil. “Helen, what can you conceive that I + suspect wrong?—Cecilia?—Captain D’Aubigny?—What did you + mean? Wrong did you say?—of Cecilia? Could you mean—could you + conceive, Helen, that I, having such a suspicion could be here—living + with her—or—living anywhere—” And she sank down on the + sofa again, seized with sudden spasm—in a convulsion of agonising + pain. But she held Helen’s hand fast grasped, detaining her—preventing + her from pulling the bell; and by degrees the pain passed off, the livid + hue cleared away, the colour of life once more returned, but more tardily + than before, and Helen was excessively alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “Poor child! my poor, dear child, I feel—I hear your heart beating. + You are a coward, Helen, but a sweet creature; and I love you—and I + love my daughter. What were we saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, say no more! say no more now, for Heaven’s sake,” said Helen, + kneeling beside her; and, yielding to that imploring look, Lady Davenant, + with a fond smile, parted the hair on her forehead, kissed her, and + remained perfectly quiet and silent for some time. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite well again now,” said she, “and quite composed. If Cecilia has + told her husband the whole truth, she will continue to be, as she is, a + happy wife; but if she have deceived him in the estimation of a single + word—she is undone. With him, of all men, never will confidence, + once broken, unite again. Now General Clarendon told me this morning—would + I had known it before the marriage!—that he had made one point with + my daughter, and only one, on the faith of which he married: the point + was, that she should tell him, if she had ever loved any other man. And + she told him—I fear from some words which he said afterwards—I + am sure he is in the belief—the certainty, that his wife never loved + any man breathing but himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor did she,” said Helen. “I can answer for it—she has told him the + truth—and she has nothing to fear, nor have you.” + </p> + <p> + “You give me new life!” cried Lady Davenant, her face becoming suddenly + radiant with hope; “but how can you answer for this, Helen? You had no + part in any deceit, I am sure, but there was something about a miniature + of you, which I found in Colonel D’Aubigny’s hands one day. That was done, + I thought at the time, to deceive me, to make me believe that you were his + object.—Deceit there was.” + </p> + <p> + “On his part,” said Helen, “much and always; but on Cecilia’s there was + only, from her over-awe of you, some little concealment; but the whole was + broken off and repented of, whatever little there was, long since. And as + to loving him, she never did; she told me so then, and often and often she + has told me so since.” + </p> + <p> + “Convince me of that,” said Lady Davenant; “convince me that she thought + what she said. I believe, indeed, that till she met General Clarendon she + never felt any enthusiastic attachment, but I thought she liked that man—it + was all coquetry, flirting nonsense perhaps. Be it so—I am willing + to believe it. Convince me but that she is true—there is the only + point of consequence. The man is dead and gone, the whole in oblivion, and + all that is of importance is her truth; convince me but of that, and I am + a happy mother.” + </p> + <p> + Helen brought recollections, and proofs from conversations at the time and + letters since, confirming at least Cecilia’s own belief that she had never + loved the man, that it was all vanity on her part and deception on his: + Lady Davenant listened, willing to be convinced. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said she, “let us put this matter out of our minds entirely—I + want to talk to you of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + She took Helen out with her in her pony-phaeton, and spoke of Granville + Beauclerc, and of his and Helen’s prospects of happiness. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, who was riding with her husband in some fields adjoining the + park, caught a glimpse of the phaeton as it went along the avenue, and, + while the general was giving some orders to the wood-ranger about a new + plantation, she, telling him that she would be back in two minutes, + cantered off to overtake her mother, and, making a short cut across the + fields, she leaped a wide ha-ha which came in her way. She was an + excellent horse-woman, and Fairy carried her lightly over; and when she + heard the general’s voice in dismay and indignation at what she had done, + she turned and laughed, and cantered on till she overtook the phaeton. The + breeze had blown her hair most becomingly, and raised her colour, and her + eyes were joyously bright, and her light figure, always well on horseback, + now looked so graceful as she bent to speak to her mother, that her + husband could not find it in his heart to scold her, and he who came to + chide remained to admire. Her mother, looking up at her, could not help + exclaiming, + </p> + <p> + “Well! certainly, you are an excessively pretty creature!” + </p> + <p> + “Bearers of good news always look well, I believe,” said she, smiling; “so + there is now some goodness in my face.” + </p> + <p> + “That there certainly is,” said her mother, fondly. + </p> + <p> + “But you certainly don’t know what it is—you cannot know till I tell + you, my dearest Helen—my dear mother, I mean. Granville Beauclerc + will be here to-day—I am sure of it. So pray do not go far from home—do + not go out of the grounds: this was what I was in such a hurry to say to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you know, Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + “Just because I can read,” replied she, “because I can read a newspaper + through, which none of you newspaper-readers by profession could do this + morning. After you all of you laid them down I took them up, and found in + that evening paper which your stupid aide-de-camp had been poring and + boring over, a fresh list of arrivals, and Mr. Granville Beauclerc among + them at full length. Now he would not stay a moment longer in town than + was absolutely necessary, you know, or else he ought to be excommunicated. + But it is not in his nature to delay; he will be here directly—I + should not be surprised—” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Cecilia,” interrupted the general. “I see a caleche on + that road.—It is he.” + </p> + <p> + The caleche turned into the park, and in a few minutes they met.—Carriages, + horses, and servants, were sent off to the house, while the whole party + walked, and talked, and looked. Lady Cecilia was in delightful spirits, + and so affectionately, so delicately joyful—so kind, that if Helen + and Beauclerc had ever blamed, or had reason to blame her, it must now be + for ever forgotten. As, in their walk, they came near that seat by the + water’s side where the lovers had parted, Cecilia whispered something to + her mother, and instantly it was “done as desired.” Beauclerc and Helen + were left to their own explanations, and the rest of the party pursued + their walk home. Of what passed in this explanatory scene no note has been + transmitted to the biographer, and we must be satisfied with the result. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + “All is right!” cried Lady Cecilia. “O my dear mother, I am the happiest + creature in the world, if you were not going away; could not you stay—a + little, a very little longer—just till—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my dear, do not urge me to stay,” said Lady Davenant; “I cannot—your + father expects me to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + All her preparations were made—in short, it must be so, and Lady + Davenant begged her daughter would not spend the short remaining time they + were to have together in entreaties, distressing and irritating to the + feelings of those who ask and of those who must refuse. “Let us enjoy in + peace,” said she, “all that is to be enjoyed this day before I go.” + </p> + <p> + When Helen entered the drawing-room before dinner, knowing that she was + very late, she found assembled Lady Davenant, Beauclerc, and the officers, + but Cecilia was not there, nor did the punctual general make his + appearance; the dinner-hour was passed, a servant had twice looked in to + announce it, and, seeing neither my lady nor the general, had in surprise + retired. Silence prevailed—what could be the matter? So unusual for + the general to be late. The general came in, hurried—very uncommon + in him, and, after saying a few words in a low voice to Lady Davenant, who + immediately went up stairs, he begged pardon, was very sorry he had kept + dinner waiting, but Lady Cecilia had been taken ill—had fainted—she + was better—he hoped it was nothing that would signify—she was + lying down—he begged they would go to dinner. And to dinner they + went, and when Lady Davenant returned she put Helen’s mind at ease by + saying it was only a little faintishness from over-fatigue. She had + prescribed rest, and Cecilia had herself desired to be left quite alone. + After dinner Lady Davenant went up again to see her, found her not so well—feverish; + she would not let Helen go to her—they would talk if they were + together, and she thought it necessary to keep Cecilia very quiet. If she + would but submit to this, she would be well again probably in the morning. + At tea-time, and in the course of the evening twice, Cecilia sent to beg + to speak to Helen; but Lady Davenant and the general joined in requesting + her not to go. The general went himself to Lady Cecilia to enforce + obedience, and he reported that she had submitted with a good grace. + </p> + <p> + Helen was happily engaged by Beauclerc’s conversation during the rest of + the evening. It was late before they retired, and when she went up-stairs, + Felicie said that her lady was asleep, and had been asleep for the last + two hours, and she was sure that after such good rest her ladyship would + be perfectly well in the morning. Without further anxiety about her + friend, therefore, Helen went to her own room. It was a fine moonlight + night, and she threw open the shutters, and stood for a long time looking + out upon the moonlight, which she loved; and even after she had retired to + bed it was long before she could sleep. The only painful thought in her + mind was of Lady Davenant’s approaching departure; without her, all + happiness would be incomplete; but still, hope and love had much that was + delightful to whisper, and, as she at last sank to sleep, Beauclerc’s + voice seemed still speaking to her in soft sounds. Yet the dream which + followed was uneasy; she thought that they were standing together in the + library, at the open door of the conservatory, by moonlight, and he asked + her to walk out, and when she did not comply, all changed, and she saw him + walking with another—with Lady Castlefort; but then the figure + changed to one younger—more beautiful—it must be, as the + beating of Helen’s heart in the dream told her—it must be Lady + Blanche. Without seeing Helen, however, they seemed to come on, smiling + and talking low to each other along the matted alley of the conservatory, + almost to the very door where she was still, as she thought, standing with + her hand upon the lock, and then they stopped, and Beauclerc pulled from + an orange-tree a blossom which seemed the very same which Helen had given + to him that evening, he offered it to Lady Blanche, and something he + whispered; but at this moment the handle of the lock seemed to slip, and + Helen awoke with a start; and when she was awake, the noise of her dream + seemed to continue; she heard the real sound of a lock turning—her + door slowly opened, and a white figure appeared. Helen started up in her + bed, and awaking thoroughly, saw that it was only Cecilia in her + dressing-gown. + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia! What’s the matter, my dear? are you worse?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia put her finger on her lips, closed the door behind her, and + said, “Hush! hush! or you’ll waken Felicie; she is sleeping in the + dressing-room to-night. Mamma ordered it, in case I should want her.” + </p> + <p> + “And how are you now? What can I do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Helen, you can do something for me indeed. But don’t get up. Lie + down and listen to me. I want to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, then, my dear Cecilia, sit down here beside me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I need not sit down, I am very well, standing. Only let me say + what I have to say. I am quite well.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite well! indeed you are not. I feel you all trembling. You must sit + down, indeed, my dear,” said Helen, pressing her. + </p> + <p> + She sat down. “Now listen to me—do not waste time, for I can’t stay. + Oh! if the general should awake and find me gone.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, my dear Cecilia? Only tell me what I can do for you.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the thing; but I am afraid, now it is come to the point.” Lady + Cecilia breathed quick and short. “I am almost afraid to ask you to do + this for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid! my dear Cecilia, to ask me to do anything in this world for you! + How can you be afraid? Tell me only what it is at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very foolish—I am very weak. I know you love me—would do + anything for me, Helen. And this is the simplest thing in the world, but + the greatest favour—the greatest service. It is only just to receive + a packet, which the general will give you in the morning. He will ask if + it is for you. And you will just accept of it. I don’t ask you to say it + is yours, or to say a word about it—only receive it for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will, to be sure. But why should he give it to me, and not to + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he thinks, and you must let him think, it is for you, that’s all. + Will you promise me?”—But Helen made no answer. “Oh, promise me, + promise me, speak, for I can’t stay. I will explain it all to you in the + morning.” She rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “Stay, stay! Cecilia,” cried Helen, stopping her; “stay!—you must, + indeed, explain it all to me now—you must indeed!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia hesitated—said she had not time. “You said, Helen, that + you would take the packet, and you know you must; but I will explain it + all as fast as I can. You know I fainted, but you do not know why? I will + tell you exactly how it all happened:—you recollect my coming into + the library after I was dressed, before you went up-stairs, and giving you + a sprig of orange flowers?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I was dreaming of it just now when you came in,” said Helen. + “Well, what of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, only you must have been surprised to hear so soon afterwards + that I had fainted.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Helen said, she had been very much surprised and alarmed; and again + Lady Cecilia paused. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I went from you directly to Clarendon, to give him a rose, which + you may remember I had in my hand for him. I found him in the study, + talking to corporal somebody. He just smiled as I came in, took the rose, + and said, ‘I shall be ready this moment:’ and looking to a table on which + were heaps of letters and parcels which Granville had brought from town, + he added, ‘I do not know whether there is anything there for you, + Cecilia?’ I went to look, and he went on talking to his corporal. He was + standing with his back to the table.” + </p> + <p> + Helen felt that Lady Cecilia told all these minute details as if there was + some fact to which she feared to come. Cecilia went on very quickly. “I + did not find anything for myself; but in tossing over the papers I saw a + packet directed to General Clarendon. I thought it was a feigned hand—and + yet that I knew it—that I had seen it somewhere lately. There was + one little flourish that I recollected; it was like the writing of that + wretched Carlos.” + </p> + <p> + “Carlos!” cried Helen: “well!” + </p> + <p> + “The more I looked at it,” continued Lady Cecilia, “the more like I + thought it; and I was going to say so to the general, only I waited till + he had done his business: but as I was examining it through the outer + cover, of very thin foreign paper, I could distinguish the writing of some + of the inside, and it was like your hand or like mine. You know, between + our hands there is such a great resemblance, there is no telling one from + the other.” + </p> + <p> + Helen did not think so, but she remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “At least,” said Cecilia, answering her look of doubt, “at least the + general says so; he never knows our hands asunder. Well! I perceived that + there was something hard inside—more than papers; and as I felt it, + there came from it an uncommon perfume—a particular perfume, like + what I used to have once, at the time—that time that I can never + bear to think of, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Helen, and in a low voice she added, “you mean about + Colonel D’Aubigny.” + </p> + <p> + “The perfume, and altogether I do not know what, quite overcame me. I had + just sense enough to throw the packet from me: I made an effort, and + reached the window, and I was trying to open the sash, I remember; but + what happened immediately after that, I cannot tell you. When I came to + myself, I was in my husband’s arms; he was carrying me up-stairs—and + so much alarmed about me he was! Oh, Helen, I do so love him! He laid me + on the bed, and he spoke so kindly, reproaching me for not taking more + care of myself—but so fondly! Somehow I could not bear it just then, + and I closed my eyes as his met mine. He, I knew, could suspect nothing—but + still! He stayed beside me, holding my hand: then dinner was ready; he had + been twice summoned. It was a relief to me when he left me. Next, I + believe, my mother came up, and felt my pulse, and scolded me for + over-fatiguing myself, and for that leap; and I pleaded guilty, and it was + all very well. I saw she had not an idea there was anything else. Mamma + really is not suspicious, with all her penetration—she is not + suspicious.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you not tell her all the little you had to tell, dear + Cecilia? If you had, long ago, when I begged of you to do so—if you + had told your mother all about—” + </p> + <p> + “Told her!” interrupted Cecilia; “told my mother!—oh no, Helen!” + </p> + <p> + Helen sighed, and feebly said, “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! when you were at dinner, it came into my poor head that the general + would open that parcel before I could see you again, and before I could + ask your advice and settle with you—before I could know what was to + be done. I was so anxious, I sent for you twice.” + </p> + <p> + “But Lady Davenant and the general forbade me to go to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,”—Lady Cecilia said she understood that, and she had seen the + danger of showing too much impatience to speak to Helen; she thought it + might excite suspicion of her having something particular to say, she had + therefore refrained from asking again. She was not asleep when Helen came + to bed, though Felicie thought she was; she was much too anxious to sleep + till she had seen her husband again; she was awake when he came into his + room; she saw him come in with some letters and packets in his hand; by + his look she knew all was still safe—he had not opened <i>that</i> + particular packet—he held it among a parcel of military returns in + his hand as he came to the side of the bed on tiptoe to see if she was + asleep—to ask how she did; “He touched my pulse,” said Lady Cecilia,—“and + I am sure he might well say it was terribly quick. + </p> + <p> + “Every instant I thought he would open that packet. He threw it, however, + and all the rest, down on the table, to be read in the morning, as usual, + as soon as he awoke. After feeling my pulse again, the last thing, and + satisfying himself that it was better—‘Quieter now,’ said he, he + fell fast asleep, and slept so soundly, and I—” + </p> + <p> + Helen looked at her with astonishment, and was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh speak to me!” said Lady Cecilia, “what do you say, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “I say that I cannot imagine why you are so much alarmed about this + packet.” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am a fool, I believe,” said Lady Cecilia, trying to laugh. “I + am so afraid of his opening it.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” said Helen, “what do you think there is in it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you, surely! Letters—foolish letters of mine to that + D’Aubigny. Oh how I repent I ever wrote a line to him! And he told me, he + absolutely swore, he had destroyed every note and letter I ever wrote to + him. He was the most false of human beings!” + </p> + <p> + “He was a very bad man—I always thought so,” said Helen; “but, + Cecilia, I never knew that he had any letters of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you did, my dear, at the time; do not you recollect I showed you + a letter, and it was you who made me break off the correspondence?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember your showing me several letters of his,” said Helen, “but not + of yours—only one or two notes—asking for that picture back + again which he had stolen from your portfolio.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and about the verses; surely you recollect my showing you another + letter of mine, Helen!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but these were all of no consequence; there must be more, or you + could not be so much afraid, Cecilia, of the general’s seeing these, + surely.” At this moment Lady Davenant’s prophecy, all she had said about + her daughter, flashed across Helen’s mind, and with increasing eagerness + she went on. “What is there in those letters that can alarm you so much?” + </p> + <p> + “I declare I do not know,” said Cecilia, “that is the plain truth; I + cannot recollect—I cannot be certain what there is in them.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is not so long ago, Cecilia,—only two years?” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, but so many great events have happened since, and such new + feelings, all that early nonsense was swept out of my mind. I never really + loved that wretch—” + </p> + <p> + A gleam of joy came across Helen’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Never, never,” repeated Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am happy still,” cried Helen. “I told your mother I was sure of + this.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!—Does she know about this packet?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!—how could she? But what frightens you, my dear Cecilia? you + say there is nothing wrong in the letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Then make no wrong out of nothing,” cried Helen. “If you break confidence + with your husband, that confidence will never, never unite again—your + mother says so.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother!” cried Cecilia: “Good heavens!—so she does suspect?—tell + me, Helen, tell me what she suspects.” + </p> + <p> + “That you did not at first—before you were married, tell the general + the whole truth about Colonel D’Aubigny.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia was silent. + </p> + <p> + “But it is not yet too late,” said Helen, earnestly; “you can set it all + right now—this is the moment, my dearest Cecilia. Do, do,” cried + Helen, “do tell him all—bid him look at the letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at them! Impossible! Impossible!” said Lady Cecilia. “Bid me die + rather.” + </p> + <p> + She turned quite away. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, Cecilia;” she held her fast. “You must do it, Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “Helen, I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “You can, indeed you can,” said Helen; “only have courage <i>now</i>, and + you will be happier all your life afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not ask it—do not ask it—it is all in vain, you are + wasting time.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no—not wasting time; and in short, Cecilia, you must do what I + ask of you, for it is right; and I will not do what you ask of me, for it + is wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not!—You will not!” cried Lady Cecilia, breathless. “After + all! You will not receive the packet for me! you will not let the general + believe the letters to be yours! Then I am undone! You will not do it!—Then + do not talk to me—do not talk to me—you do not know General + Clarendon. If his jealousy were once roused, you have no idea what it + would be.” + </p> + <p> + “If the man were alive,” said Helen, “but since he is dead—” + </p> + <p> + “But Clarendon would never forgive me for having loved another—” + </p> + <p> + “You said you did not love him.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor did I ever <i>really</i> love that man; but still Clarendon, from + even seeing those letters, might think I did. The very fact of having + written such letters would be destruction to me with Clarendon. You do not + know Clarendon. How can I convince you it is impossible for me to tell + him? At the time he first proposed for me—oh! how I loved him, and + feared to lose him. One day my mother, when I was not by, said something—I + do not know what, about a first love, let fall something about that + hateful D’Aubigny, and the general came to me in such a state! Oh, Helen, + in such a state! I thought it was all at an end. He told me he never would + marry any woman on earth who had ever loved another. I told him I never + had, and that was true, you know; but then I went a little beyond perhaps. + I said I had never THOUGHT of anybody else, for he made such a point of + that. In short, I was a coward—a fool; I little foresaw—I + laughed it off, and told him that what mamma had said was all a mistake, + all nonsense; that Colonel D’Aubigny was a sort of universal flirt—and + that was very true, I am sure: that he had admired us both, both you and + me, but you last, you most, Helen, I said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cecilia, how could you say so, when you knew he never cared for me in + the least?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, my dear, for there was no other way; and what harm did it do + you, or what harm can it ever do you? It only makes it the easier for you + to help me—to save me now. And Granville,” continued Lady Cecilia, + thinking that was the obstacle in Helen’s mind, “and Granville need never + know it.” + </p> + <p> + Helen’s countenance suddenly changed—“Granville! I never thought of + that!” and now that she did think of it, she reproached herself with the + selfishness of that fear. Till this moment, she knew her motives had been + all singly for Cecilia’s happiness; now the fear she felt of this some way + hurting her with Beauclerc made her less resolute. Lady Cecilia saw her + giving way and hurried on—— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Helen! I know I have been very wrong, but you would not quite + give me up, would you?—Oh! for my mother’s sake! Consider how it + would be with my mother, so ill as you saw her! I am sure if anything + broke out now in my mother’s state of health it would be fatal.” + </p> + <p> + Helen became excessively agitated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Helen! would you make me the death of that mother?—Oh, Helen, + save her! and do what you will with me afterwards. It will be only for a + few hours—only a few hours!” repeated Lady Cecilia, seeing that + these words made a great impression upon Helen,—“Save me, Helen! + save my mother.” + </p> + <p> + She sank upon her knees, clasping her hands in an agony of supplication. + Helen bent down her head and was silent—she could no longer refuse. + “Then I must,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Oh thank you! bless you!” cried Lady Cecilia in an ecstasy—“you + will take the letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Helen feebly said; “yes, since it must be so.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia embraced her, thanked her, blessed her, and hastily left the room, + but in an instant afterward she returned, and said, “One thing I forgot, + and I must tell you. Think of my forgetting it! The letters are not signed + with my real name, they are signed Emma—Henry and Emma!—Oh + folly, folly! My dear, dear friend! save me but now, and I never will be + guilty of the least deception again during my whole life; believe me, + believe me! When once my mother is safely gone I will tell Clarendon all. + Look at me, dear Helen, look at me and believe me.” + </p> + <p> + And Helen looked at her, and Helen believed her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + Helen slept no more this night. When alone in the stillness of the long + hours, she went over and over again all that had passed, what Cecilia had + said, what she had at first thought and afterwards felt, all the + persuasions by which she had been wrought upon, and, on the contrary, all + the reasons by which she ought to be decided; backward and forward her + mind vibrated, and its painful vacillation could not be stilled. + </p> + <p> + “What am I going to do? To tell a falsehood! That cannot be right; but in + the circumstances—yet this is Cecilia’s own way of palliating the + fault that her mother so fears in her—that her mother trusted to me + to guard her against; and now, already, even before Lady Davenant has left + us, I am going to assist Cecilia in deceiving her husband, and on that + very dangerous point—Colonel D’Aubigny.” Lady Davenant’s foreboding + having already been so far accomplished struck Helen fearfully, and her + warning voice in the dead silence of that night sounded, and her look was + upon her, so strongly, that she for an instant hid her head to get rid of + her image. “But what <i>can</i> I do? her own life is at stake! No less a + motive could move me, but this ought—must—shall decide me. + Yet, if Lady Davenant were to know it!—and I, in the last hours I + have to pass with her—the last I ever may have with her, shall I + deceive her? But it is not deceit, only prudence—necessary prudence; + what a physician would order, what even humanity requires. I am satisfied + it is quite right, quite, and I will go to sleep that I may be strong, and + calm, and do it all well in the morning. After all, I have been too + cowardly; frightening myself about nothing; too scrupulous—for what + is it I have promised? only to receive the letters as if they were mine. + Not to <i>say</i> that they are mine; he will not ask me, Cecilia thinks + he will not ask me. But how can she tell? if he should, what <i>can</i> I + do? I must then answer that they are mine. Indeed it is the same thing, + for I should lead him to believe it as much by my receiving them in + silence; it will be telling or acting an absolute falsehood, and can that + ever be right?” Back it came to the same point, and in vain her cheek + settled on the pillow and she thought she could sleep. Then with closed + eyes she considered how the general would look, and speak, or not speak. + “What will he think of me when he sees the picture—the letters? for + he must open the packet. But he will not read them, no, he is too + honourable. I do not know what is in them. There can be nothing, however, + but nonsense, Cecilia says; yet even so, love-letters he must know they + are, and a clandestine correspondence. I heard him once express such + contempt for any clandestine affair. He, who is so nice, so strict, about + women’s conduct, how I shall sink in his esteem! Well, be it so, that + concerns only myself; and it is for his own sake too, to save his + happiness; and Cecilia, my dear Cecilia, oh I can bear it, and it will be + a pride to me to bear it, for I am grateful; my gratitude shall not be + only in words; now, when I am put to the trial, I can do something for my + friends. Yes, and I will, let the consequences be what they may.” Yet + Beauclerc! that thought was at the bottom of her heart; the fear, the + almost certainty, that some way or other—every way in which she + could think of it, it would lead to difficulty with Beauclerc. But this + fear was mere selfishness, she thought, and to counteract it came all her + generous, all her grateful, all her long-cherished, romantic love of + sacrifice—a belief that she was capable of self-devotion for the + friends she loved; and upon the strength of this idea she fixed at last. + Quieted, she soothed herself to repose, and, worn out with reasoning or + trying to reason in vain, she at last, in spite of the morning light + dawning upon her through the unclosed shutters, in a soft sort of + enthusiastic vision fading away, fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + She slept long; when she awoke it was with that indescribable feeling that + something painful had happened—that something dreadful was to be + this day. She recollected, first, that Lady Davenant was to go. Then came + all that had passed with Cecilia. It was late, she saw that her maid had + been in the room, but had refrained from awakening her; she rose, and + dressed as fast as she could. She was to go to Lady Davenant, when her + bell rang twice. How to appear before one who knew her countenance so + well, without showing that any thing had happened, was her first + difficulty. She looked in her glass to see whether there was any + alteration in her face; none that she could see, but she was no judge. + “How foolish to think so much about it all!” She dressed, and between + times inquired from her maid if she had heard of any change in Lady + Davenant’s intentions of going. Had any counter-orders about the carriage + been given? None; it was ordered to be at the door by twelve o’clock. + “That was well,” Helen said to herself. It would all soon be over. Lady + Davenant would be safe, then she could bear all the rest; next she hoped, + that any perturbation or extraordinary emotion in herself would not be + observed in the hurry of departure, or would be thought natural at parting + with Lady Davenant. “So then, I come at every turn to some little deceit,” + thought she, “and I must, I must!” and she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “It is a sad thing for you, ma’am, Lady Davenant’s going away,” said her + maid. + </p> + <p> + Helen sighed again. “Very sad indeed.” Suddenly a thought darted into her + mind, that the whole danger might be avoided. A hope came that the general + might not open the packet before Lady Davenant’s departure, in which case + Cecilia could not expect that she should abide by her promise, as it was + only conditional. It had been made really on her mother’s account; Cecilia + had said that if once her mother was safe out of the house, she could + then, and she would the very next day tell the whole to her husband. Helen + sprang from under the hands of her maid as she was putting up her hair + behind, and ran to Cecilia’s dressing-room, but she was not there. It was + now her usual time for coming, and Helen left open the door between them, + that she might go to her before Felicie should be rung for. She waited + impatiently, but no Cecilia came. The time, to her impatience, seemed + dreadfully long. But her maid observed, that as her ladyship had not been + well yesterday, it was no wonder she was later this morning than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Very true, but there is somebody coming along the gallery now, see if + that is Lady Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am, Mademoiselle Felicie.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle Felicie said ditto to Helen’s own maid, and, moreover, + supposed her lady might not have slept well. Just then, one little + peremptory knock at the door was heard. + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu! C’est Monsieur le Général!” exclaimed Felicie. + </p> + <p> + It was so—Felicie went to the door and returned with the general’s + compliments to Miss Stanley, and he begged to see her as soon as it might + suit her convenience in the library, before she went into the + breakfast-room, and after she should have seen Lady Cecilia, who wished to + see her immediately. + </p> + <p> + Helen found Lady Cecilia in bed, looking as if she had been much agitated, + two spots of carnation colour high up in her cheeks, a well-known sign in + her of great emotion. “Helen!” she cried, starting up the moment Helen + came in, “he has opened the packet, and you see me alive. But I do believe + I should have died, when it came to the point, but for you—dearest + Helen, I should have been, and still but for you I must be, undone—and + my mother—oh! if he had gone to her!” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened, tell me clearly, my dear Cecilia, and quickly, for I + must go to General Clarendon; he has desired to see me as soon as I can + after seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know,” said Cecilia, “but he will allow time, and you had + better be some time with me, for he thinks I have all to explain to you + this morning—and so I have, a great deal to say to you; sit down—quietly—Oh + if you knew how I have been agitated, I am hardly able yet tell anything + rightly.” She threw herself back on the pillows, and drew a long breath, + as if to relieve the oppression of mind and body. “Now I think I can tell + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do, my dear Cecilia—all—pray do! and exactly—oh, + Cecilia, tell me all.” + </p> + <p> + “Every word, every look, to the utmost, as far as I can recollect, as if + you had been present. Give me your hand, Helen, how cool you are—delightful! + but how you tremble!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Helen; “but how burning hot your hand is!” + </p> + <p> + “No matter. If ever I am well or happy again in this world, Helen, I shall + owe it to you. After I left you I found the general fast asleep, I do not + believe he had ever awoke—I lay awake for hours, till past five + o’clock in the morning, I was wide awake—feverish. But can you + conceive it? just then, when I was most anxious to be awake, when I knew + there was but one hour—not so much, till he would awake and read + that packet, I felt an irresistible sleepiness come over me; I turned and + turned, and tried to keep my eyes open, and pulled and pinched my fingers. + But all would not do, and I fell asleep, dreaming that I was awake, and + how long I slept I cannot tell you, so deep, so dead asleep I must have + been; but the instant I did awake, I started up and drew back the curtain, + and I saw—oh, Helen! there was Clarendon dressed—standing with + his arms folded—a letter open hanging from his hand. His eyes were + fixed upon me, waiting, watching for my first look: he saw me glance at + the letter in his hand, and then at the packet on the table near the bed. + For an instant neither of us spoke: I could not, nor exclaim even; but + surprised, terrified, he must have seen I was. As I leaned forward, + holding by the curtains, he pulled one of them suddenly back, threw open + the shutters, and the full glare was upon my face. I shut my eyes—I + could not help it—and shrank; but, gathering strength from absolute + terror of his silence, I spoke: I asked, ‘For Heaven’s sake! Clarendon, + what is the matter? Why do you look so?’ + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that look of his! still fixed on me—the same as I once saw + before we were married—once, and but once, when he came from my + mother to me about this man. Well! I put my hands before my eyes; he + stepped forward, drew them down, and placed the open letter before me, and + then asked me, in a terrible sort of suppressed voice, ‘Cecilia, whose + writing is this?’ + </p> + <p> + “The writing was before my eyes, but I literally could not see it—it + was all a sort of maze. He saw I could not read it, and calmly bade me + ‘Take time—examine—is it a forgery?’ + </p> + <p> + “A forgery!—that had never crossed my mind, and for an instant I was + tempted to say it was; but quickly I saw that would not do: there was the + miniature, and that could not be a forgery. ‘No,’ I answered, ‘I do not + think it is a forgery.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What then?’ said he, so hastily that I could hardly hear; and before I + could think what to answer, he said, ‘I must see Lady Davenant.’ He + stepped towards the bell; I threw myself upon his arm—‘Good Heavens! + do not, Clarendon, if you are not out of your senses.’ ‘I am not out of my + senses, Cecilia, I am perfectly calm; answer me, one word only—is + this your writing? Oh! my dear Helen, then it was that you saved me.’” + </p> + <p> + “I!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, forgive me, Helen, I answered, ‘There is a handwriting so like, that + you never can tell it from mine. Ask me no more, Clarendon,’ I said. + </p> + <p> + “I saw a flash of light, as it were, come across his face—it was + hope—but still it was not certainty. I saw this: oh! how quick one + sees. He pointed to the first words of the letter, held his finger under + them, and his hand trembled—think of his hand trembling! ‘Read,’ he + said, and I read. How I brought myself to pronounce the words, I cannot + imagine. I read what, as I hope for mercy, I had no recollection of ever + having written—‘My dear, too dear Henry.’ ‘Colonel D’Aubigny?’ said + the general. I answered, ‘Yes.’ He looked astonished at my self-possession—and + so was I. For another instant his finger rested, pressing down there under + the words, and his eyes on my face, as if he would have read into my soul. + ‘Ask me no more,’ I repeated, scarcely able to speak; and something I + said, I believe, about honour and not betraying you. He turned to the + signature, and, putting his hand down upon it, asked, ‘What name is signed + to this letter?’ I answered, I have seen—I know—I believe it + is ‘Emma.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You knew then of this correspondence?’ was his next question. I + confessed I did. He said that was wrong, ‘but quite a different affair’ + from having been engaged in it myself, or some such word. His countenance + cleared; that pale look of the forehead, the fixed purpose of the eye, + changed. Oh! I could see—I understood it all with half a glance—saw + the natural colour coming back, and tenderness for me returning—yet + some doubt lingering still. He stood, and I heard some half-finished + sentences. He said that you must have been very young at that time; I + said, ‘Yes, very young:’—‘And the man was a most artful man,’ he + observed; I said. ‘Yes, very artful.’ That was true, I am sure. Clarendon + then recollected that you showed some emotion one day when Colonel + D’Aubigny was first mentioned—at that time, you know, when we heard + of his death. I said nothing. The general went on: ‘I could hardly have + believed all this of Helen Stanley,’ he said. He questioned no farther:—and + oh! Helen, what do you think I did next? but it was the only thing left me + to put an end to doubts, which, to <i>me</i>, must have been fatal—forgive + me, Helen!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what you did,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Cannot you guess?” + </p> + <p> + “You told him positively that I wrote the letters?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not so bad, I never said that downright falsehood—no, I could + not; but I did almost as bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray tell me at once, my dear Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, in the first place, I stretched out my hand for the whole packet of + letters which lay on the table untouched.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he put them into my hands and said, ‘There is no direction on these + but to myself, I have not looked at any of them except this, which in + ignorance I first opened; I have not read one word of any of the others.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Helen; “and what did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I said I was not going to read any of the letters, that I was only + looking for—now, Helen, you know—I told you there was + something hard in the parcel, something more than papers, I was sure what + it must be—the miniature—the miniature of you, which I + painted, you know, that I might have it when you were gone, and which <i>he</i> + stole, and pretended before my mother to be admiring as your likeness, but + he kept it only because it was my painting. I opened the paper in which it + was folded; Clarendon darted upon it—‘It is Helen!’ and then he + said. ‘How like! how beautiful! how unworthy of that man!’ + </p> + <p> + “But, oh, Helen, think of what an escape I had next. There was my name—my + initials C. D. at the bottom of the picture, as the painter; and that + horrible man, not content with his initials opposite to mine, had on the + back written at full length, ‘For Henry D’Aubigny.’—Clarendon looked + at it, and said between his teeth. ‘He is dead.’—‘Thank God!’ said + I. + </p> + <p> + “Then he asked me, how I came to paint this picture for that man; I + answered—oh how happy then it was for me that I could tell the whole + truth about that at least!—I answered that I did not do the picture + for Colonel D’Aubigny; that it never was given to him; that he stole it + from my portfolio, and that we both did what we could to get it back again + from him, but could not. And that you even wanted me to tell my mother, + but of that I was afraid; and Clarendon said, ‘You were wrong there, my + dear Cecilia.’ + </p> + <p> + “I was so touched when I heard him call me his dear Cecilia again, and in + his own dear voice, that I burst into tears. That was a great relief to + me, and I kept saying over and over again, that I was wrong—very + wrong indeed! and then he kneeled down beside me, and I so felt his + tenderness, his confiding love for me—for me, unworthy as I am.” The + tears streamed from Lady Cecilia’s eyes as she spoke—“Quite + unworthy!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, not quite unworthy,” said Helen; “my poor dear Cecilia, what you + must have felt!” + </p> + <p> + “Once!” continued Cecilia—“once! Helen, as my head was lying on his + shoulder, my face hid, I felt so much love, so much remorse, and knowing I + had done nothing really bad, I was tempted to whisper all in his ear. I + felt I should be so much happier for ever—ever—if I could!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh that you had! my dear Cecilia, I would give anything upon earth for + your sake, that you had.” + </p> + <p> + “Helen, I could not—I could not. It was too late, I should have been + undone if I had breathed but a word. When he even suspected the truth! + that look—that voice was so terrible. To see it—hear it again! + I could not—oh, Helen, it would have been utter ruin—madness. + I grant you, my dear Helen, it might have been done at first, before I was + married; oh would to heaven it had! but it is useless thinking of that + now. Helen, my whole earthly happiness is in your hands, this is all I + have to say, may I—may I depend on you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, depend upon me, my dearest Cecilia,” said Helen; “now let me + go.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia held her one instant longer, to say that she had asked + Clarendon to leave it to her to return the letters, “to save you the + embarrassment, my dearest Helen; but he answered he must do this himself, + and I did not dare to press the matter; but you need not be alarmed, he + will be all gentleness to you, he said, ‘it is so different.’ Do not be + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid for myself?” said Helen; “oh no—rest, dear Cecilia, and let + me go.” + </p> + <p> + “Go then, go,” cried Cecilia; “but for you what would become of my mother!—of + me!—you save us all.” + </p> + <p> + Believing this, Helen hastened to accomplish her purpose; resolved to go + through with it, whatever it might cost; her scruples vanished, and she + felt a sort of triumphant pleasure in the courage of sacrificing herself. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + General Clarendon was sitting in the music-room, within the library, the + door open, so that he could see Helen the moment she came in, and that + moment he threw down his book as he rose, and their eyes met: hers fell + beneath his penetrating glance; he came forward immediately to meet her, + with the utmost gentleness and kindness in his whole appearance and + manner, took her hand, and, drawing her arm within his, said, in the most + encouraging voice, “Consider me as your brother, Helen; you know you have + allowed me so to feel for you, and so, believe me, I do feel.” + </p> + <p> + This kindness quite overcame her, and she burst into tears. He hurried her + across the library, into the inner room, seated her, and when he had + closed the door, stood beside her, and began, as if he had been to blame, + to apologise for himself. + </p> + <p> + “You must have been surprised at my having opened letters which did not + belong to me, but there was no direction, no indication that could stop + me. They were simply in a cover directed to me. The purpose of whoever + sent them must have been to make me read them; the ultimate purpose was, I + doubt not, to ruin Lady Cecilia Clarendon in my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Or me,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Stanley, no, that at all events cannot be,” said the general. + “Supposing the letters to be acknowledged by you, still it would be quite + a different affair. But in the first place look at them, they may be + forgeries. You will tell me if they are forgeries?” + </p> + <p> + And he placed the packet in her hands. Scarcely looking at the writing, + she answered, “No, forgeries I am sure they are not.” The general looked + again at the direction of the cover, and observed, “This is a feigned + hand. Whose can it be?” + </p> + <p> + Helen was on the brink of saying that Cecilia had told her it was like the + writing of Carlos. Now this cover had not, to the general’s knowledge, + been seen by Cecilia, and that one answer might have betrayed all that she + was to conceal, for he would instantly have asked how and when did Cecilia + see it, and the cause of her fainting would have been then understood by + him. Such hazards in every, even the first, least, step in falsehood; such + hazard in this first moment! But she escaped this peril, and Helen + answered: “It is something like the writing of the page Carlos, but I do + not think all that direction is his. There seem to be two different hands. + I do not know, indeed, how it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Some time or other it will come out,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “I will keep this cover, it will lead to the direction of that boy, or of + whoever it was that employed him.” + </p> + <p> + To give her further time the general went on looking at the miniature, + which he held in his hand. “This is a beautiful likeness,” said he, “and + not ill painted—by Cecilia, was not it?” + </p> + <p> + Helen looked at it, and answered, “Yes, by Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad it is safe,” said the general, “restored—Cecilia told me + the history. I know that it was stolen, not given by you.” + </p> + <p> + “Given!” said Helen. “Oh no! stolen.” + </p> + <p> + “Base!” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “He was base,” answered Helen. + </p> + <p> + General Clarendon held in his hand, along with the picture, one letter + separated from the rest, open; he looked at it as if embarrassed, while + Helen spoke the last words, and he repeated, “Base! yes, he certainly was, + or he would have destroyed these letters.” + </p> + <p> + Again Helen was on the point of saying that Colonel D’Aubigny had told + Cecilia he had done so, but fortunately her agitation, in default of + presence of mind, kept her silent. + </p> + <p> + “This is the first letter I opened,” said the general, “before I was aware + that they were not what I should read. I saw only the first words, I + thought then that I had a right to read them. When these letters met my + eyes, I conceived them to have been written by my wife. I had a right to + satisfy myself respecting the nature of the correspondence; that done, I + looked no farther. I bore my suspense—I waited till she awoke.” + </p> + <p> + “So she told me, Cecilia has told me all; but even if she had not, in any + circumstances who could doubt your honour, General Clarendon?” + </p> + <p> + “Then trust to it, Miss Stanley, for the past, for the future, trust to + it! You gratify me more than I can express—you do me justice. I + wished to return these letters to you with, my own hand,” continued he, + “to satisfy myself, in the first place, that there was no mistake. Of that + your present candour, indeed, the first look of that ingenuous + countenance, was sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + Helen felt that she blushed all over. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me for distressing you, my dear Helen. It was a matter in which a + man MUST be selfish,<i> must</i> in point of honour, <i>must</i> in point + of feeling, I owe to your candour not merely relief from what I could not + endure and live, but relief from suspicion,—suspicion of the truth + of one dearer to me than life.” + </p> + <p> + Helen sat as if she had been transfixed. + </p> + <p> + “I owe to you,” continued he, “the happiness of my whole future life.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am happy,” cried Helen, “happy in this, at all events, whatever + may become of me.” + </p> + <p> + She had not yet raised her eyes towards the general; she felt as if her + first look must betray Cecilia; but she now tried to fix her eyes upon him + as he looked anxiously at her, and she said, “thank you, thank you, + General Clarendon! Oh, thank you for all the kindness you have shown me; + but I am the more grieved, it makes me more sorry to sink quite in your + esteem.” + </p> + <p> + “To sink! You do not: your candour, your truth raises you——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do not say that——” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” repeated the general, “and you may believe me. I am incapable of + deceiving you—this is no matter of compliment. Between friend and + friend I should count a word, a look of falsehood, treason.” + </p> + <p> + Helen’s tears stopped, and, without knowing what she did, she began + hastily to gather up the packet of letters which she had let fall; the + general assisted her in putting them into her bag, and she closed the + strings, thanked him, and was rising, when he went on—“I beg your + indulgence while I say a few words of myself.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down again immediately. “Oh! as many as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I may say I am not of a jealous temper.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you are not,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you,” said the general. “May I ask on what your opinion is + founded?” + </p> + <p> + “On what has now passed, and on all that I have heard from Lady Davenant.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed. “You may have heard then, from Lady Davenant, of some + unfortunate circumstances in my own and in a friend’s family which + happened a short time before my marriage?” + </p> + <p> + Helen said she had. + </p> + <p> + “And of the impression these circumstances made on my mind, my consequent + resolve never to marry a woman who had ever had any previous attachment?” + </p> + <p> + Helen was breathless at hearing all this repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Were you informed of these particulars?” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Helen, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “I am not asking, Miss Stanley, whether you approved of my resolution; + simply whether you heard of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s well. It was on an understanding between Cecilia and myself on + this point, that I married. Did you know this?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Some words,” continued the general, “once fell from Lady Davenant + concerning this Colonel D’Aubigny which alarmed me. Cecilia satisfied me + that her mother was mistaken. Cecilia solemnly assured me that she had + never loved him.” The general paused. + </p> + <p> + Helen, conceiving that he waited for and required her opinion, replied, + “So I always thought—so I often told Lady Davenant.” But at this + moment recollecting the words at the beginning of that letter, “My dear, + too dear Henry,” Helen’s voice faltered. The general saw her confusion, + but attributed it to her own consciousness. “Had Lady Davenant not been + mistaken,” resumed he, “that is to say had there ever been—as might + have happened not unnaturally—had there ever been an attachment; in + short, had Cecilia ever loved him, and told me so, I am convinced that + such truth and candour would have satisfied me, would have increased—as + I now feel—increased my esteem. I am at this moment convinced that, + in spite of my declared resolution, I should in perfect confidence, have + married.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh that Cecilia had but told him!” thought Helen. + </p> + <p> + “I should not, my dear Miss Stanley,” continued the general, “have thus + taken up your time talking of myself, had I not an important purpose in + view. I was desirous to do away in your mind the idea of my great + strictness—not on my own account, but on yours, I wished to dispel + this notion. Now you will no longer, I trust, apprehend that my esteem for + you is diminished. I assure you I can make allowances.” + </p> + <p> + She was shocked at the idea of allowances, yet thanked him for his + indulgence, and she could hardly refrain from again bursting into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Still by your agitation I see you are afraid of me,” said he, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “No indeed; not afraid of you, but shocked at what you must think of me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not surprised, but sorry to see that the alarm I gave my poor + Cecilia this morning has passed from her mind into yours. To her I must + have appeared harsh: I <i>was</i> severe; but when I thought I had been + deceived, duped, can you wonder?” + </p> + <p> + Helen turned her eyes away. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Miss Stanley, why will not you distinguish? the cases are + essentially different. Nine out of ten of the young ladies who marry in + these countries do not marry the first object of their fancy, and whenever + there is, as there will be, I am sure, in your case, perfect candour, I do + not apprehend the slightest danger to the happiness of either party. On + the contrary, I should foretell an increase of esteem and love. Beauclerc + has often——” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc’s voice was at this instant heard in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Compose yourself, my dear Miss Stanley—this way,” said the general, + opening a door into the conservatory, for he heard Beauclerc’s step now in + the library. The general followed Helen as she left the room, and touching + the bag that contained the letters, said, + </p> + <p> + “Remember, whatever may be your hurry, lock this up first.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” answered she; “I will, I will!” and she hastened on, and in a + moment she was safe across the hall and upstairs, without meeting any one, + and in her own room, and the bag locked up in her cabinet. Lady Davenant’s + bell rang as she went to her apartment; she looked in at Cecilia, who + started up in her bed. + </p> + <p> + “All is over,” said Helen, “all is well. I have the letters locked up; I + cannot stay.” + </p> + <p> + Helen disengaged herself almost forcibly from Cecilia’s embrace, and she + was in Lady Davenant’s room in another minute. She bade her good morning + as composedly as she could, she thought quite as usual. But that was + impossible: so much the better, for it would not have been natural this + last morning of Lady Davenant’s stay, when nothing was as usual externally + or internally. All was preparation for departure—her maids packing—Lady + Davenant, making some last arrangements—in the midst of which she + stopped to notice Helen—pressed her in her arms, and after looking + once in her face, said, “My poor child! it must be so.” + </p> + <p> + Elliott interrupted, asking some question, purposely to draw off her + attention; and while she turned about to give some orders to another + servant, Elliott said to Miss Stanley, “My Lady was not well last night; + she must be kept from all that can agitate her, as much as possible.” + </p> + <p> + Helen at that instant rejoiced that she had done what she had. She agreed + with Elliott, she said, that all emotion which could be avoided should; + and upon this principle busied herself, and was glad to employ herself in + whatever she could to assist the preparations, avoiding all conversation + with Lady Davenant. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, my love—quite right,” said Lady Davenant. “The best + way is always to employ one’s self always to the last. Yes, put up those + drawings carefully, in this portfolio, Elliott; take silver paper, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + They were Helen’s own drawings, so all went on, and all was safe—even + when Cecilia was spoken of; while the silver paper went over the drawings, + Helen answered that she had seen her. “She was not well, but still not + seriously ill, though—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lady Davenant; “only the general is too anxious about her—very + naturally. He sent me word just now,” continued she, “that he has + forbidden her to get up before breakfast. I will go and see her now; dear + Cecilia! I hope she will do well—every way—I feel sure of it, + Helen—sure as you do yourself, my dear—But what is the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” said Helen. That was not quite true; but she could not help it—“Nothing!” + repeated she. “Only I am anxious, my dear Lady Davenant,” continued poor + Helen blundering, unaccustomed to evasions—“only I am very anxious + you should go soon to Cecilia; I know she is awake now, and you will be + hurried after breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + Elliott looked reproachfully at Miss Stanley, for she thought it much + better for her lady to be engaged in more indifferent matters till after + breakfast, when she would have but a few minutes to spend with her + daughter; so Helen, correcting herself, added—“But, perhaps I’m + wrong, so do not let me interrupt you in whatever you are doing.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” said Lady Davenant; “you do not know what you are saying + or doing yourself this morning.” + </p> + <p> + But no suspicion was excited in her mind, as she accounted for Helen’s + perturbation by the sorrow of their approaching separation, and by the + hurry of her spirits at Beauclerc’s arrival the day before. And then came + the meeting the general at breakfast, which Helen dreaded; but so + composed, so impenetrable was he that she could hardly believe that + anything could have occurred that morning to agitate him. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant, after being with her daughter, came to take leave of Helen, + and said gravely, “Helen! remember what I said of Cecilia’s truth, my + trust is in you. Remember, if I never see you again, by all the love and + esteem I bear you, and all which you feel for me, remember this my last + request—prayer—adjuration to you, support, save Cecilia!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the general came to announce that the carriage was ready; + promptly he led her away, handed her in and the order to “drive on,” was + given. Lady Davenant’s last look, her last anxious smile, was upon Helen + and Beauclerc as they stood beside each other on the steps, and she was + gone. + </p> + <p> + Helen was so excessively agitated that Beauclerc did not attempt to detain + her from hurrying to her own room, where she sat down, and endeavoured to + compose herself. She repeated Lady Davenant’s last words, “Support, save + Cecilia,” and, unlocking the cabinet in which she had deposited the fatal + letters, she seized the bag that contained them, and went immediately to + Cecilia. She was in her dressing-room, and the general sitting beside her + on the sofa, upon which she was resting. He was sitting directly opposite + to Helen as she entered; she started at the sight of him: his eye + instantly fell upon the bag, and she felt her face suddenly flush. He took + out his watch, said he had an appointment, and was gone before Helen + raised her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest friend, come to me, come close to me,” cried Cecilia, and + throwing her arms round Helen, she said, “Oh, I am the happiest creature + now!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that I am, and I thank you for it; how much I thank you, Helen, it + is impossible to express, and better I love you than anything upon earth + but Clarendon himself, my best friend, my generous Helen. Oh, Clarendon + has been so kind, so very kind! so sorry for having alarmed me! He is a + noble, charming creature. I love him a thousand times better than I ever + did, am happier than I ever was! and all this I owe to you, dearest Helen. + But I cannot get your eyes from that bag,—what have you there?” + </p> + <p> + “The letters,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “The letters!” exclaimed Cecilia, springing up, “give them to me,” seizing + and opening the bag. “Oh that dreadful perfume! Helen open the window, and + bolt the door, my dear—both doors.” + </p> + <p> + While Helen was doing so, Cecilia struck one little quick blow on a + taper-lighter; it flared, and when Helen turned, one of the letters was in + flames, and Cecilia continued feeding the flame with them as fast as ever + it could devour. + </p> + <p> + “Burn! burn! there, there!” cried she, “I would not look at any one of + them again for the world; I know no more what is in them than if I had + never written them, except those horrid, horrid words Clarendon saw and + showed me. I cannot bear to think of it. There now,” continued she, as + they burned, “no one can ever know anything more about the matter: how + glad I am to see them burning!—burnt! safe! The smell will go off in + a minute or two. It is going,—yes, gone! is not it? Now we may + breathe freely. But you look as if you did not know whether you were glad + or sorry, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it was right; the general advised me to lock, them up,” said + Helen, “but then—” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? how thoughtful of him! But better to burn them at once; I am sure + it was not my fault that they were not long ago destroyed. I was assured + by that abominable man—but no matter, we will never think of him + again. It is done now—no, not completely yet,” said she, looking + close at the half white, half black burnt paper, in which words, and whole + lines still appeared in shrunken but yet quite legible characters. “One + cannot be too careful,” and she trampled on the burnt paper, and scattered + the cinders. Helen was anxious to speak, she had something important to + say, but hesitated; she saw that Cecilia’s thoughts were so far from what + she wanted to speak of that she could not instantly say it; she could not + bear to overturn all Cecilia’s present happiness, and yet, said to + herself, I must—I must—or what may happen hereafter? Then + forcing herself to speak, she began, “Your mother is safe now, Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, and thank you, thank you for that—” + </p> + <p> + “Then now, Cecilia—your promise.” + </p> + <p> + “My promise!” Lady Cecilia’s eyes opened in unfeigned astonishment. “What + promise?—Oh, I recollect, I promised—did I?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Cecilia, surely you cannot have forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “How was it?” + </p> + <p> + “You know the reason I consented was to prevent the danger of any shock to + Lady Davenant.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know, but what did I promise?” + </p> + <p> + The words had in reality passed Lady Cecilia’s lips at the time without + her at all considering them as a promise, only as a means of persuasion to + bring Helen to her point. + </p> + <p> + “What did I promise?” repeated she. “You said, ‘As soon as my mother is + safe, as soon as she is gone, I will tell my husband all,’—Cecilia, + you cannot forget what you promised.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, now I remember it perfectly, but I did not mean so soon. I never + imagined you would claim it so soon: but some time I certainly will tell + him all.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not put it off, dearest Cecilia. It must be done—let it be done + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “To-day!” Lady Cecilia almost screamed. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you why,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “To-day!” repeated Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “If we let the present <i>now</i> pass,” continued Helen, “we shall lose + both the power and the opportunity, believe me.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not the power, Helen, and I do not know what you mean by the + opportunity,” said Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “We have a reason now to give General Clarendon—a true good reason, + for what we have done.” + </p> + <p> + “Reason!” cried Lady Cecilia, “what can you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “That it was to prevent danger to your mother, and now she is safe; and if + you tell him directly, he will see this was, really so.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true; but I cannot—wait till to-morrow, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Every day will make it more difficult. The deception will be greater, and + less pardonable. If we delay, it will become deliberate falsehood, a sort + of conspiracy between us,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Conspiracy! Oh, Helen, do not use such a shocking word, when it is really + nothing at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not tell it?” urged Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Because, though it is nothing at all in reality, yet Clarendon would + think it dreadful—though I have done nothing really wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “So I say—so I know,” cried Helen; “therefore——” + </p> + <p> + “Therefore let me take my own time,” said Cecilia. “How can you urge me + so, hurrying me so terribly, and when I am but just recovered from one + misery, and when you had made me so happy, and when I was thanking you + with all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + Helen was much moved, but answered as steadily as she could. “It seems + cruel, but indeed I am not cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “When you had raised me up,” continued Cecilia, “to dash me down again, + and leave me worse than ever!” + </p> + <p> + “Not worse—no, surely not worse, when your mother is safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, safe, thank you—but oh, Helen, have you no feeling for your + own Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + “The greatest,” answered Helen; and her tears said the rest. + </p> + <p> + “You, Helen! I never could have thought you would have urged me so!” + </p> + <p> + “O Cecilia! if you knew the pain it was to me to make you unhappy again,—but + I assure you it is for your own sake. Dearest Cecilia, let me tell you all + that General Clarendon said about it, and then you will know my reasons.” + She repeated as quickly as she could, all that had passed between her and + the general, and when she came to this declaration that, if Cecilia had + told him plainly the fact before, he would have married with perfect + confidence, and, as he believed, with increased esteem and love: Cecilia + started up from the sofa on which she had thrown herself, and exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “O that I had but known this at the time, and I <i>would</i> have told + him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is still time,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Time now?—impossible. His look this morning. Oh! that look!” + </p> + <p> + “But what is one look, my dear Cecilia, compared with a whole life of + confidence and happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “A life of happiness! never, never for me; in that way at least, never.” + </p> + <p> + “In that way and no other, Cecilia, believe me. I am certain you never + could endure to go on concealing this, living with him you love so, yet + deceiving him.” + </p> + <p> + “Deceiving! do not call it deceiving, it is only suppressing a fact that + would give him pain; and when he can have no suspicion, why give him that + pain? I am afraid of nothing now but this timidity of yours—this + going back. Just before you came in, Clarendon was saying how much he + admired your truth and candour, how much he is obliged to you for saving + him from endless misery; he said so to me, that was what made me so + completely happy. I saw that it was all right for you as well as me, that + you had not sunk, that you had risen in his esteem.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must sink, Cecilia, in his esteem, and now it hangs upon a single + point—upon my doing what I cannot do.” Then she repeated what the + general had said about that perfect openness which he was sure there would + be in this case between her and Beauclerc. “You see what the general + expects that I should do.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cecilia; and then indeed she looked much disturbed. “I am very + sorry that this notion of your telling Beauclerc came into Clarendon’s + head—very, very sorry, for he will not forget it. And yet, after + all,” continued she, “he will never ask you point blank, ‘Have you told + Beauclerc?’—and still more impossible that he should ask Beauclerc + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia!” said Helen, “if it were only for myself I would say no more; + there is nothing I would not endure—that I would not sacrifice—even + my utmost happiness.”—She stopped, and blushed deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dearest Helen! do you think I could let you ever hazard that? If I + thought there was the least chance of injuring you with Granville!—I + would do any thing—I would throw myself at Clarendon’s feet this + instant.” + </p> + <p> + “This instant—I wish he was here,” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens! do you?” cried Lady Cecilia, looking at the door with + terror—she thought she heard his step. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you would but tell him—O let me call him!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, no! Spare me—spare me, I cannot speak now. I could not utter + the words; I should not know what words to use. Tell him if you will, I + cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “May I tell him?” said Helen, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “No, no—that would be worse; if anybody tells him it must be + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will now—when he comes in?” + </p> + <p> + “He is coming!” cried Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + General Clarendon came to the door—it was bolted. + </p> + <p> + “In a few minutes,” said Helen. Lady Cecilia did not speak, but listened, + as in agony, to his receding footsteps. + </p> + <p> + “In a few minutes, Helen, did you say?—then there is nothing for me + now, but to die—I wish I could die—I wish I was dead.” + </p> + <p> + Helen felt she was cruel, she began to doubt her own motives; she thought + she had been selfish in urging Cecilia too strongly; and, going to her + kindly, she said, “Take your own time, my dear Cecilia: only tell him—tell + him soon.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will indeed, when I can—but now I am quite exhausted.” + </p> + <p> + “You are indeed,” said Helen, “how cruel I have been!—how pale you + are!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia lay down on the sofa, and Helen covered her with a soft India + shawl, trembling so much herself that she could hardly stand. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, thank you, dear, kind Helen; tell him I am going to sleep, and + I am sure I hope I shall.” + </p> + <p> + Helen closed the shutters—she had now done all she could; she feared + she had done too much; and as she left the room, she said to herself,—“Oh, + Lady Davenant! if you could see—if you knew—what it cost me!” + </p> + <h3> + END OF VOLUME THE SECOND + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOLUME THE THIRD. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + The overwrought state of Helen’s feelings was relieved by a walk with + Beauclerc, not in the dressed part of the park, but in what was generally + undiscovered country: a dingle, a bosky dell, which he had found out in + his rambles, and which, though so little distant from the busy hum of men, + had a wonderful air of romantic seclusion and stillness—the + stillness of evening. The sun had not set; its rich, red light yet + lingered on the still remaining autumn tints upon the trees. The birds + hopped fearlessly from bough to bough, as if this sweet spot were all + their own. The cattle were quietly grazing below, or slowly winding their + way to the watering-place. By degrees, the sounds of evening faded away + upon the ear; a faint chirrup here and there from the few birds not yet + gone to roost, and now only the humming of the flies over the water were + to be heard. + </p> + <p> + It was perfect repose, and Beauclerc and Helen sat down on the bank to + enjoy it together. The sympathy of the woman he loved, especially in his + enjoyment of the beauties of nature, was to Beauclerc an absolute + necessary of life. Nor would he have been contented with that show taste + for the picturesque, which is, as he knew, merely one of a modern young + lady’s many accomplishments. Helen’s taste was natural, and he was glad to + feel it so true, and for him here alone expressed with such peculiar + heightened feeling, as if she had in all nature now a new sense of + delight. He had brought her here, in hopes that she would be struck with + this spot, not only because it was beautiful in itself, and his discovery, + but because it was like another bushy dell and bosky bourne, of which he + had been from childhood fond, in another place, of which he hoped she + would soon be mistress. “Soon! very soon, Helen!” he repeated, in a tone + which could not be heard by her with indifference. He said that some of + his friends in London told him that the report of their intended union had + been spread everywhere—(by Lady Katrine Hawksby probably, as + Cecilia, when Lady Castlefort departed, had confided to her, to settle her + mind about Beauclerc, that he was coming over as Miss Stanley’s + acknowledged lover). And since the report had been so spread, the sooner + the marriage took place the better; at least, it was a plea which + Beauclerc failed not to urge, and Helen’s delicacy failed not to feel. + </p> + <p> + She sighed—she smiled. The day was named—and the moment she + consented to be his, nothing could be thought of but him. Yet, even while + he poured out all his soul—while he enjoyed the satisfaction there + is in perfect unreservedness of confidence, Helen felt a pang mix with her + pleasure. She felt there was one thing <i>she</i> could <i>not</i> tell + him: he who had told her every thing—all his faults, and follies. + “Oh! why,” thought she, “why cannot I tell him every thing? I, who have no + secrets of my own—why should I be forced to keep the secrets of + another?” In confusion, scarcely finished, these ideas came across her + mind, and she sighed deeply. Beauclerc asked why, and she could not tell + him! She was silent; and he did not reiterate the indiscreet question. He + was sure she thought of Lady Davenant; and he now spoke of the regret he + felt that she could not be present at their marriage, and Lord Davenant + too! Beauclerc said he had hoped that Lord Davenant, who loved Helen as if + she were his own daughter, would have been the person to act as her father + at the ceremony. But the general, his friend and her’s, would now, + Beauclerc said, give her to him; and would, he was sure, take pleasure in + thus publicly marking his approbation of his ward’s choice. + </p> + <p> + They rose, and going on down the path to the river’s side, they reached a + little cove where he had moored his boat, and they returned home by water—the + moon just visible, the air so still; all so placid, so delightful, and + Beauclerc so happy, that she could not but be happy; yes—quite happy + too. They reached the shore just as the lamps were lighting in the house. + As they went in, they met the general, who said, “In good time;” and he + smiled on Helen as she passed. + </p> + <p> + “It is all settled,” whispered Beauclerc to him; “and you are to give her + away.” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + As Helen went up-stairs, she said to herself, “I understand the general’s + smile; he thinks I have followed his advice; he thinks I have told all—and + I—I can only be silent.” + </p> + <p> + There was a great dinner party, but the general, not thinking Cecilia + quite equal to it, had engaged Mrs. Holdernesse, a relation of his own, to + do the honours of the day. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia came into the drawing-room in the evening; but, after paying + her compliments to the company, she gladly followed the general’s advice, + and retired to the music-room: Helen went with her, and Beauclerc + followed. Lady Cecilia sat down to play at ecarté with him, and Helen + tuned her harp. The general came in for a few minutes, he said, to escape + from two young ladies, who had talked him half dead about craniology. He + stood leaning on the mantelpiece, and looking over the game. Lady Cecilia + wanted counters, and she begged Beauclerc to look for some which she + believed he would find in the drawer of a table that was behind him. + Beauclerc opened the drawer, but no sooner had he done so, than, in + admiration of something he discovered there, he exclaimed, “Beautiful! + beautiful! and how like!” It was the miniature of Helen, and besides the + miniature, further back in the drawer, Lady Cecilia saw—how quick is + the eye of guilty fear!—could it be?—yes—one of the + fatal letters—<i>the</i> letter! Nothing but the picture had yet + been seen by the general or by Beauclerc: Lady Cecilia stretched behind + her husband, whose eyes were upon the miniature, and closed the drawer. It + was all she could do, it was impossible for her to reach the letter. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, holding the picture to the light, repeated, “Beautiful! who did + it? whom is it for? General, look! do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to be sure,” replied the general; “Miss Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + “You have seen it before?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the general, coldly. “It is very like. Who did it?” + </p> + <p> + “I did it,” cried Lady Cecilia, who now recovered her voice. + </p> + <p> + “You, my dear Lady Cecilia! Whom for? for me? is it for me?” + </p> + <p> + “For you? It may be, hereafter, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh thank you, my dear Lady Cecilia!” cried Beauclerc. + </p> + <p> + “If you behave well, perhaps,” added she. + </p> + <p> + The general heard in his wife’s tremulous tone, and saw in her half + confusion, half attempt at playfulness, only an amiable anxiety to save + her friend, and to give her time to recover from her dismay. He at once + perceived that Helen had not followed the course he had suggested; that + she had not told Beauclerc, and did not intend that he should be told the + whole truth. The general looked extremely grave; Beauclerc gave a glance + round the room. “Here is some mystery,” said he, now first seeing Helen’s + disconcerted countenance. Then he turned on the general a look of eager + inquiry. “Some mystery, certainly,” said he, “with which I am not to be + made acquainted?” + </p> + <p> + “If there be any mystery,” said the general, “with which you are not to be + made acquainted, I am neither the adviser nor abettor. Neither in jest nor + earnest am I ever an adviser of mystery.” + </p> + <p> + While her husband thus spoke, Lady Cecilia made another attempt to possess + herself of the letter. This time she rose decidedly, and, putting aside + the little ecarté table which was in her way, pressed forward to the + drawer, saying something about “counters.” Her Cachemere caught on Helen’s + harp, and, in her eager spring forward, it would have been overset, but + that the general felt, turned, and caught it. + </p> + <p> + “What are you about, my dear Cecilia?—what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing, thank you, my dear; nothing now.” + </p> + <p> + Then she did not dare to open the drawer, or to let him open it, and + anxiously drew away his attention by pointing to a footstool which she + seemed to want. + </p> + <p> + “Could not you ask me for it, my dear, without disturbing yourself? What + are men made for?” + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc, after a sort of absent effort to join in quest of the + footstool, had returned eagerly to the picture, and looking at it more + closely, he saw the letters C.D. written in small characters in one + corner; and, just as his eye turned to the other corner, Lady Cecilia, + recollecting what initials were there, started up and snatched it from his + hand. “Oh, Granville!” cried she, “you must not look at this picture any + more till I have done something to it.” Beauclerc was trying to catch + another look at it, when Cecilia cried out, “Take it, Helen! take it!” and + she held it up on high, but as she held it, though she turned the face + from him, she forgot, quite forgot that Colonel D’Aubigny had written his + name on the back of the picture; and there it was in distinct characters + such as could be plainly read at that height, “<i>For</i> Henry + D’Aubigny.” Beauclerc saw, and gave one glance at Helen. He made no + further attempt to reach the picture. Lady Cecilia, not aware of what he + had seen, repeated, “Helen! Helen! why don’t you take it?—now! now!” + </p> + <p> + Helen could not stir. The general took the picture from his wife’s hand, + gave it to Miss Stanley, without looking at her, and said to Lady Cecilia, + “Pray keep yourself quiet, Cecilia. You have done enough, too much to-day; + sit down,” said he, rolling her arm-chair close, and seating her. “Keep + yourself quiet, I beg.”—“I beg,” in the tone of “I insist.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down, but catching a view of Beauclerc was alarmed by his aspect—and + Helen! her head was bent down behind the harp. Lady Cecilia did not know + yet distinctly what had happened. The general pressed her to lean back on + the cushions which he was piling up behind her. Beauclerc made a step + towards Helen, but checking himself, he turned to the ecarté table. “Those + counters, after all, that we were looking for—” As he spoke he + pulled open the drawer. The general with his back to him was standing + before Lady Cecilia, she could not see what Beauclerc was doing, but she + heard the drawer open, and cried out. “Not there, Beauclerc; no counters + there—you need not look there.” But before she spoke, he had given a + sudden pull to the drawer, which brought it quite out, and all the + contents fell upon the floor, and there was the fatal letter, open, and + the words “<i>My dear, too dear Henry</i>” instantly met his eyes; he + looked no farther, but in that single glance the writing seemed to him to + be Lady Cecilia’s, and quick his eye turned upon her. She kept perfectly + quiet, and appeared to him perfectly composed. His eye then darted in + search of Helen; she had sunk upon a seat behind the harp. Through the + harp-strings he caught a glimpse of her face, all pale—crimsoned it + grew as he advanced: she rose instantly, took up the letter, and, without + speaking or looking at any one, tore it to pieces. Beauclerc in motionless + astonishment. Lady Cecilia breathed again. The general’s countenance + expressed “I interfere no farther.” He left the room; and Beauclerc, + without another look at Helen, followed him. + </p> + <p> + For some moments after Lady Cecilia and Helen were left alone, there was a + dead silence. Lady Cecilia sat with her eyes fixed upon the door through + which her husband and Beauclerc had passed. She thought that Beauclerc + might return; but when she found that he did not, she went to Helen, who + had covered her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest friend,” said Lady Cecilia, “thank you! thank you!—you + did the best that was possible!” + </p> + <p> + “O Cecilia!” exclaimed Helen, “to what have you exposed me?” + </p> + <p> + “How did it all happen?” continued Cecilia. “Why was not that letter burnt + with the rest? How came it there? Can you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” said Helen, “I cannot recollect.” But after some effort, + she remembered that in the morning, while the general had been talking to + her, she had in her confusion, when she took the packet, laid the picture + and that letter beside her on the arm of the chair. She had, in her hurry + of putting the other letters into her bag, forgotten this and the picture, + and she supposed that they had fallen between the chair and the wall, and + that they had been found and put into the table-drawer by one of the + servants. + </p> + <p> + Helen was hastening out of the room, Cecilia detained her. “Do not go, my + dear, for that would look as if you were guilty, and you know you are + innocent. At the first sound of your harp Beauclerc will return—only + command yourself for one hour or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will only be for an hour or two,” said Helen, brightening with + hope. “You will tell the general to-night Do you think Granville will come + back? Where is the harp key?—I dropped it—here it is.” She + began to tune the harp. Crack went one string—then another. “That is + lucky,” said Lady Cecilia, “it will give you something to do, my love, if + the people come in.” + </p> + <p> + The aide-de-camp entered. “I thought I heard harp-strings going,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Several!—yes,” said Lady Cecilia, standing full in his way. + </p> + <p> + “Inauspicious sounds for us! had omens for my embassy.—Mrs. + Holdernesse sent me.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Lady Cecilia, “and you will have the goodness to tell her + that Miss Stanley’s harp is unstrung.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I be of any use, Miss Stanley?” said he, moving towards the harp. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” cried Lady Cecilia, “you are in my service,—attend to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, Lady Cecilia! I did not hear what you said.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I complain of—hear me now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am all attention, I am sure. What are your commands?” + </p> + <p> + She gave him as many as his head could hold. A long message to Mrs. + Holdernesse, and to Miss Holdernesse and Miss Anna about their + music-books, which had been left in the carriage, and were to be sent for, + and duets to be played, and glees, for the major and Lady Anne Ruthven. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens! I cannot remember any more,” cried the aide-de-camp. + </p> + <p> + “Then go off, and say and do all that before you come back again,” said + Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “What amazing presence of mind you have!” said Helen. “How can you say so + much, and think of every thing!” + </p> + <p> + The aide-de-camp performed all her behests to admiration, and was rewarded + by promotion to the high office of turner-over general of the leaves of + the music books, an office requiring, as her ladyship remarked to Miss + Holdernesse, prompt eye and ear, and all his distinguished gallantry. By + such compliments she fixed him to the piano-forte, while his curiosity and + all his feelings, being subordinate to his vanity, were prevented from + straying to Miss Stanley and her harp-stringing, a work still doing—still + to do. + </p> + <p> + All the arrangement succeeded as Lady Cecilia’s arrangements usually did. + Helen heard the eternal buzz of conversation and the clang of instruments, + and then the harmony of music, all as in a dream, or as at the theatre, + when the thoughts are absent or the feelings preoccupied; and in this + dreamy state she performed the operation of putting in the harp-strings + quite well: and when she was at last called upon by Cecilia, who gave her + due notice and time, she sat and played automatically, without soul or + spirit—but so do so many others. It passed “charmingly,” till a door + softly opened behind her, and she saw the shadow on the wall, and some one + stood, and passed from behind her. There was an end of her playing; + however, from her just dread of making a scene, she commanded herself so + powerfully, that, except her timidity, nothing was observed by the + company, and that timidity was pitied by the good-natured Mrs. + Holdernesse, who said to her daughter, “Anne, we must not press Miss + Stanley any more; she, who is always so obliging, is tired now.” She then + made way for Helen to pass, who, thanking her with such a look as might be + given for a life saved, quitted the harp, and the crowd, closing behind + her, happily thought of her no more. She retreated to the darkest part of + the room, and sat down. She did not dare to look towards what she most + wished to see. Her eyes were fixed upon the face of the young lady + singing, and yet she saw not one feature of that face, while she knew, + without looking, or seeming to look, exactly where Beauclerc stood. He had + stationed himself in a doorway into the drawing-room; there, leaning back + against the wall, he stood, and never stirred. Helen was so anxious to get + one clear view of the expression of his countenance, that at last she + ventured to move a little, and from behind the broad back of a great man + she looked: Beauclerc’s eyes met hers. How different from their expression + when they were sitting on the bank together but a few short hours before! + He left the doorway instantly, and placed himself where Helen could see + him no more. + </p> + <p> + Of all the rest of what passed this evening she knew nothing; she felt + only a sort of astonishment at everybody’s gaiety, and a sense of the time + being intolerably long. She thought that all these people never would go + away—that their carriages never would be announced. But before it + came to that time, General Clarendon insisted upon Lady Cecilia’s + retiring. “I must,” said he, “play the tyrant, Cecilia; you have done too + much to-day—Mrs. Holdernesse shall hold your place.” He carried + Cecilia off, and Helen thought, or fancied, that he looked about for her. + Glad to escape, she followed close behind. The general did not offer his + arm or appear to notice her. When she came to the door leading to the + staircase, there was Beauclerc, standing with folded arms, as in the + music-room; he just bowed his head, and wished Lady Cecilia a good night, + and waited, without a word, for Helen to pass, or not to pass, as she + thought fit. She saw by his look that he expected explanation; but till + she knew what Cecilia meant to do, how could she explain? To say nothing—to + bear to be suspected,—was all she could do, without betraying her + friend. That word <i>betray</i>—that thought ruled her. She passed + him: “Good night” she could not then say. He bowed as she passed, and she + heard no “Good night”—no sound. And there was the general in the + hall to be passed also, before she could reach the staircase up which + Cecilia was going. When he saw Helen with a look of surprise—as it + seemed to her, of disapproving surprise—he said, “Are you gone, Miss + Stanley?” The look, the tone, struck cold to her heart. He continued—“Though + I drove Cecilia away, I did not mean to drive you away too. It is early.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? I thought it was very late.” + </p> + <p> + “No—and if you <i>can</i>, I hope you will return.” There was a + meaning in his eye, which she well understood. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said she; “if I can certainly——” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you can and will.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! thank you; but I must first——” see Cecilia, she was going + to say, but, afraid of implicating her, she changed the sentence to—“I + must first consider——” + </p> + <p> + “Consider! what the devil!” thought he, and his countenance was instantly + angrily suited to the thought. Helen hesitated. “Do not let me detain—distress + you farther, Miss Stanley, unavailingly; and since I shall not have the + pleasure of seeing you again this evening,” concluded he, in a constrained + voice, “I have the honour to wish you a good night.” He returned to the + music-room. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Helen instantly went to Cecilia’s room; Felicie was with her. Helen + expected Lady Cecilia would dismiss her instantly; but mademoiselle was + chattering. Helen had sometimes thought Cecilia let her talk too much, but + to-night it was insufferable. Helen was too impatient, too anxious to bear + it. “Cecilia, my dear, I want to speak to you alone, as soon as you can, + in my own room.” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as possible,” Cecilia answered in a voice not natural. And she + came, but not as soon as possible—shut the door behind her, showing + that she had not dismissed Felicie, and, with hair dishevelled, as if + hastening back to her room, said, “I am in a hurry; the general ordered me + to make haste, and not to be an hour undressing. + </p> + <p> + “I will not keep you a moment,” said Helen. “I am in as great a hurry as + you can be. Beauclerc is waiting for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Waiting for you at this time of night! Oh! my dear, he cannot be standing + there with his arms folded all this time.” + </p> + <p> + Helen repeated what the general had said, and ended with, “I am determined + to return.” + </p> + <p> + “No no,” Lady Cecilia said. The general could not advise her going back at + this time of night. And with rapidity and confusion, she poured out a + multitude of dissuasive arguments, some contradicting the others. “At this + time of night! The world is not gone, and Beauclerc is in the midst of + them by this time, you may be sure. You don’t think he is standing alone + there all this time. You could not speak to him before all the world—don’t + attempt it. You would only expose yourself. You would make a scene at last—undo + all, and come to disgrace, and ruin me and yourself. I know you would, + Helen. And if you were to send for him—into the library—alone! + the servants would know it—and the company gone! And after all, for + you, my dear, to make the first advance to reconciliation! If he is angry—I + don’t think that would be quite—dignified; quite like you, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “The general thinks it right, and I am sure he would not advise any thing + improper—undignified. It does not signify, Cecilia, I am determined—I + will go.” Trembling, she grew absolutely desperate from fear. “I am afraid + you have forgot your promise, Cecilia; you said that if I could bear it + for one hour, it would be over. Did you not promise me that if any + difficulty came between me and——” She stopped short. She had + felt indignant; but when she looked at Cecilia, and saw her tears, she + could not go on. “Oh Helen!” cried Cecilia, “I do not ask you to pity me. + You cannot know what I suffer—you are innocent—and I have done + so wrong! You cannot pity me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, I do,” cried Helen, “from the bottom of my heart. Only trust me, + dear Cecilia; let me go down——” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia sprang between her and the door. “Hear Me! hear me, Helen! Do + not go to-night, and, cost what it will—cost me what it may, since + it has come to this between you, I will confess all this night—I + will tell all to the general, and clear you with him and with Granville. + What more can you ask?—what more can I do, Helen? And will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “No no, my dear Cecilia. Since you promise me this, I will not go now.” + </p> + <p> + “Be satisfied then, and rest—for me there is no rest;” so saying + Cecilia slowly left the room. + </p> + <p> + Helen could not sleep: this was the second wretched night she had passed + in that most miserable of all uncertainty—whether she was right or + wrong. + </p> + <p> + In the morning, to Helen’s astonishment, Cecilia’s first words were about + a dream—“Oh, my dear Helen, I have had such a dream! I do not + usually mind dreams in the least, but I must own to you that this has made + an impression! My dear, I can hardly tell it; I can scarcely bear to think + of it. I thought that Clarendon and I were sitting together, and my hand + was on his shoulder; and I had worked myself up—I was just going to + speak. He was winding up his watch, and I leaned forward to see his face + better. He looked up-and it was not him: it was Colonel D’Aubigny come to + life. The door opened, Clarendon appeared—his eyes were upon me; but + I do not know what came afterwards; all was confusion and fighting. And + then I was with that nurse my mother recommended, and an infant in her + arms. I was going to take the child, when Clarendon snatched it, and threw + it into the flames. Oh! I awoke with a scream!” + </p> + <p> + “How glad you must have been,” said Helen, “to awake and find it was only + a dream!” + </p> + <p> + “But when I screamed,” continued Cecilia, “Clarendon started up, and asked + if I was in pain. ‘Not of body,’ I said;—and then—oh, Helen! + then I thought I would begin. ‘Not of body,’ I said, ‘but of mind;’ then I + added, ‘I was thinking of Helen and Beauclerc,’ Clarendon said, ‘So was I; + but there is no use in thinking of it; we can do no good.’—‘Then,’ I + said, ‘suppose, Clarendon—only suppose that Helen, without saying + any thing, were to let this matter pass off with Beauclerc?’—Clarendon + answered, ‘It would not pass off with Beauclerc.’—‘But,’ said I, ‘I + do not mean without any explanation at all. Only suppose that Helen did + not enter into any particulars, do not you think, Clarendon, that things + would go on well enough?’—‘No,’ he said decidedly, ‘no.’—‘Do + you mean,’ said I, ‘that things would not go on at all?’—‘I do not + say, not at all,’ he answered; ‘but <i>well</i> they would not go on.’” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure the general is right,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” continued Lady Cecilia, “then I put the question differently. I + wanted to feel my way, to try whether I could possibly venture upon my own + confession. ‘Consider it this way, Clarendon,’ I said. ‘Take it for + granted that Helen did somehow arrange that Beauclerc were to be satisfied + without any formal explanation.’—‘Formal!’ said he,—‘I will + not say formal,’ said I; ‘but without a <i>full</i> explanation: in short, + suppose that from mere timidity, Helen could not, did not, exactly tell + him the whole before marriage—put it off till afterwards—then + told him all candidly; do you think, Clarendon, that if you were in + Beauclerc’s place (I quite stammered when I came to this)—do you + think you could pardon, or forgive, or esteem, or love,’ I intended to end + with, but he interrupted me with—‘I do not know,’ very shortly; and + added, ‘I hope this is not what Miss Stanley intends to do?’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! what did you answer?” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “I said I did not know. My dear Helen, it was the only thing I could say. + What would Clarendon have thought, after all my <i>supposes</i>, if I had + said any thing else? he must have seen the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “And that he is not to see,” said Helen: “and how false he must think me!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; for I told him,” continued Lady Cecilia, “that I was sure you + wished always to tell the whole truth about everything, but that there + might be circumstances where you really could not; and where I, knowing + all the circumstances, could not advise it. He said, ‘Cecilia, I desire + you will not advise or interfere any farther in this matter. Promise me, + Cecilia!’ He spoke sternly, and I promised as fast as I could. ‘Do + nothing, say nothing more about it,’ he repeated; and now, after that, + could I go on, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed; I do not think you could. My dear Cecilia, I really think you + could not,” said Helen, much moved. + </p> + <p> + “And do you forgive me, my dear, good——.” But seeing Helen + change colour, Lady Cecilia, following her eye, and looking out of the + window, started up, exclaiming, “There is Beauclerc; I see him in my + mother’s walk. I will go to him this minute; yes, I will trust him—I + will tell him all instantly.” + </p> + <p> + Helen caught hold of her, and stopped her. Surprised, Cecilia said, “Do + not stop me. I may never have the courage again if stopped now. Do not + stop me, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “I must, Cecilia. General Clarendon desired you not to interfere in the + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “But this is not interfering, only interposing to prevent mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Cecilia,” continued Helen eagerly, “another reason has just struck + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish reasons would not strike you. Let me go. Oh, Helen; it is for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is for you I speak, Cecilia,” said Helen, as fast as she could. + “If you told Beauclerc, you never could afterwards tell the general; it + would be a new difficulty. You know the general could never endure your + having confessed this to any man but himself—trusted Beauclerc + rather than your husband.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia stopped, and stood silent. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Cecilia,” continued Helen, “you must leave me to my own judgment + now;” and, breaking from Cecilia, she left the room. She hurried out to + meet Beauclerc. He stopped on seeing her, and then came forward with an + air of evident deliberation. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to speak to me, Miss Stanley!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Stanley!” cried Helen; “is it come to this, and without hearing me!” + </p> + <p> + “Without hearing you, Helen! Was not I ready last night to hear you? + Without hearing you! Have not you kept me in torture, the worst of + tortures—suspense? Why did not you speak to me last night?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, why?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can tell you, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “You can!” + </p> + <p> + “And will. Helen, you could not speak to me till you had consulted—arranged—settled + what was to be said—what not to be said—what told—what + left untold.” + </p> + <p> + Between each half sentence he darted looks at her, defying hers to + contradict—and she could not contradict by word or look. “You could + not speak,” continued he passionately, “till you had well determined what + was to be told—what left untold to me! To me, Helen, your confiding—devoted—accepted + lover! for I protest before Heaven, had I knelt at the altar with you, + Helen Stanley, not more yours, not more mine could I have deemed you—not + more secure of your love and truth—your truth, for what is love + without it!—not more secure of perfect felicity could I have been on + earth than I was when we two sat together but yesterday evening on that + bank. Your words—your looks—and still your looks—But + what signify tears!—Tears, women’s tears! Oh! what is woman!—and + what is man that believes in her?—weaker still?” + </p> + <p> + “Hear me!—hear me!” + </p> + <p> + “Hear you?—No, Helen, do not now ask me to hear you.—Do not + force me to hear you.—Do not debase, do not sully, that perfect + image of truth.—Do not sink yourself, Helen, from that height at + which it was my entranced felicity to see you. Leave me one blessed, one + sacred illusion. No,” cried he, with increasing vehemence, “say nothing of + all you have prepared—not one arranged word conned over in your + midnight and your morning consultations,” pointing back to the window of + her dressing-room, where he had seen her and Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “You saw,” Helen began—— + </p> + <p> + “Yes.—Am I blind, think you?—I wish I were. Oh! that I could + be again the believing, fond, happy dupe I was but yesterday evening!” + </p> + <p> + “Dupe!” repeated Helen. “But pour out all—all, dear Granville. Think—say—what + you will—reproach—abuse me as you please. It is a relief—take + it—for I have none to give.” + </p> + <p> + “None!” cried he, his tone suddenly changing, “no relief to give!—What! + have you nothing to say?—No explanation?—Why speak to me then + at all?” + </p> + <p> + “To tell you so at once—to end your suspense—to tell you that + I cannot explain. The midnight consultation and the morning, were not to + prepare for you excuse or apology, but to decide whether I could tell you + the whole; and since that cannot be, I determined not to enter into any + explanation. I am glad that you do not wish to hear any.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer me one question,” said he:—“that picture-did you give it to + Colonel D’Aubigny?” + </p> + <p> + “No. That is a question I can answer. No—he stole it from Cecilia’s + portfolio. Ask me no more.” + </p> + <p> + “One question more—” + </p> + <p> + “No, not one more—I cannot tell you anything more.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a moment, he withdrew his eyes, and she went on. + </p> + <p> + “Granville! I must now put your love and esteem for me to the test. If + that love be what I believe it to be; if your confidence in me is what I + think it ought to be, I am now going to try it. There is a mystery which I + cannot explain. I tell you this, and yet I expect you to believe that I am + innocent of anything wrong but the concealment. There are circumstances + which I cannot tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” interrupted Beauclerc.—“Ought there to be any + circumstances which cannot be told to the man to whom you have plighted + your faith? Away with this ‘cannot—this mystery!’ Did not I tell you + every folly of my life—every fault? And what is this?—in + itself, nothing!—concealment everything—Oh! Helen—” + </p> + <p> + She was going to say, “If it concerned only myself,”—but that would + at once betray Cecilia, and she went on.—“If it were in my opinion + right to tell it to you, I would. On this point, Granville, leave me to + judge and act for myself. This is the test to which I put your love—put + mine to any test you will, but if your confidence in me is not sufficient + to endure this trial, we can never be happy together.” She spoke very low: + but Beauclerc listened with such intensity that he could not only + distinguish every syllable she said, but could distinctly hear the beating + of her heart, which throbbed violently, in spite of all her efforts to be + calm. “Can you trust me?” concluded she. + </p> + <p> + “I can,” cried he. “I can—I do! By Heaven I do! I think you an + angel, and legions of devils could not convince me of the contrary. I + trust your word—I trust that heavenly countenance—I trust + entirely——” He offered, and she took his offered hand. “I + trust entirely. Not one question more shall I ask—not a suspicion + shall I have: you put me to the test, you shall find me stand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you?” said she; “you know how much I ask. I acknowledge a mystery, + and yet I ask you to believe that I am not wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said she; “you shall see.” And both in happiness once more, they + returned to the house. + </p> + <p> + “I love her a thousand times better than ever,” thought Beauclerc, “for + the independence of mind she shows in thus braving my opinion, daring to + set all upon the cast—something noble in this! I am to form my own + judgment of her, and I will, independently of what any other human being + may say or think. The general, with his strict, narrow, conventional + notions, has not an idea of the kind of woman I like, or of what Helen + really is. He sees in Helen only the discreet proper-behaved young lady, + adapted, so nicely adapted to her place in society, to nitch and notch in, + and to be of no sort of value out of it. Give me a being able to stand + alone, to think and feel, decide and act, for herself. Were Helen only + what the general thinks her, she would not be for me; while she is what I + think her, I love—I adore!” And when he saw his guardian, Beauclerc + declared that, though Helen had entered into no explanations, he was + perfectly satisfied. + </p> + <p> + The general answered, “I am glad you <i>are</i> satisfied.” Beauclerc + perceived that the general was not; and in spite of all that he had just + been saying to himself, this provoked and disgusted him. His theory of his + own mind, if not quite false, was still a little at variance with his + practice. His guardian’s opinion swayed him powerfully, whenever he + believed that it was not designed to influence him; when the opinion was + repressed, he could not rest without drawing it out. “Then, you think, + general,” said he, “that some explanation ought to have been made?” + </p> + <p> + “No matter what I think, Granville, the affair is yours. If you are + satisfied, that is all that is necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Then even, because left on their own point of suspension to vibrate + freely, the diamond-scales of Beauclerc’s mind began to move, from some + nice, unseen cause of variation. “But,” said he, “General Clarendon, no + one can judge without knowing facts.” + </p> + <p> + “So I apprehend,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “I may be of too easy faith,” replied Beauclerc.—[No reply.] “This + is a point of honour.”—[No denial.] “My dear general, if there be + anything which weighs with you, and which you know and I do not, I think, + as my friend and my guardian, you ought to tell it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said the general, turning away from Beauclerc as he spoke, + and striking first one heel of his boot against the scraper at the + hall-door, then the other—“pardon me, Granville, I cannot admit you + to be a better judge than I am myself of what I ought to do or not to do.” + </p> + <p> + The tone was dry and proud, but Beauclerc’s provoked imagination conceived + it to be also mysterious; the scales of his mind vibrated again, but he + had said he would trust—trust entirely, and he would: yet he could + not succeed in banishing all doubt, till an idea started into his head—“That + writing was Lady Cecilia’s! I thought so at the first moment, and I let it + go again. It is hers, and Helen is keeping her secret:—but could + Lady Cecilia be so ungenerous—so treacherous?” However, he had + declared he would ask no questions; he was a man of honour, and he would + ask none—none even of himself—a resolution which he found it + surprisingly easy to keep when the doubt concerned only Lady Cecilia. + Whenever the thought crossed his mind, he said to himself, “I will ask + nothing—suspect nobody; but if it is Lady Cecilia’s affair, it is + all the more generous in Helen.” And so, secure in this explanation, + though he never allowed to himself that he admitted it, his trust in Helen + was easy and complete, and his passion for her increased every hour. + </p> + <p> + But Lady Cecilia was disturbed even by the perfect confidence and + happiness of Beauclerc’s manner towards Helen. She could not but fear that + he had guessed the truth; and it seemed as if everything which happened + tended to confirm him in his suspicions; for, whenever the mind is + strongly interested on any subject, something alluding to it seems + wonderfully, yet accidentally, to occur in everything that we read, or + hear in common conversation, and so it now happened; things were + continually said by persons wholly unconcerned, which seemed to bear upon + her secret. Lady Cecilia frequently felt this with pangs of confusion, + shame, and remorse; and, though Beauclerc did not watch, or play the spy + upon her countenance, he could not help sometimes observing the flitting + colour—the guilty changes of countenance—the assumed + composure: that mind, once so artless, began to be degraded—her + spirits sank; she felt that she “had lost the sunshine of a soul without a + mystery!” + </p> + <p> + The day fixed for the marriage approached; Lady Cecilia had undertaken the + superintendence of the <i>trousseau</i>, and Felicie was in anxious + expectation of its arrival. Helen had written to the Collingwoods to + announce the intended event, asking for the good bishop’s sanction, as her + guardian, and regretting that he could not perform the ceremony. She had + received from Lady Davenant a few lines, written just before she sailed, + warm with all the enthusiasm of her ardent heart, and full of expectation + that Helen’s lot would be one of the happiest this world could afford. All + seemed indeed to smile upon her prospects, and the only clouds which + dimmed the sunshine were Cecilia’s insincerity, and her feeling that the + general thought her acting unhandsomely and unwisely towards his ward; but + she consoled herself with the thought that he could not judge of what he + did not know, that she did not deserve his displeasure, that Granville was + satisfied, and if he was, why should not General Clarendon be so too? Much + more serious, however, was the pain she felt on Cecilia’s account. She + reproached herself with betraying the trust Lady Davenant had reposed in + her. That dreadful prophecy seemed now accomplishing: Cecilia’s natural + generosity, that for which Helen had ever most loved and admired her, the + brightest, fairest parts of her character, seemed failing now; what could + be more selfish than Cecilia’s present conduct towards herself, more + treacherous to her noble minded, her confiding husband! The openness, the + perfect unreserve between the two friends, was no longer what it had been. + Helen, however, felt the constraint between them the less as she was + almost constantly with Beauclerc, and in her young happiness she hoped all + would be right. Cecilia would tell the general, and they would be as + intimate, as affectionate, as they had ever been. + </p> + <p> + One morning General Clarendon, stopping Cecilia as she was coming down to + breakfast, announced that he was obliged to set off instantly for London, + on business which could not be delayed, and that she must settle with Miss + Stanley whether they would accompany him or remain at Clarendon Park. He + did not know, he said, how long he might be detained. + </p> + <p> + Cecilia was astonished, and excessively curious; she tried her utmost + address to discover what was the nature of his business, in vain. All that + remained was to do as he required without more words. He left the room, + and Cecilia decided at once that they had better accompany him. She + dreaded some delay; she thought that, if the general went alone to town, + he might be detained Heaven knows how long; and though the marriage must + be postponed at all events, yet if they went with the general, the + ceremony might be performed in town as well as at Clarendon Park; and she + with some difficulty convinced Helen of this. Beauclerc feared nothing but + delay. They were to go. Lady Cecilia announced their decision to the + general, who immediately set off, and the others in a few hours followed + him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + “In my youth, and through the prime of manhood, I never entered London + without feelings of hope and pleasure. It was to me the grand theatre of + intellectual activity, the field for every species of enterprise and + exertion, the metropolis of the world, of business, thought, and action. + There, I was sure to find friends and companions, to hear the voice of + encouragement and praise. There, society of the most refined sort offered + daily its banquets to the mind, and new objects of interest and ambition + were constantly exciting attention either in politics, literature, or + science.” + </p> + <p> + These feelings, so well described by a man of genius, have probably been + felt more or less by most young men who have within them any consciousness + of talent, or any of that enthusiasm, that eager desire to have or to give + sympathy, which, especially in youth, characterises noble natures. But + after even one or two seasons in a great metropolis these feelings often + change long before they are altered by age. Granville Beauclerc had + already persuaded himself that he now detested, as much as he had at first + been delighted with, a London life. From his metaphysical habits of mind, + and from the sensibility of his temper, he had been too soon disgusted by + that sort of general politeness which, as he said, takes up the time and + place of real friendship; and as for the intellectual pleasures, they + were, he said, too superficial for him; and his notions of independence, + too, were at this time quite incompatible with the conventional life of a + great capital. His present wish was to live all the year round in the + country, with the woman he loved, and in the society of a few chosen + friends. Helen quite agreed with him in his taste for the country; she had + scarcely ever known any other life, and yet had always been happy; and + whatever youthful curiosity had been awakened in her mind as to the + pleasures of London, had been now absorbed by stronger and more tender + feelings. Her fate in life, she felt, was fixed, and wherever the man she + loved wished to reside, that, she felt, must be her choice. With these + feelings they arrived at General Clarendon’s delightful house in town. + </p> + <p> + Helen’s apartment, and Cecilia’s, were on different floors, and had no + communication with each other. It was of little consequence, as their stay + in town was to be but short, yet Helen could not help observing that + Cecilia did not express any regret at it, as formerly she would have done; + it seemed a symptom of declining affection, of which, every the slightest + indication was marked and keenly felt by Helen, the more so because she + had anticipated that such must be the consequence of all that had passed + between them, and there was now no remedy. + </p> + <p> + Among the first morning visitors admitted were Lady Castlefort and Lady + Katrine Hawksby. They did not, as it struck Cecilia, seem surprised to see + that Miss Stanley was Miss Stanley still, though the day for the marriage + had been announced in all the papers as fixed; but they did seem now full + of curiosity to know how it had come to pass, and there was rather too + apparent a hope that something was going wrong. Their first inquisitive + look was met by Lady Cecilia’s careless glance in reply, which said better + than words could express, “Nothing the matter, do not flatter yourselves.” + Then her expertness at general answers which give no information, + completely baffled the two curious impertinents. They could only learn + that the day for the marriage was not fixed, that it could not be + definitively named till some business should be settled by the general. + Law business they supposed, of course. Lady Cecilia “knew nothing about + it. Lawyers are such provoking wretches, with their fast bind fast find. + Such an unconscionable length of time as they do take for their parchment + doings, heeding nought of that little impatient flapper Cupid.” + </p> + <p> + Certain that Lady Cecilia was only playing with their curiosity, yet + unable to circumvent her, Lady Katrine changed the conversation, and Lady + Castlefort preferred a prayer, which was, she said, the chief object of + her visit, that Lady Cecilia and Miss Stanley would come to her on Monday; + she was to have a few friends—a very small party, and independently + of the pleasure she should have in seeing them, it would be advantageous + perhaps to Miss Stanley, as Lady Castlefort, in her softest voice, added, + “For from the marriage being postponed even for a few days, people might + talk, and Mr. Beauclerc and Miss Stanley appearing together would prevent + anybody’s thinking there was any little—Nothing so proper now as for + a young lady to appear with her <i>futur</i>; so I shall expect you, my + dear Cecilia, and Miss Stanley,”—and so saying, she departed. + Helen’s objections were all overruled, and when the engagement was made + known to Beauclerc, he shrugged, and shrank, and submitted; observing, + “that all men, and all women, must from the moment they come within the + precincts of London life, give up their time and their will to an + imaginary necessity of going when we do not like it, where we do not wish, + to see those whom we have no desire to see, and who do not care if they + were never to see us again, except for the sake of their own reputation of + playing well their own parts in the grand farce of mock civility” Helen + was sorry to have joined in making an engagement for him which he seemed + so much to dislike. But Lady Cecilia, laughing, maintained that half his + reluctance was affectation, and the other half a lover-like spirit of + monopoly, in which he should not be indulged, and instead of pretending to + be indifferent to what the world might think, he ought to be proud to show + Helen as a proof of his taste. + </p> + <p> + In dressing Helen this night, Felicie, excited by her lady’s exhortations, + displayed her utmost skill. Mademoiselle Felicie had a certain <i>petite + métaphysique de toilette</i>, of which she was justly vain. She could + talk, and as much to the purpose as most people of “le genre classique,” + and “le genre romantique,” of the different styles of dress that suit + different styles of face; and while “she worked and wondered at the work + she made,” she threw out from time to time her ideas on the subject to + form the taste of Helen’s little maid. Rose, who, in mute attention, held + the light and assiduously presented pins. “Not your pin so fast one after + de other Miss Rose—Tenez! tenez!” cried mademoiselle. “You tink in + England alway too much of your pin in your dress, too little of our taste—too + little of our elegance, too much of your what you call <i>tidiness</i>, or + God know what! But never you mind dat so much, Miss Rose; and you not prim + up your little mouth, but listen to me. Never you put in one pin before + you ask yourself, Miss Rose, what for I do it? In every toilette that has + taste there is above all—tenez—a character—a sentiment + to be support; suppose your lady is to be superbe, or she will rather be + élégante, or charmante, or intéressante, or distinguée—well, dat is + all ver’ well, and you dress to that idée, one or oder—well, very + well—but none of your wat you call <i>odd</i>. No, no, never, Miss + Rose—dat is not style noble; ‘twill only become de petit minois of + your English originale. I wash my hand of dat always.” The toilette + superbe mademoiselle held to be the easiest of all those which she had + named with favour, it may be accomplished by any common hands; but <i>head</i> + is requisite to reach the toilette distinguée. The toilette superbe + requires only cost—a toilette distinguée demands care. There was a + happiness as well as care in Felicie’s genius for dress, which, ever + keeping the height of fashion in view, never lost sight of nature, + adapting, selecting, combining to form a perfect whole, in which art + itself concealed appeared only, as she expressed it, in the sublime of + simplicity. In the midst of all her talking, however, she went on with the + essential business, and as she finished, pronounced “Précepte commence, + exemple achève.” + </p> + <p> + When they arrived at Lady Castlefort’s, Lady Cecilia was surprised to find + a line of carriages, and noise, and crowds of footmen. How was this? She + had understood that it was to be one of those really small parties, those + select reunions of some few of the high and mighty families who chance to + be in town before Christmas.—“But how is this?” Lady Cecilia + repeated to herself as she entered the hall, amazed to find it blazing + with light, a crowd on the stairs, and in the anteroom a crowd, as she + soon felt, of an unusual sort. It was not the soft crush of aristocracy, + they found hard unaccustomed citizen elbows,—strange + round-shouldered, square-backed men and women, so over-dressed, so + bejewelled, so coarse—shocking to see, impossible to avoid; not one + figure, one face, Lady Cecilia had ever seen before; till at last, from + the midst of the throng emerged a fair form—a being as it seemed of + other mould, certainly of different caste. It was one of Cecilia’s former + intimates—Lady Emily Greville, whom she had not seen since her + return from abroad. Joyfully they met, and stopped and talked; she was + hastening away, Lady Emily said, “after having been an hour on duty; Lady + Castlefort had made it a point with her to stay after dinner, she had + dined there, and had stayed, and now guard was relieved.” + </p> + <p> + “But who are all these people? What is all this, my dear Lady Emily?” + asked Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Do not you know? Louisa has trapped you into coming then, to-night + without telling you how it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word did she tell me, I expected to meet only our own world.” + </p> + <p> + “A very different world you perceive this! A sort of farce this is to the + ‘Double Distress,’ a comedy;—in short, one of Lord Castlefort’s + brothers is going to stand for the City, and citizens and citoyennes must + be propitiated. When an election is in the case all other things give + place: and, besides, he has just married the daughter of some amazing + merchant, worth I don’t know how many plums; so <i>le petit Bossu</i>, who + is proud of his brother, for he is reckoned the genius of the family! made + it a point with Louisa to do this. She put up her eyebrows, and stood out + as long as she could, but Lord Castlefort had his way, for he holds the + purse you know,—and so she was forced to make a party for these + Goths and Vandals, and of course she thought it best to do it directly, + out of season, you know, when nobody will see it—and she consulted + me whether it should be large or small; I advised a large party, by all + means, as crowded as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I understand,” said Cecilia; “to hide the shame in the + multitude; vastly well, very fair all this, except the trapping us into + it, who have nothing to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to do with it! pardon me,” cried Lady Emily. “It could not have + been done without us. Entrapping us!—do not you understand that we + are the baits to the traps? Bringing those animals here, wild beasts or + tame, only to meet one another, would have been ‘doing business no how.’ + We are what they are ‘come for to see,’ or to have it to say that they + have seen the Exclusives, Exquisites, or Transcendentals, or whatever else + they call us.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Emily Greville’s carriage!” was now called in the anteroom. + </p> + <p> + “I must go, but first make me known to your friend Miss Stanley, you see I + know her by instinct;” but “Lady Emily Greville’s carriage!” now resounded + reiteratedly, and gentlemen with cloaks stood waiting, and as she put hers + on, Lady Emily stooped forward and whispered, + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe one word of what they say of her,” and she was off, and + Lady Cecilia stood for an instant looking after her, and considering what + she could mean by those last words. Concluding, however, that she had not + heard aright, or had missed some intervening name, and that these words, + in short, could not possibly apply to Helen, Lady Cecilia turned to her, + they resumed their way onward, and at length they reached the grand + reception-room. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of that brilliantly lighted saloon, immediately under the + centre chandelier, was ample verge and space enough reserved for the <i>élite</i> + of the world; circle it was not, nor square, nor form regularly defined, + yet the bounds were guarded. There was no way of getting to the further + end of the saloon, or to the apartments open in the distance beyond it, + except by passing through this enclosed space, in which one fair entrance + was practicable, and one ample exit full in view on the opposite side. + Several gentlemen of fashionable bearing held the outposts of this + privileged place, at back of sofa, or side of fauteuil, stationary, or + wandering near. Some chosen few were within; two caryatides gentlemen + leaned one on each side of the fireplace, and in the centre of the rug + stood a remarkably handsome man, of fine figure, perfectly dressed, his + whole air exquisitely scornful, excruciatingly miserable, and loftily + abstract. ‘Twas wonderful, ‘twas strange, ‘twas passing strange! how one + so lost to all sublunary concerns, so far above the follies of inferior + mortals, as he looked, came here—so extremely well-dressed too! How + happened it? so nauseating the whole, as he seemed, so wishing that the + business of the world were done! With half-closed dreamy eyelids he looked + silent down upon two ladies who sat opposite to him, rallying, abusing, + and admiring him to his vanity’s content. They gave him his choice of + three names, l’Ennuyé, le Frondeur, or le Blasé. L’Ennuyé? he shook his + head; too common; he would have none of it. Le Frondeur? no; too much + trouble; he shrugged his abhorrence. Le Blasé? he allowed, might be too + true. But would they hazard a substantive verb? He would give them + four-and-twenty hours to consider, and he would take twenty-four himself + to decide. They should have his definitive to-morrow, and he was sliding + away, but Lady Castlefort, as he passed her, cried, “Going, Lord + Beltravers, going are you?” in an accent of surprise and disappointment; + and she whispered, “I am hard at work here, acting receiver general to + these city worthies; and you do not pity me—cruel!” and she looked + up with languishing eyes, that so begged for sympathy. He threw upon her + one look of commiseration, reproachful. “Pity you, yes! But why will you + do these things? and why did you bring me here to do this horrid sort of + work?” and he vanished. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia Clarendon and Miss Stanley now appeared in the <i>offing</i>, + and now reached the straits: Lady Castlefort rose with vivacity + extraordinary, and went forward several steps. “Dear Cecilia! Miss + Stanley, so good! Mr. Beauclerc, so happy! the general could not? so + sorry!” Then with hand pressed on hers, “Miss Stanley, so kind of you to + come. Lady Grace, give me leave—Miss Stanley—Lady Grace + Bland,” and in a whisper, “Lord Beltravers’ aunt.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Grace, with a haughty drawback motion, and a supercilious arching of + her brows, was “happy to have the honour.” Honour nasally prolonged, and + some guttural sounds followed, but further words, if words they were, + which she syllabled between snuffling and mumbling, were utterly + unintelligible; and Helen, without being “very happy,” or happy at all, + only returned bend for bend. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia then presented her to a group of sister graces standing near + the sofas of mammas and chaperons—not each a different grace, but + similar each, indeed upon the very same identical pattern air of + young-lady fashion—well-bred, and apparently well-natured. No sooner + was Miss Stanley made known to them by Lady Cecilia, than, smiling just + enough, not a muscle too much, they moved; the ranks opened softly, but + sufficiently, and Helen was in the group; amongst them, but not <i>of</i> + them—and of this she became immediately sensible, though without + knowing how or why. One of these daughters had had expectations last + season from having been frequently Mr. Beauclerc’s partner, and the mother + was now fanning herself opposite to him. But Helen knew nought of this: to + her all was apparently soft, smooth, and smiling. While, whenever any of + the unprivileged multitude, the city monsters, passed near this high-born, + high-bred group, they looked as though the rights of pride were infringed, + and, smiling scorn, they dropped from half-closed lips such syllables of + withering contempt, as they thought these vulgar victims merited: careless + if they heard or not, rather rejoicing to see the sufferers wince beneath + the wounds which they inflicted in their pride and pomp of sway. “Pride!” + thought Helen, “was it pride?” If pride it was, how unlike what she had + been taught to consider the proper pride of aristocracy; how unlike that + noble sort which she had seen, admired, and loved! Helen fancied what Lady + Davenant would have thought, how ignoble; how mean, how vulgar she would + have considered these sneers and scoffs from the nobly to the lowly born. + How unworthy of their rank and station in society! They who ought to be + the first in courtesy, because the first in place. + </p> + <p> + As these thoughts passed rapidly in Helen’s mind, she involuntarily looked + towards Beauclerc; but she was so encompassed by her present companions + that she could not discover him. Had she been able to see his countenance, + she would have read in it at once how exactly he was at that instant + feeling with her. More indignant than herself, for his high chivalrous + devotion to the fair could ill endure the readiness with which the + gentlemen, attendants at ottoman or sofa, lent their aid to mock and to + embarrass every passing party of the city tribe, mothers and their hapless + daughter-train. + </p> + <p> + At this instant Lady Bearcroft, who, if she had not good breeding, + certainly had good-nature, came up to Beauclerc, and whispered earnestly, + and with an expression of strong interest in her countenance, “As you love + her, do not heed one word you hear anybody say this night, for it’s all on + purpose to vex you; and I am certain as you are it’s all false—all + envy. And there she goes, Envy herself in the black jaundice,” continued + she, looking at Lady Katrine Hawksby, who passed at that instant. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” cried Beauclerc, “what can——” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” interrupted Lady Bearcroft, “no, no, do not ask—better + not; best you should know no more—only keep your temper whatever + happens. Go you up the hill, like the man in the tale, and let the black + stones bawl themselves hoarse—dumb. Go you on, and seize your pretty + singing thinking bird—the sooner the better. So fare you well.” + </p> + <p> + And she disappeared in the crowd. Beauclerc, to whom she was perfectly + unknown, (though she had made him out,) totally at a loss to imagine what + interest she could take in Helen or in him, or what she could possibly + mean, rather inclined to suppose she was a mad women, and he forgot + everything else as he saw Helen with Lady Cecilia emerging from the bevy + of young ladies and approaching him. They stopped to speak to some + acquaintance, and he tried to look at Helen as if he were an indifferent + spectator, and to fancy what he should think of her if he saw her now for + the first time. He thought that he should be struck not only with her + beauty, but with her graceful air—her ingenuous countenance, so + expressive of the freshness of natural sensibility. She was exquisitely + well dressed too, and that, as Felicie observed, goes for much, even with + your most sensible men. Altogether he was charmed, whether considering her + as with the eyes of an unbiased stranger or with his own. And all he heard + confirmed, and, although he would not have allowed it, strengthened his + feelings. He heard it said that, though there were some as handsome women + in the room, there were none so interesting; and some of the young men + added, “As lovely as Lady Blanche, but with more expression.” A citizen, + with whom Beauclerc could have shaken hands on the spot, said, “There’s + one of the highbreds, now, that’s well-bred too.” In the height of the + rapture of his feelings he overtook Lady Cecilia, who telling him that + they were going on to another room, delivered Helen to his care, and + herself taking the arm of some ready gentleman, they proceeded as fast as + they could through the crowd to the, other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + This was the first time Helen had ever seen Lady Cecilia in public, where + certainly she appeared to great advantage. Not thinking about herself, but + ever willing to be pleased; so bright, so gay, she was sunshine which + seemed to spread its beams wherever she turned. And she had something to + say to everybody, or to answer quick to whatever they said or looked, + happy always in the <i>àpropos</i> of the moment. Little there might be, + perhaps, in what she said, but there was all that was wanted, just what + did for the occasion. In others there often appeared a distress for + something to say, or a dead dullness of countenance opposite to you. From + others, a too fast hazarded broadside of questions and answers—glads + and sorrys in chain-shots that did no execution, because there was no good + aim—congratulations and condolences playing at cross purposes—These + were mistakes, misfortunes, which could never occur in Lady Cecilia’s + natural grace and acquired tact of manner. Helen was amused, as she + followed her, in watching the readiness with which she knew how to + exchange the necessary counters in the commerce of society: she was + amused, till her attention was distracted by hearing, as she and Beauclerc + passed, the whispered words—“<i>I promessi sposi</i>—look—<i>La + belle fiancée</i>.” These words were repeated as they went on, and Lady + Cecilia heard some one say, “I thought it was broken off; that was all + slander then?” She recollected Lady Emily’s words, and, terrified lest + Helen should hear more of—she knew not what, she began to talk to + her as fast as she could, while they were stopped in the door-way by a + crowd. She succeeded for the moment with Helen; she had not heard the last + speech, and she could not, as long as Lady Cecilia spoke, hear more; but + Beauclerc again distinguished the words “<i>Belle fiancée</i>;” and as he + turned to discover the speaker, a fat matron near him asked, “Who is it?” + and the daughter answered, “It is that handsome girl, with the white rose + in her hair.”—“Hush!” said the brother, on whose arm she leaned; + “Handsome is that handsome does.” + </p> + <p> + Handsome does! thought Beauclerc: and the mysterious warning of his + unknown friend recurred to him. He was astonished, alarmed, furious; but + the whispering party had passed on, and just then Lady Cecilia descrying + Mr. Churchill in the distance, she made towards him. Conversation sure to + be had in abundance from him. He discerned them from afar, and was happily + prepared both with a ready bit of wit and with a proper greeting. His + meeting with Lady Cecilia was, of course, just the same as ever. He took + it up where he left off at Clarendon Park; no difference, no hiatus. His + bow to Beauclerc and Helen, to Helen and Beauclerc, joined in one little + sweep of a congratulatory motion, was incomparable: it said everything + that a bow could say, and more. It implied such a happy freedom from envy + or jealousy; such a polite acquiescence in the decrees of fate; such a + philosophic indifference; such a cool sarcastic superiority to the event; + and he began to Lady Cecilia with one of his prepared impromptus: “At the + instant your ladyship came up, I am afraid I started, actually in a + trance, I do believe. Methought I was—where do you think? In the + temple of Jaggernaut.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Lady Cecilia smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Methought,” continued Horace, “that I was in the temple of Jaggernaut—that + one strange day in the year, when ill castes meet, when all distinction of + castes and ranks is forgotten—the abomination of mixing them all + together permitted, for their sins no doubt—high caste and low, from + the abandoned Paria to the Brahmin prince, from their Billingsgate and + Farringilon Without, suppose, up to their St. James’s, Street and + Grosvenor Square, mingle, mingle, ye who mingle may, white spirits and + grey, black spirits and blue. Now, pray look around: is not this + Jaggernaut night with Lady Castlefort?” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” said Lady Cecilia; “are not you the great Jaggernaut himself, + driving over all in your triumphant chariot of sarcasm, and crushing all + the victims in your way?” + </p> + <p> + This took place with Horace; it put him in spirits, in train, and he fired + away at Lady Castlefort, whom he had been flattering <i>à loutrance</i> + five minutes before. + </p> + <p> + “I so admire that acting of sacrifice in your <i>belle cousine</i> + to-night! Pasta herself could not do it better. There is a look of ‘Oh, ye + just gods! what a victim am I!’ and with those upturned eyes so charming! + Well, and seriously it is a sad sacrifice. Fathers have flinty hearts by + parental prescription; but husbands—<i>petit Bossus</i> especially—should + have mercy for their own sakes; they should not strain their marital power + too far.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Lady Cecilia, “it is curious, that one born and bred such an + ultra exclusive as Louisa Castlefort, should be obliged after her marriage + immediately to open her doors and turn ultra liberale, or an universal + suffragist—all in consequence of these <i>mésalliances</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “True, true,” said Churchill, with a solemn, pathetic shake of the head. + “Gentlemen and noblemen should consider before they make these low matches + to save their studs, or their souls, or their entailed estates. Whatever + be the necessity, there can be no apology for outraging all <i>bienséance</i>. + Necessity has no law, but it should have some decency. Think of, bringing + upon a foolish elder brother—But we won’t be personal.” + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t pray, Horace,” said Lady Cecilia, moving on. “But think, only + think, my dear Lady Cecilia; think what it must be to be ‘<i>How-d’ye-doed</i>,’ + and to be ‘dear sistered’ by such bodies as these in public.” + </p> + <p> + “Sad! sad!” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “The old French nobility,” continued Churchill, “used to call these low + money-matches, ‘mettre du fumier sur nos terres.’” + </p> + <p> + “Dirty work at best,” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “But still,” said Horace, “it might be done with decency if not with + majesty.” + </p> + <p> + “But in the midst of all this,” said Lady Cecilia, “I want some ice very + much for myself, and for Helen more.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a notion we shall find some here,” replied he, “if you will come + on this way—in this <i>sanctum sanctorum</i> of Lady Katrine’s.” + </p> + <p> + He led them on to a little inner apartment, where, as he said, Lady + Katrine Hawksby and her set do always scandal take, and sometimes tea.—“Tea + and punch,” continued he, “you know, in London now is quite <i>à la + Française</i>, and it is astonishing to me, who am but a man, what strong + punch ladies can take.” + </p> + <p> + “Only when it is iced,” said Lady Cecilia, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Be it so,” said he,—“very refreshing ice, and more refreshing + scandal, and here we have both in perfection. Scandal, hot and hot, and + ice, cold and cold.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they had reached the entrance to what he called Lady + Katrine’s <i>sanctum sanctorum</i>, where she had gathered round the iced + punch and tea-table a select party, whom she had drawn together with the + promise of the other half of a half-published report,—a report in + which “<i>I promessi Sposi</i>” and “<i>La belle fiancée</i>” were + implicated! + </p> + <p> + “Stop here one moment,” cried Churchill, “one moment longer. Let us see + before we are seen. Look in, look in pray, at this group. Lady Katrine + herself on the sofa, finger up—holding forth; and the deaf old woman + stretching forward to hear, while the other, with the untasted punch, sits + suspended in curiosity. ‘What can it be?’ she says, or seems to say. Now, + now, see the pretty one’s hands and eyes uplifted, and the ugly one, with + that look of horror, is exclaiming, ‘You don’t say so, my dear Lady + Katrine!’ Admirable creatures! Cant and scandal personified! I wish Wilkie + were here—worth any money to him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he should call it ‘The scandal party,’” said Lady Cecilia. “He told + me he never could venture upon a subject unless he could give it a good + name.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Lady Katrine, having finished her story, rose, and awaking + from the abstraction of malice, she looked up and saw Helen and Lady + Cecilia, and, as she came forward, Churchill whispered between them, “Now—now + we are going comfortably to enjoy, no doubt, Madame de Sevigné’s pleasure + ‘de mal dire du prochain,’ at the right hour too.” + </p> + <p> + Churchill left them there. Lady Katrine welcoming her victims—her + unsuspicious victims—he slid off to the friends round the tea-table + to learn from “Cant” what “Scandal” had been telling. Beauclerc was gone + to inquire for the carriage. The instant Helen appeared, all eyes were + fixed upon her, and “Belle fiancée” was murmured round, and, Cecilia heard—“He’s + much to be pitied.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Lord Castlefort went up to Helen; she had always been a + favourite of his; he was grateful to her for her constant kindness to him, + and, peevish though the little man might be, he had a good heart, and he + showed it now by instantly taking Helen out of the midst of the starers, + and begging her opinion upon a favourite picture of his, a Madonna.—Was + it a Raffaelle, or was it not? He and Mr. Churchill, he said, were at + issue about it. In short, no matter what he said, it engrossed Helen’s + attention, so that she could not hear any thing that passed, and could not + be seen by the starers; and he detained her in conversation till Beauclerc + came to say—“The carriage is ready, Lady Cecilia is impatient.” Lord + Castlefort opened a door that led at once to the staircase, so that they + had not to recross all the rooms, but got out immediately. The smallest + service merits thanks, and Helen thanked Lord Castlefort by a look which + he appreciated. + </p> + <p> + Even in the few words which Beauclerc had said as he announced the + carriage, she had perceived that he was agitated, and, as he attended her + in silence down the stairs, his look was grave and pre-occupied; she saw + he was displeased, and she thought he was displeased with her. When he had + put them into the carriage, he wished them good night. + </p> + <p> + “Are not you coming with us?” cried Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “No, he thanked her, he had rather walk, and,” he added—“I shall not + see you at breakfast—I am engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Home!” said Lady Cecilia, drawing up the glass with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + Helen looked out anxiously. Beauclerc had turned away, but she caught one + more glance of his face as the lamp flared upon it—she saw, and she + was sure that——“Something is very much the matter—I am + certain of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, my dear Helen,” said Lady Cecilia; “the matter is, that he is + tired to death, as I am sure I am.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s more than that,” said Helen, “he is angry,”—and she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Helen, do not torment yourself about nothing,” said Cecilia, who, + not being sure whether Beauclerc had heard anything, had not looked at his + countenance or remarked his tone; her mind was occupied with what had + passed while Helen was looking at the Madonna. Lady Cecilia had tried to + make out the meaning of these extraordinary starings and whisperings—Lady + Katrine would not tell her any thing distinctly, but said, “Strange + reports—so sorry it had got into the papers, those vile libellous + papers; of course she did not believe—of Miss Stanley. After all, + nothing very bad—a little awkward only—might be hushed up. + Better not talk of it to-night; but I will try, Cecilia, in the morning, + to find those paragraphs for you.” Lady Cecilia determined to go as early + as possible in the morning, and make out the whole; and, had she plainly + told this to Helen, it would have been better for all parties: but she + continued to talk of the people they had seen, to hide her thoughts from + Helen, who all the time felt as in a feverish dream, watching the lights + of the carriage flit by like fiery eyes, while she thought only of the + strange words she had heard and why they should have made Beauclerc angry + with her. + </p> + <p> + At last they were at home. As they went in, Lady Cecilia inquired if the + general had come in?—Yes, he had been at home for some time, and was + in bed. This was a relief. Helen was glad not to see any one, or to be + obliged to say anything more that night. Lady Cecilia bade her “be a good + child, and go to sleep.” How much Helen slept may be left to the judgment + of those who have any imagination. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + “<i>Miladi a une migranie affreuse</i> this morning,” said Felicie, + addressing herself on the stairs to Rose. “<i>Mille amitiés de sa part</i> + to your young lady, Miss Rose, and <i>miladi</i> recommend to her to + follow a good example, and to take her breakfast in her bed, and then to + take one good sleep till you shall hear <i>midi sonné</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Stanley, however, was up and dressed at the time when this message + was brought to her, and a few minutes afterwards a footman came to the + door, to give notice that the general was in the breakfast-room, waiting + to know whether Miss Stanley was coming down or not. The idea of a <i>tête-à-tetê</i> + breakfast with him was not now quite so agreeable as it would have been to + her formerly, but she went down. The general was standing with his back to + the fire, newspapers hanging from his hand, his look ominously grave. + After “Good mornings” had been exchanged with awful solemnity, Helen + ventured to hope that there was no bad public news. + </p> + <p> + “No public news whatever,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + Next, she was sorry to hear that Cecilia had “such a bad headache.” + </p> + <p> + “Tired last night,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “It was, indeed, a tiresome, disagreeable party,” said Helen, hoping this + would lead to how so? or why? but the general drily answered, “Not the + London season,” and went on eating his breakfast in silence. + </p> + <p> + Such a constraint and awe came upon her, that she felt it would be taking + too great a liberty, in his present mood, to put sugar and cream into his + tea, as she was wont in happier times. She set sugar-bowl and cream before + him, and whether he understood, or noticed not her feelings, she could not + guess. He sugared, and creamed, and drank, and thought, and spoke not. + Helen put out of his way a supernumerary cup, to which he had already + given a push, and she said, “Mr. Beauclerc does not breakfast with us.” + </p> + <p> + “So I suppose,” said the general, “as he is not here.” + </p> + <p> + “He said he was engaged to breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “With some of his friends, I suppose,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + There the dialogue came to a full stop, and breakfast, uncomfortably on + her part, and with a preoccupied air on his, went on in absolute silence. + At length the general signified to the servant who was in waiting, by a + nod, and a look towards the door, that his further attendance was + dispensed with. At another time Helen would have felt such a dismissal as + a relief, for she disliked, and recollected that her uncle particularly + disliked, the fashion of having servants waiting at a family breakfast, + which he justly deemed unsuited to our good old English domestic habits; + but somehow it happened that at this moment she was rather sorry when the + servant left the room. He returned however in a moment, with something + which he fancied to be yet wanting; the general, after glancing at + whatever he had brought, said, “That will do, Cockburn; we want nothing + more.” + </p> + <p> + Cockburn placed a screen between him and the fire; the general put it + aside, and, looking at him, said sternly—“Cockburn, no intelligence + must ever go from my house to any newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + Cockburn bowed—“None shall, Sir, if I can prevent it; none ever did + from me, general.” + </p> + <p> + “None must ever go from anyone in my family—look to it.” + </p> + <p> + Cockburn bowed again respectfully, but with a look of reservation of right + of remonstrance, answered by a look from his master, of “No more must be + said.” Yet Cockburn was a favourite; he had lived in the family from the + time he was a boy. He moved hastily towards the door, and having turned + the handle, rested upon it and said, “general, I cannot answer for + others.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Cockburn, I must find somebody who can.” + </p> + <p> + Cockburn disappeared, but after closing the door the veteran opened it + again, stood, and said stoutly, though seemingly with some impediment in + his throat—“General Clarendon, do me the justice to give me full + powers.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you require: say, such are your orders from me, and that you + have full power to dismiss whoever disobeys.” Cockburn bowed, and withdrew + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + Another silence, when the general hastily finishing his breakfast, took up + the newspaper, and said, “I wished to have spared you the pain of seeing + these, Miss Stanley, but it must be done now. There have appeared in + certain papers, paragraphs alluding to Beauclerc and to you; these + scandalous papers I never allow to enter my house, but I was informed that + there were such paragraphs, and I was obliged to examine into them. I am + sorry to find that they have some of them been copied into my paper + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + He laid the newspaper before her. The first words which struck her eye + were the dreaded whispers of last night; the paragraph was as follows: + </p> + <p> + “In a few days will be published the Memoirs of the late Colonel D’——, + comprising anecdotes, and original love-letters; which will explain the + mysterious allusions lately made in certain papers to ‘<i>La belle Fiancée</i>,’ + and ‘<i>I promessi sposi</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” exclaimed Helen; “the letters! published!” + </p> + <p> + The general had turned from her as she read, and had gone to his + writing-desk, which was at the furthest end of the room; he unlocked it, + and took from it a small volume, and turning over the leaves as he slowly + approached Helen, he folded down some pages, laid the volume on the table + before her, and then said, “Before you look into these scandalous memoirs, + Miss Stanley, let me assure you, that nothing but the necessity of being + empowered by you to say what is truth and what is falsehood, could + determine me to give you this shock.” + </p> + <p> + She was scarcely able to put forward her hand; yet took the book, opened + it, looked at it, saw letters which she knew could not be Cecilia’s, but + turning another leaf, she pushed it from her with horror. It was the + letter—beginning with “My dear—too dear Henry.” + </p> + <p> + “In print!” cried she; “In print! published!” + </p> + <p> + “Not published yet, that I hope to be able to prevent,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + Whether she heard, whether she could hear him, he was not certain, her + head was bent down, her hands clasping her forehead. He waited some + minutes, then sitting down beside her, with a voice of gentleness and of + commiseration, yet of steady determination, he went on:—“I <i>must</i> + speak, and you <i>must</i> hear me, Helen, for your own sake, and for + Beauclerc’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak,” cried she, “I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear then the words of a friend, who will be true to you through life—through + life and death, if you will be but true to yourself, Helen Stanley—a + friend who loves you as he loves Beauclerc; but he must do more, he must + esteem you as he esteems Beauclerc, incapable of any thing that is false.” + </p> + <p> + Helen listened with her breath suspended, not a word in reply. + </p> + <p> + “Then I ask——” She put her hand upon his arm, as if to stop + him; she had a foreboding that he was going to ask something that she + could not, without betraying Cecilia, answer. + </p> + <p> + “If you are not yet sufficiently collected, I will wait; take your own + time—My question is simple—I ask you to tell me whether <i>all</i> + these letters are your’s or not?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Helen, “these letters are not mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Not all,” said the general: “this first one I know to be yours, because I + saw it in your handwriting; but I am certain all cannot be yours: now will + you show me which are and which are not.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take them to my own room, and consider and examine.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not look at them here, Miss Stanley?” + </p> + <p> + She wanted to see Cecilia, she knew she could never answer the question + without consulting her, but that she could not say; still she had no other + resource, so, conquering her trembling, she rose and said, “I would rather + go to——” + </p> + <p> + “Not to Cecilia,” said he; “to that I object: what can Cecilia do for you? + what can she advise, but what I advise, that the plain truth should be + told?” + </p> + <p> + “If I could! O if I could!” cried Helen. + </p> + <p> + “What can you mean? Pardon me, Miss Stanley, but surely you can tell the + plain fact; you can recollect what you have written—at least you can + know what you have not written. You have not yet even looked beyond a few + of the letters—pray be composed—be yourself. This business it + was that brought me to town. I was warned by that young lady, that poetess + of Mr. Churchill’s, whom you made your friend by some kindness at + Clarendon Park—I was warned that there was a book to come out, these + Memoirs of Colonel D’Aubigny, which would contain letters said to be + yours, a publication that would be highly injurious to you. I need not + enter into details of the measures I consequently took; but I ascertained + that Sir Thomas D’Aubigny, the elder brother of the colonel, knows nothing + more of the matter than that he gave a manuscript of his brother’s, which + he had never read, to be published: the rest is a miserable intrigue + between booksellers and literary manufacturers, I know not whom; I have + not been able to get to the bottom of it; sufficient for my present + purpose I know, and must tell you. You have enemies who evidently desire + to destroy your reputation, of course to break your marriage. For this + purpose the slanderous press has been set at work, the gossiping part of + the public has had its vile curiosity excited, the publication of this + book is expected in a few days: this is the only copy yet completed, I + believe, and this I could not get from the bookseller till this morning; I + am now going to have every other copy destroyed directly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh my dear, dear friend, how can I thank you?” Her tears gushed forth. + </p> + <p> + “Thank me not by words, Helen, but by actions; no tears, summon your soul—be + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “O if I could but retrieve one false step!”—she suddenly checked + herself. + </p> + <p> + He stood aghast for an instant, then recovering himself as he looked upon + her and marked the nature of her emotion, he said: “There can be no false + step that you could ever have taken that cannot be retrieved. There can + have been nothing that is irretrievable, except falsehood.” + </p> + <p> + “Falsehood! No,” cried she, “I will not say what is false—therefore + I will not say anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Then since you cannot speak,” continued the general, “will you trust me + with the letters themselves? Have you brought them to town with you?” + </p> + <p> + “The original letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, those in the packet which I gave to you at Clarendon Park.” + </p> + <p> + “They are burned.” + </p> + <p> + “All?—one, this first letter I saw you tear; did you burn all the + rest?” + </p> + <p> + “They are burned,” repeated she, colouring all over. She could not say “I + burned them.” + </p> + <p> + He thought it a poor evasion. “They are burned,” continued he, “that is, + you burned them: unfortunate. I must then recur to my first appeal. Take + this pencil, and mark, I pray you, the passages that are your’s. I may be + called on to prove the forgery of these passages: if you do not show me, + and truly, which are yours, and which are not, how can I answer for you, + Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “One hour,” said Helen,—“only leave me for one hour, and it shall be + done.” + </p> + <p> + “Why this cowardly delay?” + </p> + <p> + “I ask only one hour—only leave me for one hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I obey, Miss Stanley, since it must be so. I am gone.” + </p> + <p> + He went, and Helen felt how sunk she was in his opinion,—sunk for + ever, she feared! but she could not think distinctly, her mind was + stunned; she felt that she must wait for somebody, but did not at first + recollect clearly that it was for Cecilia. She leaned back on the sofa, + and sank into a sort of dreamy state. How long she remained thus + unconscious she knew not; but she was roused at last by the sound, as she + fancied, of a carriage stopping at the door: she started up, but it was + gone, or it had not been. She perceived that the breakfast things had been + removed, and, turning her eyes upon the clock, she was surprised to see + how late it was. She snatched up the pages which she hated to touch, and + ran up-stairs to Cecilia’s room,—door bolted;—she gave a hasty + tap—no answer; another louder, no answer. She ran into the + dressing-room for Felicie, who came with a face of mystery, and the smile + triumphant of one who knows what is not to be known. But the smile + vanished on seeing Miss Stanley’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu! Miss Stanley—how pale! mais qu’est ce que c’est? Mon + Dieu, qu’est ce que c’est donc?” + </p> + <p> + “Is Lady Cecilia’s door bolted within side?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “No, only lock by me,” said Mademoiselle Felicie. “Miladi charge me not to + tell you she was not dere. And I had de presentiment you might go up to + look for her in her room. Her head is got better quite. She is all up and + dress; she is gone out in the carriage, and will soon be back no doubt. I + know not to where she go, but in my opinion to my Lady Katrine. If you + please, you not mention I say dat, as miladi charge me not to speak of dis + to you. <i>Apparemment quelque petit mystère</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Helen felt as if her last hope was gone, and now in a contrary + extreme from the dreamy torpor in which she had been before, she was + seized with a nervous impatience for the arrival of Cecilia, though + whether to hope or fear from it, she did not distinctly know. She went to + the drawing-room, and listened and listened, and watched and watched, and + looked at the clock, and felt a still increasing dread that the general + might return before Lady Cecilia, and that she should not have + accomplished her promise. She became more and more impatient. As it grew + later, the rolling of carriages increased, and their noise grew louder, + and continually as they came near she expected that one would stop at the + door. She expected and expected, and feared, and grew sick with fear long + deferred. At last one carriage did stop, and then came a thundering knock—louder, + she thought, than usual; but before she could decide whether it was + Cecilia or not, the room-door opened, and the servant had scarcely time to + say, that two ladies who did not give their names had insisted upon being + let up—when the two ladies entered. One in the extreme of foreign + fashion, but an Englishwoman, of assured and not prepossessing appearance; + the other, half hid behind her companion, and all timidity, struck Helen + as the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons for forcing your doors,” said the foremost lady; “but + I bear my apology in my hand: a precious little box of Roman cameos from a + friend of Lady Cecilia Clarendon’s, which I was desired to deliver + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Helen was, of course, sorry that Lady Cecilia was not at home. + </p> + <p> + “I presume I have the honour of speaking to Miss Stanley,” continued the + assured lady, and she gave her card “Comtesse de St. Cymon.” Then + half-turning to the beauty, who now became visible—“Allow me to <i>mention</i>—Lady + Blanche Forrester.” + </p> + <p> + At that name Helen did not start, but she felt as if she had received an + electric shock. How she went through the necessary forms of civility she + knew not; but even in the agony of passion the little habits of life hold + their sway. The customary motions were made, and words pronounced; yet + when Helen looked at that beautiful Lady Blanche, and saw how beautiful! + there came a spasm at her heart. + </p> + <p> + The comtesse, in answer to her look towards a chair, did not “choose to + sit down—could not stay—would not intrude on Miss Stanley.” So + they stood, Helen supporting herself as best she could, and preserving, + apparently, perfect composure, seeming to listen to what farther Madame de + St. Cymon was saying; but only the sounds reached her ear, and a general + notion that she spoke of the box in her hand. She gave Helen some message + to Lady Cecilia, explanatory of her waiting or not waiting upon her + ladyship, to all which Helen answered with proper signs of civility; and + while the comtesse was going on, she longed to look again at Lady Blanche, + but dared not. She saw a half curtsey and a receding motion; and she knew + they were going, and she curtsied mechanically. She felt inexpressible + relief when Madame de St. Cymon turned her back and moved towards the + door. Then Helen looked again at Lady Blanche, and saw again her + surpassing beauty and perfect tranquillity. The tranquillity gave her + courage, it passed instantaneously into herself, through her whole + existence. The comtesse stopped in her way out, to look at a china table. + “Ha! beautiful! Sêvre!—enamel—by Jaquetot, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + Helen was able to go forward, and answer to all the questions asked. Not + one word from the Lady Blanche; but she wished to hear the sound of her + voice. She tried—she spoke to her; but to whatever Helen said, no + answer came, but the sweetest of smiles. The comtesse, with easy assurance + and impertinent ill-breeding, looked at all that lay in her way, and took + up and opened the miniature pictures that were on the table. “Lady Cecilia + Clarendon—charming!—Blanche, you never saw her yet. Quite + charming, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + Not a word from Lady Blanche, but a smile, a Guido smile. Another + miniature taken up by the curious comtesse. “Ah! very like indeed! not + flattered though. Do you know it, Blanche—eh?” + </p> + <p> + It was Beauclerc. Lady Blanche then murmured some few words indistinctly, + in a very sweet voice, but showed no indication of feeling, except, as + Helen gave one glance, she thought she saw a slight colour, like the + inside of a shell, delicately beautiful; but it might be only the + reflection from the crimson silk curtain near which she stood: it was + gone, and the picture put down; and in a lively tone from the comtesse “<i>Au + revoir</i>,” and exit, a graceful bend from the silent beauty, and the + vision vanished. + </p> + <p> + Helen stood for some moments fixed to the spot where they left her. She + questioned her inmost thoughts. “Why was I struck so much, so strangely, + with that beauty—so painfully? It cannot be envy; I never was + envious of any one, though so many I have seen so much handsomer than + myself. Jealousy? surely not; for there is no reason for it—no + possibility of danger. Yet now, alas! when he has so much cause to doubt + me! perhaps he might change. He seemed so displeased last night, and he + has never been here all the morning!” She recollected the look and accent + of Madame de St. Cymon, as she said the words “<i>au revoir</i>.” Helen + did not like the words, or the look. She did not like anything about + Madame de St. Cymon: “Something so assured, so impertinent! And all that + unintelligible message about those cameos!—a mere excuse for making + this unseasonable pushing visit—just pushing for the acquaintance. + The general will never permit it, though—that is one comfort. But + why do I say comfort?” Back went the circle of her thoughts to the same + point.—“What can I do?—the general will return, he will find I + have not obeyed him. But what can be done till Cecilia returns? If she + were but here, I could mark—we could settle. O Cecilia! where are + you? But,” thought she, “I had better look at the whole. I will, have + courage to read these horrible letters.” To prevent all hazard of further + interruption, she now went into an inner room, bolted the doors, and sat + down to her dreaded task. And there we leave her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + That Fortune is not nice in her morality, that she frequently favours + those who do not adhere to truth more than those who do, we have early had + occasion to observe. But whether Fortune may not be in this, as in all the + rest, treacherous and capricious; whether she may not by her first smiles + and favours lure her victims on to their cost, to their utter undoing at + last, remains to be seen. + </p> + <p> + It is time to inquire what has become of Lady Cecilia Clarendon. Before we + follow her on her very early morning visit to her cousin’s, we must take + leave to pause one moment to remark, not in the way of moralising by any + means, but simply as a matter of history, that the first little fib in + which Lady Cecilia, as a customary licence of speech, indulged herself the + moment she awoke this morning, though it seemed to answer its purpose + exactly at the time, occasioned her ladyship a good deal of superfluous + toil and trouble during the course of the day. In reply to the first + question her husband had asked, or in evasion of that question, she had + answered, “My dear love, don’t ask me any questions, for I have such a + horrid headache, that I really can hardly speak.” + </p> + <p> + Now a headache, such as she had at that moment, certainly never silenced + any woman. Slighter could not be—scarce enough to swear by. There + seemed no great temptation to prevarication either, for the general’s + question was not of a formidable nature, not what the lawyers call a + leading question, rather one that led to nothing. It was only, “Had you a + pleasant party at Lady Castlefort’s last night, my dear Cecilia?” But with + that prescience with which some nicely foresee how the truth, seemingly + most innocent, may do harm, her ladyship foreboded that, if she answered + straight forward—“no”—that might lead to—why? how? or + wherefore?—and this might bring out the history of the strange rude + manner in which <i>la belle fiancée</i> had been received. That need not + necessarily have followed, but, even if it had, it would have done her no + harm,—rather would have served at once her purpose in the best + manner possible, as time will show. Her husband, unsuspicious man, asked + no more questions, and only gave her the very advice she wished him to + give, that she should not get up to breakfast—that she should rest + as long as she could. Farther, as if to forward her schemes, even without + knowing them, he left the house early, and her headache conveniently going + off, she was dressed with all despatch—carriage at the door as soon + as husband out of sight, and away she went, as we have seen, without + Helen’s hearing, seeing, or suspecting her so well contrived and executed + project. + </p> + <p> + She was now in good spirits. The infection of fear which she had caught, + perhaps from the too sensitive Helen, last night, she had thrown off this + morning. It was a sunny day, and the bright sunshine dispelled, as ever + with her, any black notions of the night, all melancholy ideas whatsoever. + She had all the constitutional hopefulness of good animal spirits. But + though no fears remained, curiosity was as strong as ever. She was + exceedingly eager to know what had been the cause of all these strange + appearances. She guessed it must be some pitiful jealousy of Lady + Katrine’s—some poor spite against Helen. Anything that should really + give Beauclerc uneasiness, she now sincerely believed to be out of the + question. Nonsense—only Helen and Beauclerc’s love of tormenting + themselves—quite nonsense! And nonsense! three times ejaculated, + quite settled the matter, and assured her in the belief that there could + be nothing serious to be apprehended. In five minutes she should be at the + bottom of all things, and in half an hour return triumphant to Helen, and + make her laugh at her cowardly self. The carriage rolled on, Lady + Cecilia’s spirits rising as she moved rapidly onwards, so that by the time + she arrived at Lady Castlefort’s she was not only in good but in high + spirits. To her askings, “Not at home” never echoed. Even at hours undue, + such as the present, she, privileged, penetrated. Accordingly, + unquestioned, unquestioning, the alert step was let down, opened wide was + the hall-door, and lightly tripped she up the steps; but the first look + into the hall told her that company was in the house already—yes—a + breakfast—all were in the breakfast-room, except Lady Castlefort, + not yet come down—above, the footman believed, in her boudoir. To + the boudoir Cecilia went, but Lady Castlefort was not there, and Cecilia + was surprised to hear the sound of music in the drawing-room, Lady + Castlefort’s voice singing. While she waited in the next room for the song + to be finished, Cecilia turned over the books on the table, richly gilt + and beautifully bound, except one in a brown paper parcel, which seemed + unsuited to the table, yet excited more attention than all the others, + because it was directed <i>“Private—for Lady Katherine Hawksby—to + be returned before two o’clock.”</i> What could it be? thought Lady + Cecilia. But her attention was now attracted by the song which Lady + Castlefort seemed to be practising; the words were distinctly pronounced, + uncommonly distinctly, so as to be plainly heard— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> “Had we never loved so kindly,<br /> Hail we never loved so blindly,<br /> Never met, or never parted.<br /> We had ne’er been broken-hearted."<br /></pre> + <p> + As Cecilia listened, she cast her eyes upon a card which lay on the table—“Lord + Beltravers,” and a new light flashed upon her, a light favourable to her + present purpose; for since the object was altered with Lady Castlefort, + since it was not Beauclerc any longer, there would be no further ill-will + towards Helen. Lady Castlefort was not of the violent vindictive sort, + with her there was no long-lasting <i>dépit amoureux</i>. She was not that + fury, a woman scorned, but that blessed spirit, a woman believing herself + always admired. “Soft, silly, sooth—not one of the hard, wicked, is + Louisa,” thought Cecilia. And as Lady Castlefort, slowly opening the door, + entered, timid, as if she knew some particular person was in the room, + Cecilia could not help suspecting that Louisa had intended her song for + other ears than those of her dear cousin, and that the superb negligence + of her dress was not unstudied; but that well-prepared, well-according + sentimental air, changed instantly on seeing—not the person + expected, and with a start, she exclaimed, “Cecilia Clarendon!” + </p> + <p> + “Louisa Castlefort!” cried Lady Cecilia, answering that involuntary start + of confusion with a well-acted start of admiration. “Louisa Castlefort, <i>si + belle, si belle</i>, so beautifully dressed!” + </p> + <p> + “Beautifully dressed—nothing extraordinary!” said Lady Castlefort, + advancing with a half embarrassed, half <i>nonchalant</i> air,—“One + must make something of a <i>toilette de matin</i>, you know, when one has + people to breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “So elegant, so negligent!” continued Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “There is the point,” said Lady Castlefort. “I cannot bear any thing that + is studied in costume, for dress is really a matter of so little + consequence! I never bestow a thought upon it. Angelique rules my toilette + as she pleases.” + </p> + <p> + “Angelique has the taste of an angel fresh from Paris,” cried Lady + Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “And now tell me, Cecilia,” pursued Lady Castlefort, quite in good humour, + “tell me, my dear, to what do I owe this pleasure? what makes you so <i>matinale?</i> + It must be something very extraordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, only a little matter of curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + Then, from Lady Castlefort, who had hitherto, as if in absence of mind, + stood, there was a slight “Won’t you sit?” motion. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I can’t sit, can’t stay,” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + A look quickly visible, and quickly suppressed, showed Lady Castlefort’s + sense of relief; then came immediately greater pressing to sit down, “Pray + do not be in such a hurry. + </p> + <p> + “But I am keeping you; have you breakfasted?” + </p> + <p> + “Taken coffee in my own room,” said Lady Castlefort “But you have people + to breakfast; must not you go down?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I shall not go down for this is Katrine’s affair, as I will + explain to you.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was quite content, without any explanation; and sitting down, + she drew her chair close to Lady Castlefort, and said, “Now, my dear, my + little matter of curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, my dear, first I must tell you about Katrine—now + confidentially—very.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia ought to have been aware that when once her dear cousin + Louisa’s little heart opened, and she became confidential, very, it was + always of her own domestic grievances she began to talk, and that, once + the sluice opened, out poured from the deep reservoir the long-collected + minute drops of months and years. + </p> + <p> + “You have no idea what a life I lead with Katrine—now she is grown + blue.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she?” said Lady Cecilia, quite indifferent. + </p> + <p> + “Deep blue! shocking: and this is a blue breakfast, and all the people at + it are true bores, and a blue bore is, as Horace Churchill says, one of + the most mischievous creatures breathing; and he tells me the only way of + hindering them from doing mischief is by <i>ringing</i> them; but first + you must get rings. Now, in this case, for Katrine not a ring to be had + for love or money. So there is no hope for me.” + </p> + <p> + “No hope for me,” thought Lady Cecilia, throwing herself back in her + chair, submissive, but not resigned. + </p> + <p> + “If it had but pleased Heaven,” continued Lady Castlefort, “in its mercy, + to have sent Katrine a husband of any kind, what a blessing it would have + been! If she could but have been married to any body—now any body—” + </p> + <p> + “Any body is infinitely obliged to you,” said Cecilia, “but since that is + out of the question, let us say no more about it—no use.” + </p> + <p> + “No use! that is the very thing of which I complain; the very thing which + must ever—ever make me miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, my dear,” cried Lady Cecilia, no longer capable of patience; + “do not be miserable any more just now; never mind Katrine just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind her! Easy for you to say, Cecilia, who do not live with + Katrine Hawksby, and do not know what it is to have such a plague of a + sister, watching one,—watching every turn, every look one gives—worse + than a jealous husband. Can I say more?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Cecilia; “therefore say no more about it. I understand it all + perfectly, and I pity you from the bottom of my heart, so now, my dear + Louisa——” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, my dear Cecilia,” pursued Lady Castlefort, continuing her own + thoughts, “I tell you, Katrine is envious of me. Envy has been her fault + from a child. Envy of poor me! Envy, in the first place, of whatever good + looks it pleased Providence to give me.” A glance at the glass.—“And + now Katrine envies me for being Lady Castlefort, Heaven knows! now, + Cecilia, and you know, she need not envy me so when she looks at Lord + Castlefort; that is, what she sometimes says herself, which you know is + very wrong of her to say to me—unnecessary too, when she knows I had + no more hand in my marriage——” + </p> + <p> + “Than heart!” Cecilia could not forbear saying. + </p> + <p> + “Than heart!” readily responded Lady Castlefort; “never was a truer word + said. Never was there a more complete sacrifice than my mother made of me; + you know, Cecilia, a poor, young, innocent, helpless sacrifice, if ever + there was one upon earth.” + </p> + <p> + “To a coronet,” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely dragged to the altar,” continued Lady Castlefort. + </p> + <p> + “In Mechlin lace, that was some comfort,” said Cecilia laughing, and she + laughed on in hope of cutting short this sad chapter of sacrifices. But + Lady Castlefort did not understand raillery upon this too tender point. “I + don’t know what you mean by Mechlin lace,” cried she pettishly. “Is this + your friendship for me, Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia, justly in fear of losing the reward of all her large lay-out of + flattery, fell to protesting the tenderest sympathy. “But only now it was + all over, why make her heart bleed about what could not be helped?” + </p> + <p> + “Cannot be helped! Oh! there is the very thing I must ever, ever mourn.” + </p> + <p> + The embroidered cambric handkerchief was taken out of the bag; no tears, + indeed, came, but there were sobs, and Cecilia not knowing how far it + might go, apprehending that her ladyship meditated hysterics, seized a + smelling-bottle, threw out the stopper, and presented it close under the + nostrils. The good “<i>Sels poignans d’Angleterre,</i>” of which Felicie + always acknowledged the unrivalled potency, did their business + effectually. Back went the head, with an exclamation of “That’s enough! + Oh, oh! too much! too much, Cecilia!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you better, my dear?” inquired Cecilia; “but indeed you must not give + way to low spirits; indeed, you must not: so now to change the + conversation, Louisa——” + </p> + <p> + “Not so fast, Lady Cecilia; not yet;” and now Louisa went on with a + medical maundering. “As to low spirits, my dear Cecilia, I must say I + agree with Sir Sib Pennyfeather, who tells me it is not mere common low + spirits, but really all mind, too much mind; mind preying upon my nerves. + Oh! I knew it myself. At first he thought it was rather constitutional; + poor dear Sir Sib! he is very clever, Sir Sib; and I convinced him he was + wrong; and so we agreed that it was all upon my mind—all; all——” + </p> + <p> + At that instant a green parrot, who had been half asleep in the corner, + awoke on Lady Castlefort’s pronouncing, in an elevated tone, “All, all!” + and conceiving himself in some way called upon, answered, “Poll! Poll! bit + o’sugar Poll!” No small difficulty had Lady Cecilia at that moment in + keeping her risible muscles in order; but she did, for Helen’s sake, and + she was rewarded, for after Lady Castlefort had, all unconscious of + ridicule, fed Poll from her amber bonbonniere, and sighed out once more + “Mind! too much mind!” she turned to Cecilia, and said, “But, my dear, you + wanted something; you had something to ask me.” + </p> + <p> + At once, and as fast as she could speak, Lady Cecilia poured out her + business about Helen Stanley. She told of the ill-bred manner in which + Helen had been received last night; inquired why the words <i>promessi + sposi</i> and <i>belle fiancée</i> were so oddly repeated, as if they had + been watchwords, and asked what was meant by all those strange whisperings + in the sanctum sanctorum. + </p> + <p> + “Katrine’s set,” observed Lady Castlefort coolly. “Just like them; just + like her!” + </p> + <p> + “I should not care about it in the least,” said Lady Cecilia, “if it were + only Katrine’s ill-nature, or their ill-breeding. Ill-breeding always + recoils on the ill-bred, and does nobody else any harm. But I should be + glad to be quite clear that there is nothing more at the bottom.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Castlefort made no reply, but took up a bunch of seals, and looked at + each of them one after another. Lady Cecilia more afraid now than she had + yet been that there was something at the bottom, still bravely went on, + “What is it? If you know, tell me at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, ask Katrine,” said Lady Castlefort. + </p> + <p> + “No, I ask you, I would rather ask you, for you are good-natured, Louisa—so + tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “But I dare say it is only slander,” said the good-natured Louisa. + </p> + <p> + “Slander!” repeated Lady Cecilia, “slander did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; what is there to surprise you so much in that word? did you never + hear of such a thing? I am sure I hear too much of it; Katrine lives and + breathes and fattens upon it; as Churchill says, she eats slander, drinks + slander, sleeps upon slander.” + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, what of Helen? that is all I want to hear,” cried Lady + Cecilia: “Slander! of Helen Stanley! what is it that Katrine says about + poor Helen? what spite, what vengeance, can she have against her, tell me, + tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “If you would ask one question at a time, I might be able to answer you,” + said Lady Castlefort. “Do not hurry me so; you fidget my nerves. First as + to the spite, you know yourself that Katrine, from the beginning, never + could endure Helen Stanley; for my part, I always rather liked her than + otherwise, and shall defend her to the last.” + </p> + <p> + “Defend her!” + </p> + <p> + “But Katrine was always jealous of her, and lately worse than ever, for + getting into her place, as she says, with you; that made her hate her all + the more.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her hate on, that will never make me love Helen the less.” + </p> + <p> + “So I told her; and besides, Miss Stanley is going to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure;—well?” + </p> + <p> + “And Katrine naturally hates every body that is going to be married. If + you were to see the state she is in always reading the announcements of + Marriages in High Life! Churchill, I do believe, had Miss Stanley’s + intended match put into every paper continually, on purpose for the + pleasure of plaguing Katrine; and if you could have seen her long face, + when she saw it announced in the Court Gazette—good authority, you + know—really it was pitiable.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care, I don’t care about that—Oh pray go on to the facts + about Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but the fact is as I tell you; you wanted to know what sufficient + cause for vengeance, and am not I telling you? If you would not get into + such a state of excitement!—as Sir Sib says excitements should be + avoided. La! my dear,” continued Lady Castlefort, looking up at her with + unfeigned astonishment, “what agitation! why, if it were a matter that + concerned yourself——” + </p> + <p> + “It concerns my friend, and that is the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “So one says; but—you look really, such a colour.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter what colour I look,” cried Cecilia; “go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you never read the papers?” said Lady Castlefort. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” said Lady Cecilia; “but I have not looked at a paper these + three days; was there any thing particular? tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear! tell you! as if I could remember by heart all the scandalous + paragraphs I read.” She looked round the room, and not seeing the papers, + said, “I do not know what has become of those papers; but you can find + them when you go home.” + </p> + <p> + She mentioned the names of two papers, noted for being personal, + scandalous, and scurrilous. + </p> + <p> + “Are those the papers you mean?” cried Lady Cecilia; “the general never + lets them into the house.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a pity—that’s hard upon you, for then you never are, as you + see, <i>au courant du jour</i>, and all your friends might be abused to + death without your knowing it, if some kind person did not tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me, then, the substance; I don’t want the words.” + </p> + <p> + “But the words are all. Somehow it is nothing without the words.” + </p> + <p> + In her now excited state of communicativeness, Lady Castlefort rose and + looked all about the room for the papers, saying, “They were here, they + were there, all yesterday; Katrine had them showing them to Lady Masham in + the morning, and to all her blue set afterwards—Lord knows what she + has done with them. So tiresome looking for things! how I hate it.” + </p> + <p> + She rang the bell and inquired from the footman if he knew what had become + of the papers. Of course he did not know, could not imagine—servants + never know, nor can imagine what have become of newspapers—but he + would inquire. While he went to inquire, Lady Castlefort sank down again + into her <i>bergère</i>, and again fell into admiration of Cecilia’s state + of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “How curious you are! Now I am never really curious about any thing that + does not come home to myself; I have so little interest about other + people.” + </p> + <p> + This was said in all the simplicity of selfishness, not from candour, but + from mere absence of shame, and utter ignorance of what others think—what + others feel, which always characterises, and often betrays the selfish, + even where the head is best capable of supplying the deficiencies of the + heart. But Louisa Castlefort had no head to hide her want of heart; while + Cecilia, who had both head and heart, looked down upon her cousin with + surprise, pity, and contempt, quick succeeding each other, in a sort of + parenthesis of feeling, as she moved her eyes for a moment from the door + on which they had been fixed, and to which they recurred, while she stood + waiting for the appearance of those newspapers. The footman entered with + them. “In Mr. Landrum’s room they were, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia did not hear a word that was said, nor did she see that the + servant laid a note on the table. It was well that Louisa had that note to + read, and to answer, while Cecilia looked at the paragraphs in these + papers; else her start must have been seen, her exclamation must have been + heard: it must have been marked, that the whole character of her emotion + changed from generous sympathy with her friend, to agony of fear for + herself. The instant she cast her eyes on that much-read paper, she saw + the name of Colonel D’Aubigny; all the rest swam before her eyes. Lady + Castlefort, without looking up from her writing, asked—What day of + the month? Cecilia could not answer, but recalled to herself by the sound + of the voice, she now tried to read—she scarcely read the words, but + some way took the sense into her mind at a glance. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + The first of these paragraphs caught the eye by its title in capital + letters. + </p> + <p> + “LA BELLE FIANCÉE. + </p> + <p> + “Though quite unknown in the London world, this young lady cannot fail to + excite some curiosity among our fashionables as the successful rival of + one whom the greatest painter of the age has pronounced to be <i>the + fairest of the fair</i>—the Lady B. F. This new <i>Helen</i> is, we + understand, of a respectable family, niece to a late dean, distinguished + for piety much and virtù more. It was reported that the niece was a great + heiress, but after the proposal had been made, it was discovered that + Virtù had made away with every shilling of her fortune. This made no + difference in the eyes of her inamorato, who is as rich as he is generous, + and who saw with the eyes of a youth ‘Of Age to-morrow.’ His guardian, a + wary general, demurred—but <i>nursery tactics</i> prevailed. The + young lady, though she had never been out, bore the victory from him of + many campaigns. The day for the marriage was fixed as announced by us—But + we are concerned to state that a <i>postponement</i> of this marriage for + <i>mysterious reasons</i> has taken place. Delicacy forbids us to say more + at present.” + </p> + <p> + Delicacy, however, did not prevent their saying in the next paper in a + paragraph headed, “MYSTERY SOLVED,” “We understand that in the course of a + few days will appear the ‘Memoirs of the late Colonel D——y; + or, <i>Reminiscences of a Rouè</i>, well known in the Fashionable World.’ + This little volume bids fair to engross the attention of the higher + circles, as it contains, besides innumerable curious, personal, and secret + anecdotes, the original love letters of a certain <i>belle fiancée</i>, + now residing with a noble family in Grosvenor Square.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia saw at once the whole dreadful danger—her own letters + to Colonel D’Aubigny they must he! How could they have got them? They + would be seen by her husband—published to the whole world—if + the general found out they were hers, he would cast her off for ever. If + they were believed to be Helen’s—Helen was undone, sacrificed to her + folly, her cowardice. “Oh! if I had but told Clarendon, he would have + stopped this dreadful, dreadful publication.” And what falsehoods it might + contain, she did not even dare to think. All was remorse, terror, + confusion—fixed to the spot like one stupified, she stood. Lady + Castlefort did not see it—she had been completely engrossed with + what she had been writing, she was now looking for her most sentimental + seal, and not till she had pressed that seal down and examined the + impression, did she look up or notice Cecilia—Then struck indeed + with a sense of something unusual—“My dear,” said she, “you have no + idea how odd you look—so strange, Cecilia—quite <i>èbahie!</i>” + Giving two pulls to the bell as she spoke, and her eyes on the door, + impatient for the servant, she added—“After all, Cecilia, Helen + Stanley is no relation even—only a friend. Take this note—” to + the footman who answered the bell; and the moment he left the room, + continuing, in the same tone, to Lady Cecilia, she said—“You will + have to give her up at last—that’s all; so you had better make your + mind up to it.” + </p> + <p> + When Lady Cecilia tried to speak, she felt her tongue cleave to the roof + of her mouth; and when she did articulate, it was in a sort of hoarse + sound. “Is the book published?” She held the paper before Lady + Castlefort’s eyes, and pointed to the name she could not utter. + </p> + <p> + “D’Aubigny’s book—is it published, do you mean?” said Lady + Castlefort. “Absolutely published, I cannot say, but it is all in print, I + know. I do not understand about publishing. There’s something about + presentation copies: I know Katrine was wild to have one before any body + else, so she is to have the first copy, I know, and, I believe, is to have + it this very morning for the people at this breakfast: it is to be the <i>bonne + bouche</i> of the business.” + </p> + <p> + “What has Katrine to do with it?—Oh, tell me, quick!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, Cecilia, what a fuss you are in!—you make me quite nervous + to look at you. You had better go down to the breakfast-room, and you will + hear all about it from the fountain-head.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Katrine the book or not?” cried Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me! I will inquire, my dear, if you will not look so dreadful.” She + rang and coolly asked—“Did that man, that bookseller, Stone, send + any parcel or book this morning, do you know, for Lady Katrine?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lady; Landrum had a parcel for Lady Katrine—it is on the + table, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” The man left the room. Lady Cecilia darted on the brown paper + parcel she had seen directed to Lady Katrine, and seized it before the + amazed Louisa could prevent her. “Stop, stop!” cried she, springing + forward, “stop, Cecilia; Katrine will never forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + But Lady Cecilia seizing a penknife, cut the first knot. “Oh, Cecilia, I + am undone if Katrine comes in! Make haste, make haste! I can only let you + have a peep or two. We must do it up again as well as ever,” continued + Lady Castlefort, while Lady Cecilia, fast as possible, went on cut, cut, + cutting the packthread to bits, and she tore off the brown paper cover, + then one of silver paper, that protected the silk binding. Lady Castlefort + took up the outer cover and read, “To be returned before two o’clock.”—“What + can that mean? Then it is only lent; not her own. Katrine will not + understand this—will be outrageously disappointed. I’m sure I don’t + care. But here is a note from Stone, however, which may explain it.” She + opened and read—“Stone’s respects—existing circumstances make + it necessary her ladyship’s copy should be returned. Will be called for at + two o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia, Cecilia, make haste! But Katrine does not know yet—Still + she may come up.” Lady Castlefort rang and inquired,— + </p> + <p> + “Have they done breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast is over, my lady,” said the servant who answered the bell, “but + Landrum thinks the gentlemen and ladies will not be up immediately, on + account of one of the ladies being <i>performing</i> a poem.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, very good,” added her ladyship, as the man left the room. + “Then, Cecilia, you will have time enough, for when once they begin + performing, as Sylvester calls it, there is no end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Heavens!” cried Cecilia, as she turned over the pages, “Oh Heavens! + what is here? Such absolute falsehood! Shocking, shocking!” she exclaimed, + as she looked on, terrified at what she saw: “Absolutely false—a + forgery.” + </p> + <p> + “Whereabouts are you?” said Lady Castlefort, approaching to read along + with her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not read it,” cried Cecilia, and she hastily closed the book. + </p> + <p> + “What signifies shutting the book, my dear,” said Louisa, “as if you could + shut people’s eyes? I know what it is; I have read it.” + </p> + <p> + “Read it!” + </p> + <p> + “Read it! I really can read, though it seems to astonish you.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is not published?” + </p> + <p> + “One can read in manuscript.” + </p> + <p> + “And did you see the manuscript?” + </p> + <p> + “I had a glimpse. Yes—I know more than Katrine thinks I know.” + </p> + <p> + “O tell me, Louisa; tell me all,” cried Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “I will, but you must never tell that I told it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak, speak,” cried Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “It is a long story,” said Lady Castlefort. + </p> + <p> + “Make it short then. O tell me quick, Louisa.’” + </p> + <p> + “There is a literary <i>dessous des cartes</i>,” said Lady Castlefort, a + little vain of knowing a literary <i>dessous des cartes</i>; “Churchill + being at the head of every thing of that sort, you know, the bookseller + brought him the manuscript which Sir Thomas D’Aubigny had offered him, and + wanted to know whether it would do or not. Mr. Churchill’s answer was, + that it would never do without more pepper and salt, meaning gossip and + scandal, and all that. But you are reading on, Cecilia, not listening to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am listening, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Then never tell how I came to know every thing. Katrine’s maid has a + lover, who is, as she phrases it, one of the gentlemen connected with the + press. Now, my Angelique, who cannot endure Katrine’s maid, tells me that + this man is only a <i>wonder-maker</i>, a half-crown paragraph writer. So, + through Angelique, and indeed from another person—” she stopped; and + then went on—“through Angelique it all came up to me.” + </p> + <p> + “All what?” cried Cecilia; “go on, go on to the facts.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, if you will not hurry me so. The letters were not in Miss + Stanley’s handwriting.” + </p> + <p> + “No! I am sure of that,” said Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Copies were all that they pretended to be; so they may be forgeries after + all, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did Katrine or Mr. Churchill come by the copies?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a notion, but of this I am not quite sure—I have a notion, + from something I was told by—in short I suspect that Carlos, Lady + Davenant’s page, somehow got at them, and gave them, or had them given to + the man who was to publish the book. Lady Katrine and Churchill laid their + heads together; here, in this very <i>sanctum sanctorum</i>. They thought + I knew nothing, but I knew every thing. I do not believe Horace had + anything to do with it, except saying that the love-letters would be just + the thing for the public if they were bad enough. I remember, too, that it + was he who added the second title, ‘Reminiscences of a Rouè,’ and said + something about alliteration’s artful aid. And now,” concluded Lady + Castlefort, “it is coming to the grand catastrophe, as Katrine calls it. + She has already told the story, and to-day she was to give all her set + what she calls ocular demonstration. Cecilia, now, quick, finish; they + will be here this instant. Give me the book; let me do it up this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; let me put it up,” cried Lady Cecilia, keeping possession of the + book and the brown paper. “I am a famous hand at doing up a parcel, as + famous as any Bond Street shopman: your hands are not made for such work.” + </p> + <p> + Any body but Lady Castlefort would have discerned that Lady Cecilia had + some further design, and she was herself afraid it would be perceived; but + taking courage from seeing what a fool she had to deal with, Lady Cecilia + went on more boldly: “Louisa, I must have more packthread; this is all cut + to bits.” + </p> + <p> + “I will ring and ask for some.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; do not ring for the footman; he might observe that we had opened + the parcel. Cannot you get a string without ringing? Look in that basket.” + </p> + <p> + “None there, I know,” said Lady Castlefort without stirring. + </p> + <p> + “In your own room then; Angelique has some.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I know! never mind how. Go, and she will give you packthread. I must have + it before Katrine comes up. So go, Louisa, go.” + </p> + <p> + “Go,” in the imperative mood, operated, and she went; she did not know + why. + </p> + <p> + That instant Lady Cecilia drew the book out of the half-folded paper, and + quick, quick, tore out page after page—every page of those letters + that concerned herself or Helen, and into the fire thrust them, and as + they blazed held them down bravely—had the boldness to wait till all + was black: all the while she trembled, but stood it, and they were burnt, + and the book in its brown paper cover was left on the table, and she down + stairs, before Lady Castlefort’s dressing-room door opened, and she + crossed the hall without meeting a soul except the man in waiting there. + The breakfast-room was at the back of the house looking into the gardens, + and her carriage at the front-door had never been seen by Lady Katrine, or + any of her blue set. She cleared out of the house into her carriage—and + off—“To the Park,” said she.—She was off but just in time. The + whole tribe came out of the breakfast room before she had turned the + corner of the street. She threw herself back in the carriage and took + breath, congratulating herself upon this hairbreadth ‘scape. For this + hour, this minute, she had escaped!—she was reprieved! + </p> + <p> + And now what was next to be done? This was but a momentary reprieve. + Another copy would be had—no, not till to-morrow though. The sound + of the words that had been read from the bookseller’s note by Lady + Castlefort, though scarcely noticed at the time, recurred to her now; and + there was hope something might to-day be done to prevent the publication. + It might still be kept for ever from her husband’s and from Beauclerc’s + knowledge. One stratagem had succeeded—others might. + </p> + <p> + She took a drive round the Park to compose the excessive flurry of her + spirits. Letting down all the glasses, she had the fresh air blowing upon + her, and ere she was half round, she was able to think of what yet + remained to do. Money! Oh! any money she could command she would give to + prevent this publication. She was not known to the bookseller—no + matter. Money is money from whatever hand. She would trust the matter to + no one but herself, and she would go immediately—not a moment to be + lost.—“To Stone’s, the bookseller’s.” + </p> + <p> + Arrived. “Do not give my name; only say, a lady wants to speak to Mr. + Stone.” + </p> + <p> + The people at Mr. Stone’s did not know the livery or the carriage, but + such a carriage and such a lady commanded the deference of the shopman. + “Please to walk in, madam,” and by the time she had walked in, the man + changed madam into your ladyship—“Mr. Stone will be with your + ladyship in a moment—only in the warehouse. If your ladyship will + please to walk up into the back drawing-room—there’s a fire.” The + maid followed to blow it; and while the bellows wheezed and the fire did + not burn, Lady Cecilia looked out of the window in eager expectation of + seeing Mr. Stone returning from the warehouse with all due celerity. No + Mr. Stone, however, appeared; but there was a good fire in the middle of + the court-yard, as she observed to the maid who was plying the wheezing + bellows; and who answered that they had had a great fire there this hour + past “burning of papers.” And at that moment a man came out with his arms + full of a huge pile—sheets of a book, Lady Cecilia saw—it was + thrown on the fire. Then came out and stood before the fire—could + she he mistaken?—impossible—it was like a dream—the + general! + </p> + <p> + Cecilia’s first thought was to run away before she should be seen; but the + next moment that thought was abandoned, for the time to execute it was now + past. The messenger sent across the yard had announced that a lady in the + back drawing-room wanted Mr. Stone. Eyes had looked up—the general + had seen and recognised her, and all she could now do was, to recognise + him in return, which she did as eagerly and gracefully as possible. The + general came up to her directly, not a little astonished that she, whom he + fancied at home in her bed, incapacitated by a headache that had prevented + her from speaking to him, should be here, so far out of her usual haunts, + and, as it seemed, out of her element—“What can bring you here, my + dear Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + “The same purpose which, if I rightly spell, brought you here, my dear + general,” and her eye intelligently glanced at the burning papers in the + yard. “Do you know then, Cecilia, what those papers are? How did you + know?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia told her history, keeping as strictly to facts as the nature + of the case admitted. Her headache, of course, she had found much better + for the sleep she had taken. She had set off, she told him, as soon as she + was able, for Lady Castlefort’s, to inquire into the meaning of the + strange whispers of the preceding night. Then she told of the scandalous + paragraphs she had seen; how she had looked over the book; and how + successfully she had torn out and destroyed the whole chapter; and then + how, hoping to be able to prevent the publication, she had driven directly + to Mr. Stone’s. + </p> + <p> + Her husband, with confiding, admiring eyes, looked at her and listened to + her, and thought all she said so natural, so kind, that he could not but + love her the more for her zeal of friendship, though he blamed her for + interfering, in defiance of his caution, “Had you consulted me, or + listened to me, my dear Cecilia, this morning, I could have saved you all + this trouble; I should have told you that I would settle with Stone, and + stop the publication, as I have done.” + </p> + <p> + “But that copy which had been sent to Lady Katrine, surely I did some good + there by burning those pages; for if once it had got among her set, it + would have spread like wildfire, you know, Clarendon.” + </p> + <p> + He acknowledged this, and said, smiling—“Be satisfied with yourself, + my love; I acknowledge that you made there a capital <i>coup de main</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Just then in came Mr. Stone with an account in his hand, which the general + stepped forward to receive, and, after one glance at the amount, he took + up a pen, wrote, and signed his name to a cheque on his banker. Mr. Stone + received it, bowed obsequiously, and assured the general that every copy + of the offensive chapter had been withdrawn from the book and burnt—“that + copy excepted which you have yourself, general, and that which was sent to + Lady Katrine Hawksby, which we expect in every minute, and it shall be + sent to Grosvenor Square immediately. I will bring it myself, to prevent + all danger.” + </p> + <p> + The general, who knew there was no danger there, smiled at Cecilia, and + told the bookseller that he need take no further trouble about Lady + Katrine’s copy; the man bowed, and looking again at the amount of the + cheque, retired well satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “You come home with me, my dear Clarendon, do not you?” said Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + They drove off. On their way, the general said—“It is always + difficult to decide whether to contradict or to let such publications take + their course: but in the present case, to stop the scandal instantly and + completely was the only thing to be done. There are cases of honour, when + women are concerned, where law is too slow: it must not be remedy, it must + be prevention. If the finger of scorn dares to point, it must be—cut + off.” After a pause of grave thought, he added—“Upon the manner in + which Helen now acts will depend her happiness—her character—her + whole future life.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia summoned all her power to prevent her from betraying herself: + the danger was great, for she could not command her fears so completely as + to hide the look of alarm with which she listened to the general; but in + his eyes her agitation appeared no more than was natural for her to feel + about her friend. + </p> + <p> + “My love,” continued he, “if Helen is worthy of your affection, she will + show it now. Her only resource is in perfect truth: tell her so, Cecilia—impress + it upon her mind. Would to Heaven I had been able to convince her of this + at first! Speak to her strongly, Cecilia; as you love her, impress upon + her that my esteem, Beauclerc’s love, the happiness of her life, depend + upon her truth!” As he repeated these words, the carriage stopped at their + own door. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + We left Helen in the back drawing-room, the door bolted, and beginning to + read her dreaded task. The paragraphs in the newspapers, we have seen, + were sufficiently painful, but when she came to the book itself—to + the letters—she was in consternation, greater even than what she had + felt in the general’s presence under the immediate urgency of his eye and + voice. Her conviction was that in each of these letters, there were some + passages, some expressions, which certainly were Cecilia’s, but mixed with + others, which as certainly were not hers. The internal evidence appeared + to her irresistibly strong: and even in those passages which she knew to + be Cecilia’s writing, it too plainly appeared that, however playfully, + however delicately expressed, there was more of real attachment for + Colonel D’Aubigny than Cecilia had ever allowed Helen to believe; and she + felt that Cecilia must shrink from General Clarendon’s seeing these as her + letters, after she had herself assured him that he was her first love. The + falsehood was here so indubitable, so proved, that Helen herself trembled + at the thought of Cecilia’s acknowledging the plain facts to her husband. + The time for it was past. Now that they were in print, published perhaps, + how must he feel! If even candid confession were made to him, and made for + the best motives, it would to him appear only forced by necessity—forced, + as he would say to himself, because her friend would not submit to be + sacrificed. + </p> + <p> + Such were Helen’s thoughts on reading the two or three first letters, but, + as she went on, her alarm increased to horror. She saw things which she + felt certain Cecilia could never have written; yet truth and falsehood + were so mixed up in every paragraph, circumstances which she herself had + witnessed so misrepresented, that it was all to her inextricable + confusion. The passages which were to be marked could not now depend upon + her opinion, her belief; they must rest upon Cecilia s integrity—and + could she depend upon it? The impatience which she had felt for Lady + Cecilia’s return now faded away, and merged in the more painful thought + that, when she did come, the suspense would not end—the doubts would + never be satisfied. + </p> + <p> + She lay down upon the sofa and tried to rest, kept herself perfectly + still, and resolved to think no more; and, as far as the power of the mind + over itself can stay the ever-rising thoughts, she controlled hers, and + waited with a sort of forced, desperate composure for the event. Suddenly + she heard that knock, that ring, which she knew announced Lady Cecilia’s + return. But not Cecilia alone; she heard the general also coming upstairs, + but Cecilia first, who did not stop for more than an instant at the + drawing-room door:—she looked in, as Helen guessed, and seeing that + no one was there, ran very quickly up the next flight of stairs. Next came + the general:—on hearing his step, Helen’s anxiety became so intense, + that she could not, at the moment he came near, catch the sound or + distinguish which way he went. Strained beyond its power, the faculty of + hearing seemed suddenly to fail—all was confusion, an indistinct + buzz of sounds. The next moment, however, recovering, she plainly heard + his step in the front drawing-room, and she knew that he twice walked up + and down the whole length of the room, as if in deep thought. Each time as + he approached the folding doors she was breathless. At last he stopped, + his hand was on the lock—she recollected that the door was bolted, + and as he turned the handle she, in a powerless voice, called to tell him, + but not hearing her, he tried again, and as the door shook she again tried + to speak, but could not. Still she heard, though she could not articulate. + She heard him say, “Miss Stanley, are you there? Can I see you?” + </p> + <p> + But the words—the voice seemed to come from afar—sounded dull + and strange. She tried to rise from her seat—found a difficulty—made + an effort—stood up—she summoned resolution—struggled—hurried + across the room—drew back the bolt—threw open the door—and + that was all she could do. In that effort strength and consciousness + failed—she fell forward and fainted at the general’s feet. He raised + her up, and laid her on the sofa in the inner room. He rang for her maid, + and went up-stairs to prevent Cecilia’s being alarmed. He took the matter + coolly: he had seen many fainting young ladies, he did not like them—his + own Cecilia excepted—in his mind always excepted from every + unfavourable suspicion regarding the sex. Helen, on the contrary, was at + present subject to them all, and, under the cloud of distrust, he saw in a + bad light every thing that occurred; the same appearances which, in his + wife, he would have attributed to the sensibility of true feeling, he + interpreted in Helen as the consciousness of falsehood, the proof of + cowardly duplicity. He went back at once to his original prejudice against + her, when, as he first thought, she had been forced upon him in preference + to his own sister. He had been afterwards convinced that she had been + perfectly free from all double dealing; yet now he slid back again, as + people of his character often do, to their first opinion. “I thought so at + first, and I find, as I usually do, that my first thought was right.” + </p> + <p> + What had been but an adverse feeling was now considered as a prescient + judgment. And he did not go upstairs the quicker for these thoughts, but + calmly and coolly, when he reached Lady Cecilia’s dressing-room, knocked + at the door, and, with all the precautions necessary to prevent her from + being alarmed, told her what had happened. “You had better not go down, my + dear Cecilia, I beg you will not. Miss Stanley has her own maid, all the + assistance that can be wanted. My dear, it is not fit for you. I desire + you will not go down.” + </p> + <p> + But Lady Cecilia would not listen, could not be detained; she escaped from + her husband, and ran down to Helen. Excessively alarmed she was, and well + she might be, knowing herself to be the cause, and not certain in any way + how it might end. She found Helen a little recovered, but still pale as + white marble; and when Lady Cecilia took her hand, it was still quite + cold. She came to herself but very slowly. For some minutes she did not + recover perfect consciousness, or clear recollection. She saw figures of + persons moving about her, she felt them as if too near, and wished them + away; wanted air, but could not say what she wished. She would have moved, + but her limbs would not obey her will. At last, when she had with effort + half raised her head, it sunk back again before she could distinguish all + the persons in the room. The shock of cold water on her forehead revived + her; then coming clearly to power of perception, she saw Cecilia bending + over her. But still she could not speak, and yet she understood + distinctly, saw the affectionate anxiety, too, in her little maid Rose’s + countenance; she felt that she loved Rose, and that she could not endure + Felicie, who had now come in, and was making exclamations, and advising + various remedies, all of which, when offered, Helen declined. It was not + merely that Felicie’s talking, and tone of voice, and superabundant + action, were too much for her; but that Helen had at this moment a sort of + intuitive perception of insincerity, and of exaggeration. In that dreamy + state, hovering between life and death, in which people are on coming out + of a swoon, it seems as if there was need for a firm hold of reality; the + senses and the understanding join in the struggle, and become most acute + in their perception of what is natural or what is unnatural, true or + false, in the expressions and feelings of the by-standers. Lady Cecilia + understood her look, and dismissed Felicie, with all her smelling-bottles. + Rose, though not ordered away, judiciously retired as soon as she saw that + her services were of no further use, and that there was something upon her + young lady’s mind, for which, hartshorn and sal volatile could be of no + avail. + </p> + <p> + Cecilia would have kissed her forehead, but Helen made a slight + withdrawing motion, and turned away her face: the next instant, however, + she looked up, and taking Cecilia’s hand, pressed it kindly, and said, + “You are more to be pitied than I am; sit down, sit down beside me, my + poor Cecilia; how you tremble! and yet you do not know what is coming upon + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I do—I do,” cried Lady Cecilia, and she eagerly told + Helen all that had passed, ending with the assurance that the publication + had been completely stopped by her dear Clarendon; that the whole chapter + containing the letters had been destroyed, that not a single copy had got + abroad. “The only one in existence is this,” said she, taking it up as she + spoke, and she made a movement as if going to tear out the leaves, but + Helen checked her hand, “That must not be, the general desired——” + </p> + <p> + And almost breathless, yet distinctly, she repeated what the general had + said, that he might be called upon to prove which parts were forged, and + which true, and that she had promised to mark the passages. “So now, + Cecilia, here is a pencil, and mark what is and what is not yours.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia instantly took the pencil, and in great agitation obeyed. + “Oh, my dear Helen, some of these the general could not think yours. Very + wicked these people have been!—so the general said; he was sure, he + knew, all could not be yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Finish! my dear Cecilia,” interrupted Helen; “finish what you have to do, + and in this last trial, give me this one proof of your sincerity. Be + careful in what you are now doing, mark truly—oh, Cecilia! every + word you recollect—as your conscience tells you. Will you, Cecilia? + this is all I ask, as I am to answer for it—will you?” + </p> + <p> + Most fervently she protested she would. She had no difficulty in + recollecting, in distinguishing her own; and at first she marked truly, + and was glad to separate what was at worst only foolish girlish nonsense + from things which had been interpolated to make out the romance; things + which never could have come from her mind. + </p> + <p> + There is some comfort in having our own faults overshadowed, outdone by + the greater faults of others. And here it was flagrant wickedness in the + editor, and only weakness and imprudence in the writer of the real + letters. Lady Cecilia continually solaced her conscience by pointing out + to Helen, as she went on, the folly, literally the folly, of the deception + she had practised on her husband; and her exclamations against herself + were so vehement that Helen would not add to her pain by a single + reproach, since she had decided that the time was past for urging her + confession to the general. She now only said, “Look to the future, + Cecilia, the past we cannot recall. This will be a lesson you can never + forget.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never, never can I forget it. You have saved me, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + Tears and protestations followed these words, and at the moment they were + all sincere; and yet, can it be believed? even in this last trial, when it + came to this last proof, Lady Cecilia was not perfectly true. She + purposely avoided putting her mark of acknowledgment to any of those + expressions which most clearly proved her love for Colonel D’Aubigny; for + she still said to herself that the time might come, though at present it + could not be, when she might make a confession to her husband,—in + his joy at the birth of a son, she thought she might venture; she still + looked forward to doing justice to her friend at some future period, and + to make this easier—to make this possible—as she said to + herself, she must now leave out certain expressions, which might, if + acknowledged, remain for ever fixed in Clarendon’s mind, and for which she + could never be forgiven. + </p> + <p> + Helen, when she looked over the pages, observed among the unmarked + passages some of those expressions which she had thought were Cecilia’s, + but she concluded she was mistaken: she could not believe that her friend + could at such a moment deceive her, and she was even ashamed of having + doubted her sincerity; and her words, look, and manner, now gave assurance + of perfect unquestioning confidence. + </p> + <p> + This delicacy in Helen struck Lady Cecilia to the quick. Ever apt to be + more touched by her refined feelings than by any strong appeal to her + reason or her principles, she was now shocked by the contrast between her + own paltering meanness and her friend’s confiding generosity. As this + thought crossed her mind, she stretched out her hand again for the book, + took up the pencil, and was going to mark the truth; but, the impulse + past, cowardice prevailed, and cowardice whispered, “Helen is looking at + me, Helen sees at this moment what I am doing, and, after having marked + them as not mine, how can I now acknowledge them?—it is too late—it + is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “I have done as you desired,” continued she, “Helen, to the best of my + ability. I have marked all this, but what can it signify now my dear, + except—?” + </p> + <p> + Helen interrupted her. “Take the book to the general this moment, will + you, and tell him that all the passages are marked as he desired; stay, I + had better write.” + </p> + <p> + She wrote upon a slip of paper a message to the same effect, having well + considered the words by which she might, without further step in + deception, save her friend, and take upon herself the whole blame—the + whole hazardous responsibility. + </p> + <p> + When Cecilia gave the marked book to General Clarendon, he said, as he + took it, “I am glad she has done this, though it is unnecessary now, as I + was going to tell her if she had not fainted: unnecessary, because I have + now in my possession the actual copies of the original letters; I found + them here on my return. That good little poetess found them for me at the + printer’s—but she could not discover—I have not yet been able + to trace where they came from, or by whom they were copied.” + </p> + <p> + “O let me see them,” cried Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, my love,” said he; “you would know nothing more by seeing them; + they are in a feigned hand evidently.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” interrupted Cecilia, “you cannot want the book now, when you have + the letters themselves;” and she attempted to draw it from his hand, for + she instantly perceived the danger of the discrepancies between her marks + and the letters being detected. She made a stronger effort to withdraw the + book but he held it fast. “Leave it with me now, my dear; I want it; it + will settle my opinion as to Helen’s truth.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly, and absolutely sickened with apprehension, Lady Cecilia withdrew. + When she returned to Helen, and found how pale she was and how exhausted + she seemed, she entreated her to lie down again and try to rest. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe I had better rest before I see Granville,” said Helen: + “where can he have been all day?” + </p> + <p> + “With some friend of his, I suppose,” said Cecilia, and she insisted on + Helen’s saying no more, and keeping herself perfectly quiet. She farther + suggested that she had better not appear at dinner. + </p> + <p> + “It will be only a family party, some of the general’s relations. Miss + Clarendon is to be here, and she is one, you know, trying to the spirits; + and she is not likely to be in her most <i>suave</i> humour this evening, + as she has been under a course of the tooth-ache, and has been all day at + the dentist’s.” + </p> + <p> + Helen readily consented to remain in her own room, though she had not so + great a dread of Miss Clarendon as Lady Cecilia seemed to feel. Lady + Cecilia was indeed in the greatest terror lest Miss Clarendon should have + heard some of these reports about Helen and Beauclerc, and would in her + blunt way ask directly what they meant, and go on with some of her + point-blank questions, which Cecilia feared might be found unanswerable. + However, as Miss Clarendon had only just come to town from Wales, and come + only about her teeth, she hoped that no reports could have reached her; + and Cecilia trusted much to her own address and presence of mind in + moments of danger, in turning the conversation the way it should go. + </p> + <p> + But things were now come to a point where none of the little skilful + interruptions or lucky hits, by which she had so frequently profited, + could avail her farther than to delay what must be. Passion and character + pursue their course unalterably, unimpeded by small external + circumstances; interrupted they may be in their progress, but as the + stream opposed bears against the obstacle, sweeps it away, or foams and + passes by. + </p> + <p> + Before Lady Cecilia’s toilette was finished her husband was in her + dressing-room; came in without knocking,—a circumstance so unusual + with him, that Mademoiselle Felicie’s eyes opened to their utmost orbit, + and, without waiting for word or look, she vanished, leaving the bracelet + half clasped on her lady’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia!” said the general. + </p> + <p> + He spoke in so stern a tone that she trembled from head to foot; her last + falsehood about the letters—all her falsehoods, all her + concealments, were, she thought, discovered; unable to support herself, + she sank into his arms. He seated her, and went on in a cool, inexorable + tone, “Cecilia, I am determined not to sanction by any token of my public + approbation this marriage, which I no longer in my private conscience + desire or approve; I will not be the person to give Miss Stanley to my + ward.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia almost screamed: her selfish fears forgotten, she felt only + terror for her friend. She exclaimed, “Clarendon, will you break off the + marriage? Oh! Helen, what will become of her! Clarendon, what can you + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I have compared the passages that Helen marked in the book, + with those copies of the letters which were given to the bookseller before + the interpolations were made—the letters as Miss Stanley wrote them. + The passages in the letters and the passages marked in the book do not + agree.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but she might have forgotten, it might be accident,” cried Cecilia, + overwhelmed with confusion. + </p> + <p> + “No, Cecilia,” pursued the General, in a tone which made her heart die + within her—“no, Cecilia, it is not accident, it is design. I + perceive that every strong expression, every word, in short, which could + show her attachment to that man, has been purposely marked as not her own, + and the letters themselves prove that they were her own. The truth is not + in her.” + </p> + <p> + In an agitation, which prevented all power of thought, Cecilia exclaimed, + “She mistook—she mistook; I could not, I am sure, recollect; she + asked me if I remembered any.” + </p> + <p> + “She consulted you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “She asked my advice,—told me that——” + </p> + <p> + “I particularly requested her,” interrupted the general, “not to ask your + advice; I desired her not to speak to you on the subject—not to + consult you. Deceit—double-dealing in every thing she does, I find.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, it is my fault; every thing I say and do is wrong,” cried Lady + Cecilia. “I recollect now—it was just after her fainting, when I + brought the book, and when she took it to mark she really was not able. It + was not that she consulted me, but I forced my counsel upon her. I looked + over the letters, and said what I thought—if anybody is wrong, it is + I, Clarendon. Oh, do not visit my sins upon Helen so cruelly!—do not + make me the cause of her ruin, innocent creature! I assure you, if you do + this, I never could forgive myself.” + </p> + <p> + The general looked at her in silence: she did not dare to meet his eyes, + desperately anxious as she was to judge by his countenance what was + passing within. He clasped for her that bracelet which her trembling hands + were in vain attempting to close. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing, how its heart beats!” said her husband, pressing her to him + as he sat down beside her. Cecilia thought she might venture to speak.—“You + know, my dear Clarendon, I never oppose—interfere with—any + determination of yours when once it is fixed—” + </p> + <p> + “This is fixed,” interrupted the general. + </p> + <p> + “But after all you have done for her this very day, for which I am sure + she—I am sure I thank you from my soul, would you now undo it all?” + </p> + <p> + “She is saved from public shame,” said the general; “from private contempt + I cannot save her: who can save those who have not truth? But my + determination is fixed; it is useless to waste words on the subject. + Esther is come; I must go to her. And now, Cecilia, I conjure you, when + you see Beauclerc—I have not seen him all day—I do not know + where he has been—I conjure you—-I command you not to + interfere between him and Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “But you would not have me give her up! I should be the basest of human + beings.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what you mean, Cecilia; you have done for her all that an + honourable friend could do.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not an honourable friend,” was Cecilia’s bitter consciousness, as + she pressed her hand upon her heart, which throbbed violently with + contending fears. + </p> + <p> + “You have done all that an honourable friend could do; more must not be + done,” continued the general. “And now recollect, Cecilia, that you are my + wife as well as Miss Stanley’s friend;” and, as he said these words, he + left the room. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + That knowing French minister, Louvois, whose power is said to have been + maintained by his surpassing skill in collecting and spreading secret and + swift intelligence, had in his pay various classes of unsuspected agents, + dancing-masters, fencing-masters, language-masters, milliners, + hairdressers and barbers—dentists, he would have added, had he lived + to our times; and not all Paris could have furnished him with a person + better suited to his purpose than the most fashionable London dentist of + the day, St. Leger Swift. Never did Frenchman exceed him in volubility of + utterance, or in gesture significant, supplying all that words might fear + or fail to tell; never was he surpassed by prattling barber or privileged + hunchback in ancient or modern story, Arabian or Persian; but he was not a + malicious, only a coxcomb scandal-monger, triumphing in his <i>sçavoir + dire</i>. St. Leger Swift was known to everybody—knew everybody in + London that was to be or was not to be known, every creature dead or alive + that ever had been, or was about to be celebrated, fashionable, or rich, + or clever, or notorious, <i>roué</i> or murderer, about to be married or + about to be hanged—for that last class of persons enjoys in our days + a strange kind of heroic celebrity, of which Voltaire might well have been + jealous. St, Leger was, of course, hand and glove with all the royal + family; every illustrious personage—every most illustrious personage—had + in turn sat in his chair; he had had all their heads, in their turns, in + his hands, and he had capital anecdotes and sayings of each, with which he + charmed away the sense of pain in loyal subjects. But with scandal for the + fair was he specially provided. Never did man or woman skim the surface + tittle-tattle of society, or dive better, breathless, into family + mysteries; none, with more careless air, could at the same time talk and + listen—extract your news and give you his <i>on dit</i>, or tell the + secret which you first reveal. There was in him and about him such an air + of reckless, cordial coxcombry, it warmed the coldest, threw the most + cautious off their guard, brought out family secrets as if he had been one + of your family—your secret purpose as though he had been a secular + father confessor; as safe every thing told to St. Leger Swift, he would + swear to you, as if known only to yourself: he would swear, and you would + believe, unless peculiarly constituted, as was the lady who, this morning, + took her seat in his chair— + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon. She was accompanied by her aunt, Mrs. Pennant. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! old lady and young lady, fresh from the country. Both, I see, persons + of family—of condition,” said St. Leger to himself. On that point + his practised eye could not mistake, even at first glance; and accordingly + it was really doing himself a pleasure, and these ladies, as he conceived + it, a pleasure, a service, and an honour, to put them, immediately on + their arrival in town, <i>au courant du jour</i>. Whether to pull or not + to pull a tooth that had offended, was the professional question before + him. + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon threw back her head, and opened her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Fine teeth, fine! Nothing to complain of here surely,” said St. Leger. + “As fine a show of ivory as ever I beheld. ‘Pon my reputation, I know many + a fine lady who would give—all but her eyes for such a set.” + </p> + <p> + “I must have this tooth out,” said Miss Clarendon, pointing to the + offender. + </p> + <p> + “I see; certainly, ma’am, as you say.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope, sir, you don’t think it necessary,” said her tender-hearted aunt: + “if it could be any way avoided——” + </p> + <p> + “By all means, madam, as you say. We must do nothing without + consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “I have considered, my dear aunt,” said Miss Clarendon. “I have not slept + these three nights. + </p> + <p> + “But you do not consider that you caught cold getting up one night for me; + and it may be only an accidental cold, my dear Esther. I should be so + sorry if you were to lose a tooth. Don’t be in a hurry; once gone, you + cannot get it back again.” + </p> + <p> + “Never was a truer, wiser word spoken, madam,” said St. Leger, swiftly + whisking himself round, and as if looking for some essential implement. + “May be a mere twinge, accidental cold, rheumatism; or may be——My + dear madam” (to the aunt), “I will trouble you; let me pass. I beg pardon—one + word with you,” and with his back to the patient in the chair, while he + rummaged among ivory-handled instruments on the table, he went on in a low + voice to the aunt—“Is she nervous? is she nervous, eh, eh, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pennant looked, but did not hear, for she was a little deaf. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, yes; I see how it is. A word to the wise,” replied he, with a + nod of intelligence. “Every lady’s nervous now-a-days, more or less. Where + the deuce did I put this thing? Yes, yes—nerves;—all the same + to me; know how to manage. Make it a principle—professional, to + begin always by talking away nerves. You shall see, you shall see, my + dearest madam; you shall soon see—you shall hear, you shall hear how + I’ll talk this young lady—your niece—out of her nerves fairly. + Beg pardon, Miss——, one instant. I am searching for—where + have I put it?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir: I am a little deaf,” said Mrs. Pennant. + </p> + <p> + “Deaf—hey? Ha! a little deaf. So everybody is now-a-days; even the + most illustrious personages, more or less. Death and deafness common to + all—<i>mors omnibus</i>. I have it. Now, my dear young lady, let us + have another look and touch at these beautiful teeth. Your head will do + very—vastly well, my dear ma’am—Miss——um, um, um!” + hoping the name would be supplied. But that Miss Clarendon did not tell. + </p> + <p> + So raising his voice to the aunt as he went on looking, or seeming to + look, at the niece’s tooth, he continued rapidly—“From Wales you + are, ma’am? a beautiful country Wales, ma’am. Very near being born there + myself, like, ha, ha, ha! that Prince of Wales—first Prince—Caernarvon + Castle—you know the historical anecdote. Never saw finer teeth, upon + my reputation. Are you ladies, may I ask, for I’ve friends in both + divisions—are you North or South Wales, eh, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “South, sir. Llansillen.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, South. The most picturesque certainly. Llansillen, Llansillen; know + it; know everybody ten miles round. Respectable people—all—very; + most respectable people come up from Wales continually. Some of our best + blood from Wales, as a great personage observed lately to me,—Thick, + thick! not thicker blood than the Welsh. His late Majesty, <i>à-propos</i>, + was pleased to say to me once—” + </p> + <p> + “But,” interrupted Miss Clarendon, “what do you say to my tooth?” + </p> + <p> + “Sound as a roach, my dear ma’am; I will insure it for a thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “But that, the tooth you touch, is not the tooth I mean: pray look at + this, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, my dear madam, a little in my light,” said he to the aunt. + “May I beg the favour of your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Pennant! ah! ah! ah!” with his hands in uplifted admiration—“I + thought so—Pennant. I said so to myself, for I know so many Pennants—great + family resemblance—Great naturalist of that name—any relation? + Oh yes—No—I thought so from the first. Yes—and can + assure you, to my private certain knowledge, that man stood high on the + pinnacle of favour with a certain royal personage,—for, often + sitting in this very chair— + </p> + <p> + “Keep your mouth open—a little longer—little wider, my good + Miss Pennant. Here’s a little something for me to do, nothing of any + consequence—only touch and go—nothing to be taken away, no, + no, must not lose one of these fine teeth. That most illustrious personage + said one day to me, sitting in this very chair—‘Swift,’ said he, + ‘St. Leger Swift,’ familiarly, condescendingly, colloquially—‘St. + Leger Swift, my good fellow,’ said he— + </p> + <p> + “But positively, my dear Miss—um, um, if you have not patience—you + must sit still—pardon me, professionally I must be peremptory. + Impossible I could hurt—can’t conceive—did not touch—only + making a perquisition—inquisition—say what you please, but you + are nervous, ma’am; I am only taking a general survey. + </p> + <p> + “A-propos—general survey—General—a friend of mine, + General Clarendon is just come to town. My ears must have played me false, + but I thought my man said something like Clarendon when he showed you up.” + </p> + <p> + No answer from Miss Clarendon, who held her mouth open wide, as desired, + resolved not to satisfy his curiosity, but to let him blunder on. “Be that + as it may, General Clarendon’s come to town—fine teeth he has too—and + a fine kettle of fish—not very elegant, but expressive still—he + and his ward have made, of that marriage announced. Fine young man, + though, that Beauclerc—finest young man, almost, I ever saw!” + </p> + <p> + But here Mr. St. Leger Swift, starting suddenly, withdrawing his hand from + Miss Clarendon’s mouth, exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “My finger, ma’am! but never mind, never mind, all in the day’s work. + Casualty—contingencies—no consequence. But as I was saying, + Mr. Granville Beauclerc——” + </p> + <p> + Then poured out, on the encouragement of one look of curiosity from Mrs. + Pennant, all the <i>on dits</i> of Lady Katrine Hawksby, and all her + chorus, and all the best authorities; and St. Leger Swift was ready to + pledge himself to the truth of every word. He positively knew that the + marriage was off, and thought, as everybody did, that the young gentleman + was well off too; for besides the young lady’s great fortune turning out + not a <i>sous</i>—and here he supplied the half-told tale by a + drawn-up ugly face and shrugging gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Shocking! shocking! all came to an <i>éclat—esclandre</i>; a scene + quite, last night, I am told, at my friend Lady Castlefort’s. Sad—sad—so + young a lady! But to give you a general idea, love letters to come out in + the Memoirs of that fashionable Roué—friend of mine too—fine + fellow as ever breathed—only a little—you understand; Colonel + D’Aubigny—Poor D’Atibigny, heigho!—only if the book comes out—Miss + Stanley—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pennant looked at her niece in benevolent anxiety; Miss Clarendon was + firmly silent; but St. Leger, catching from the expression of both ladies’ + countenances, that they were interested in the contrary direction to what + he had anticipated, turned to the right about, and observed,— + </p> + <p> + “This may be all scandal, one of the innumerable daily false reports that + are always flying about town; scandal all, I have no doubt—Your head + a little to the right, if you please—And the publication will be + stopped, of course, and the young lady’s friends—you are interested + for her, I see; so am I—always am for the young and fair, that’s my + foible; and indeed, confidentially I can inform you—If you could + keep your head still, my dear madam.” + </p> + <p> + But Miss Clarendon could bear it no longer; starting from under his hand, + she exclaimed, “No more, thank you—no more at present, sir: we can + call another day—no more:” and added as she hastily left the room, + “Better bear the toothache,” and ran down stairs. Mrs. Pennant slipped + into the dentist’s hand, as he pulled the bell, a double fee; for though + she did not quite think he deserved it much, yet she felt it necessary to + make amends for her niece’s way of running off, which might not be thought + quite civil. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma’am—thank ye, ma’am—not the least occasion—don’t + say a word about it—Young lady’s nervous, said so from the first. + Nerves! nerves! all—open the door there—Nerves all,” were the + last words, at the top of the stairs, St. Leger Swift was heard to say. + </p> + <p> + And the first words of kind Mrs. Pennant, as soon as she was in the + carriage and had drawn up the glass, were, “Do you know, Esther, my dear, + I am quite sorry for this poor Miss Stanley. Though I don’t know her, yet, + as you described her to me, she was such a pretty, young, interesting + creature! I am quite sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe a word of it,” said Miss Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “But even to have such things said must be so distressing to her and to + her lover, your friend Mr. Beauclerc—so very distressing!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope they are not such fools as to be distressed about such stuff. All + this insufferable talking man’s invention, I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do people tell such things?” said Mrs. Pennant. “But, my dear Esther, + even supposing it to be all false, it is shocking to have such things + spoken of. I pity the poor young lady and her lover. Do you not think, my + dear, we shall be able to inquire into the truth of the matter from your + brother this evening? He must know, he ought to know about it: whether the + report be true or false, he should hear of it. He can best judge what + should be done, if any thing should be done, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon quite agreed with all this; indeed she almost always agreed + with this aunt of hers, who, perhaps from the peculiar gentleness of her + manner, joined to a simplicity and sincerity of character she could never + doubt, had an ascendency over her, which no one, at first view, could have + imagined. They had many country commissions to execute this morning, which + naturally took up a good deal of aunt Pennant’s attention. But between + each return from shop to carriage, in the intervals between one commission + off her hands and another on her mind, she returned regularly to “that + poor Miss Stanley, and those love-letters!” and she sighed. Dear + kind-hearted old lady! she had always a heart, as well as a hand, open as + day to melting charity—charity in the most enlarged sense of the + word: charity in judging as well as charity in giving. She was all + indulgence for human nature, for youth and love especially. + </p> + <p> + “We must take care, my dear Esther,” said she, “to be at General + Clarendon’s early, as you will like to have some little time with him to + yourself before any one else arrives—shall you not, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied Miss Clarendon; “I shall learn the truth from my + brother in five minutes, if Lady Cecilia does not come between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my dear Esther, I cannot think so ill of Lady Cecilia; I cannot + believe—” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear aunt, I know you cannot think ill of any body. Stay till you + know Lady Cecilia Clarendon as I do. If there is any thing wrong in this + business, you will find that some falsehood of hers is at the bottom of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, do not say so before you know; perhaps, as you thought at + first, we shall find that it is all only a mistake of that giddy + dentist’s; for your brother’s sake try to think as well as you can of his + wife; she is a charming agreeable creature, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve only seen her once, my dear aunt,” said Miss Clarendon. “For my + brother’s sake I would give up half her agreeableness for one ounce—for + one scruple—of truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, take it with some grains of allowance, my dear niece; and, at + any rate, do not suffer yourself to be so prejudiced as to conceive she + can be in fault in this business.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see to-day,” said Miss Clarendon; “I will not be prejudiced; but + I remember hearing at Florence that this Colonel D’Aubigny had been an + admirer of Lady Cecilia’s. I will get at the truth.” + </p> + <p> + With this determination, and in pursuance of the resolve to be early, they + were at General Clarendon’s full a quarter of an hour before the arrival + of any other company; but Lady Cecilia entered so immediately after the + general, that Miss Clarendon had no time to speak with her brother alone. + Determined, however, as she was, to get at the truth, without preface, or + even smoothing her way to her object, she rushed into the middle of things + at once. “Have you heard any reports about Miss Stanley, brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Lady Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you heard?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was silent, looked at the general, and left it to him to + speak as much or as little as he pleased. She trusted to his laconic mode + of answering, which, without departing from truth, defied curiosity. Her + trust in him upon the present occasion was, however, a little disturbed by + her knowledge of his being at this moment particularly displeased with + Helen. But, had she known the depths as well as she knew the surface of + his character, her confidence in his caution would have been increased, + instead of being diminished by this circumstance: Helen was lost in his + esteem, but she was still under his protection; her secrets were not only + sacred, but, as far as truth and honour could admit, he would still serve + and save her. Impenetrable, therefore, was his look, and brief was his + statement to his sister. A rascally bookseller had been about to publish a + book, in which were some letters which paragraphs in certain papers had + led the public to believe were Miss Stanley’s; the publication had been + stopped, the offensive chapter suppressed, and the whole impression + destroyed. + </p> + <p> + “But, brother,” pursued Miss Clarendon, “were the letters Miss Stanley’s, + or not? You know I do not ask from idle curiosity, but from regard for + Miss Stanley;” and she turned her inquiring eyes full upon Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “I believe, my dear Esther,” said Lady Cecilia, “I believe we had better + say no more; you had better inquire no further.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be a bad case which can bear no inquiry,” said Miss Clarendon; + “which cannot admit any further question, even from one most disposed to + think well of the person concerned—a desperately bad case.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad! no, Esther. It would be cruel of you so to conclude: and falsely it + would be—might be; indeed, Esther! my dear Esther!——” + Her husband’s eyes were upon Lady Cecilia, and she did not dare to justify + Helen decidedly; her imploring look and tone, and her confusion, touched + the kind aunt, but did not stop the impenetrable niece. + </p> + <p> + “Falsely, do you say? Do you say, Lady Cecilia, that it would be to + conclude falsely? Perhaps not falsely though, upon the data given to me. + The data may be false.” + </p> + <p> + “Data! I do not know what you mean exactly, Esther,” said Lady Cecilia, in + utter confusion. + </p> + <p> + “I mean exactly what I say,” pursued Miss Clarendon; “that if I reason + wrong, and come to a false conclusion, or what you call a cruel + conclusion, it is not my fault, but the fault of those who do not plainly + tell me the facts.” + </p> + <p> + She looked from Lady Cecilia to her brother, and from her brother to Lady + Cecilia. On her brother no effect was produced: calm, unalterable, looked + he; as though his face had been turned to stone. Lady Cecilia struggled in + vain to be composed. “I wish I could tell you, Esther,” said she; “but + facts cannot always—all facts—even the most innocent—that + is, even with the best intentions—cannot always be all told, even in + the defence of one’s best friend.” + </p> + <p> + “If this be the best defence you can make for your best friend, I am glad + you will never have to defend me, and I am sorry for Helen Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Esther!” said her aunt, with a remonstrating look; for, + though she had not distinctly heard all that was said, she saw that things + were going wrong, and that Esther was making them worse. “Indeed, Esther, + my dear, we had better let this matter rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Let this matter rest!” repeated Miss Clarendon; “that is not what you + would say, my dear aunt, if you were to hear any evil report of me. If any + suspicion fell like a blast on my character you would never say ‘let it + rest.’” + </p> + <p> + Fire lighted in her brother’s eyes, and the stone face was all animated, + and he looked sudden sympathy, and he cried, “You are right, sister, in + principle, but wrong in—fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Set me right where only I am wrong then,” cried she. + </p> + <p> + He turned to stone again, and her aunt in a low voice, said, “Not now.” + </p> + <p> + “Now or never,” said the sturdy champion; “it is for Miss Stanley’s + character. You are interested for her, are not you, aunt?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I am indeed; but we do not know all the circumstances—we + cannot—” + </p> + <p> + “But we must. You do not know, brother, how public these reports are. Mr. + St. Leger Swift, the dentist, has been chattering to us all morning about + them. So, to go to the bottom of the business at once, will you, Lady + Cecilia, answer me one straight-forward question?” + </p> + <p> + Straight-forward question! what is coming? thought Lady Cecilia: her face + flushed, and taking up a hand-screen, she turned away, as if from the + scorching fire; but it was not a scorching fire, as everybody, or at least + as Miss Clarendon, could see. The face turned away from Miss Clarendon was + full in view of aunt Pennant, who was on her other side; and she, seeing + the distressed state of the countenance, pitied, and gently laying her + hand upon Lady Cecilia’s arm, said, in her soft low voice, “This must be a + very painful subject to you, Lady Cecilia. I am sorry for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Lady Cecilia, pressing her hand with quick gratitude for + her sympathy. “It is indeed to me a painful subject, for Helen has been my + friend from childhood, and I have so much reason for loving her!” + </p> + <p> + Many contending emotions struggled in Cecilia’s countenance, and she could + say no more: but what she had said, what she had looked, had been quite + enough to interest tenderly in her favour that kind heart to which it was + addressed; and Cecilia’s feeling was true at the instant; she forgot all + but Helen; the screen was laid down; tears stood in her eyes—those + beautiful eyes! “If I could but tell you the whole—oh if I could! + without destroying——” + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon at this moment placed herself close opposite to Cecilia, + and, speaking so low that neither her brother nor her aunt could hear her, + said, “Without destroying yourself, or your friend—which?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia could not speak. + </p> + <p> + “You need not—I am answered,” said Miss Clarendon; and returning to + her place, she remained silent for some minutes. + </p> + <p> + The general rang, and inquired if Mr. Beauclerc had come in. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + The general made no observation and then began some indifferent + conversation with Mrs. Pennant, in which Lady Cecilia forced herself to + join; she dreaded even Miss Clarendon’s silence—that grim repose,—and + well she might. + </p> + <p> + “D’Aubigny’s Memoirs, I think, was the title of the book, aunt, that the + dentist talked of? That is the book you burnt, is not it, brother?—a + chapter in that book?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + And again Miss Clarendon was silent; for though she well recollected what + she had heard at Florence, and however strong were her suspicions, she + might well pause; for she loved her brother before every thing but truth + and justice,—she loved her brother too much to disturb his + confidence. “I have no proof,” thought she; “I might destroy his happiness + by another word, and I may be wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “But shall not we see Miss Stanley?” said Mrs. Pennant. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was forced to explain that Helen was not very well, would not + appear till after dinner—nothing very much the matter—a little + faintish. + </p> + <p> + “Fainted,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, quite worn out—she was at Lady Castlefort’s last night—such + a crowd!” She went on to describe its city horrors. + </p> + <p> + “But where is Mr. Beauclerc all this time?” said Miss Clarendon: “has he + fainted too? or is he faintish?” + </p> + <p> + “Not likely,” said Lady Cecilia; “faint heart never won fair lady. He is + not of the faintish sort.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a thundering knock at the door announced the rest of the + company, and never was company more welcome. But Beauclerc did not appear. + Before dinner was served, however, a note came from him to the general. + Lady Cecilia stretched out her hand for it, and read, + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR FRIENDS,—I am obliged to dine out of town. I shall not + return to-night, but you will see me at breakfast-time to-morrow. Yours + ever, GRANVILLE BEAUCLERC.” + </p> + <p> + Cockburn now entered with a beautiful bouquet of hot-house flowers, which, + he said, Mr. Beauclerc’s man had brought with the note, and which were, he + said, for Miss Stanley. Lady Cecilia’s countenance grew radiant with joy, + and she exclaimed, “Give them to me,—I must have the pleasure of + taking them to her myself.” + </p> + <p> + And she flew off with them. Aunt Pennant smiled on her as she passed, and, + turning to her niece as Lady Cecilia left the room, said, “What a bright + creature! so warm, so affectionate!” Miss Clarendon was indeed struck with + the indisputably natural sincere satisfaction and affection in Cecilia’s + countenance; and, herself of such a different nature, could not comprehend + the possibility of such contradiction in any character: she could not + imagine the existence of such variable, transitory feelings—she + could not believe any human being capable of sacrificing her friend to + save herself, while she still so loved her victim, could still feel such + generous sympathy for her. She determined at least to suspend her + judgment; she granted Lady Cecilia a reprieve from her terrific questions + and her as terrific looks. Cecilia recovered her presence of mind, and + dinner went off delightfully, to her at least, with the sense of escape in + recovered self-possession, and “spirits light, to every joy in tune.” + </p> + <p> + From the good-breeding of the company there was no danger that the topic + she dreaded should be touched upon. Whatever reports might have gone + forth, whatever any one present might have heard, nothing would assuredly + be said of her friend Miss Stanley, to her, or before her, unless she or + the general introduced the subject; and she was still more secure of his + discretion than of her own. The conversation kept safe on London-dinner + generalities and frivolities. Yet often things that were undesignedly said + touched upon the <i>taboo’d</i> matter; and those who knew when, where, + and how it touched, looked at or from one another, and almost equally + dangerous was either way of looking. Such perfect neutrality of expression + is not given to all men in these emergencies as to General Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + The dessert over, out of the dinner-room and in the drawing-room, the + ladies alone together, things were not so pleasant to Lady Cecilia. + Curiosity peeped out more and more in great concern about Miss Stanley’s + health; and when ladies trifled over their coffee, and saw through all + things with their half-shut eyes, they asked, and Lady Cecilia answered, + and parried, and explained, and her conscience winced, and her countenance + braved, and Miss Clarendon listened with that dreadfully good memory, that + positive point-blank recollection, which permits not the slightest + variation of statement. Her doubts and her suspicions returned, but she + was silent; and sternly silent she remained the rest of the evening. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + If “trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs + of Holy Writ,” and that they are no one since the time of Othello could + ever doubt, it may be some consolation to observe, on the credit side of + human nature, that, to those who are not cursed with a jealous infirmity, + trifles light as air are often confirmations strong of the constancy of + affection. Well did Lady Cecilia know this when she was so eager to be the + bearer of the flowers which were sent by Beauclerc. She foresaw and + enjoyed the instant effect, the quick smile, and blush of delight with + which that bouquet was received by Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you! How kind of him!” and “all’s well,” was her immediate + conclusion. When she saw his note, she never even took notice that he did + not particularly mention her. The flowers from him were enough; she knew + his sincerity so well, trusted to it so completely, that she was quite + sure, if he had been angry with her, he would not have sent these tokens + of his love,—slight tokens, though they were all-sufficient for her. + Her fears had taken but one direction, and in that direction they were all + dispelled. He would be at breakfast to-morrow, when she should know where + he had been, and what had detained him from her the whole of this day. She + told Cecilia that she was now quite well, but that she would not attempt + to go down stairs. And Cecilia left her happy, so far at least; and when + she was alone with her flowers, she doubly enjoyed them, inhaling the + fragrance of each which she knew he particularly liked, and thanking him + in her heart for the careful choice, for she was certain that they were + not accidentally put together. Some of them were associated with little + circumstances known only to themselves, awakening recollections of bright, + happy moments, and selected, she was sure, with reference to a recent + conversation they had had on the language of flowers. + </p> + <p> + Whether Helen fancied half this, or whether it was all true, it had the + effect of soothing and pleasing her anxious, agitated mind; and she was + the more ready to indulge in that pleasant reverie, from all that she had + previously suffered herself, and all that she feared Beauclerc had yet to + endure. She knew too well how much these reports would affect him—and + hear them he must. She considered what trials he had already borne, and + might still have to bear, for her sake, whatever course she might now + pursue. Though soon, very soon, the whole would be told to him, yet still, + though she might stand clear in his eyes as to the main points, he must, + and would blame her weakness in first consenting to this deception—he + who was above deceit. She had not absolutely <i>told</i>, but she had <i>admitted</i> + a falsehood; she had <i>acted</i> a falsehood. This she could not + extenuate. Her motive at first, to save Lady Davenant’s life, was good; + but then her weakness afterwards, in being persuaded time after time by + Cecilia, could not well be excused. She was conscious that she had sunk + step by step, dragged down that slippery path by Cecilia, instead of + firmly making a stand, as she ought to have done, and up-holding by her + own integrity her friend’s failing truth. With returning anguish of + self-reproach, she went over and over these thoughts; she considered the + many unforeseen circumstances that had occurred. So much public shame, so + much misery had been brought upon herself and on all she loved, by this + one false step! And how much more might still await her, notwithstanding + all that best of friends, the general, had done! She recollected how much + he had done for her!—thinking of her too, as he must, with lowered + esteem, and that was the most painful thought of all;—to Beauclerc + she could and would soon clear her truth, but to the general—never, + perhaps, completely! + </p> + <p> + Her head was leaning on her hand, as she was sitting deep in these + thoughts, when she was startled by an unusual knock at her door. It was + Cockburn with a packet, which General Clarendon had ordered him to deliver + into Miss Stanley’s own hands. The instant she saw the packet she knew + that it contained <i>the book;</i> and on opening it she found manuscript + letters inserted between the marked pages, and there was a note from + General Clarendon. She trembled—she foreboded ill. + </p> + <p> + The note began by informing Miss Stanley how the enclosed manuscript + letters came into General Clarendon’s hands from a person whom Miss + Stanley had obliged, and who had hoped in return to do her some service. + The general next begged Miss Stanley to understand that these letters had + been put into his possession since his conversation with her at breakfast + time; his only design in urging her to mark her share in the printed + letters had been to obtain her authority for serving her to the best of + his ability; but he had since compared them:—and then came + references, without comment, to the discrepancies between the marked + passages, the uniform character of the omissions, followed only by a + single note of admiration at each from the general’s pen. And at last, in + cold polite phrase, came his regret that he had not been able to obtain + that confidence which he had trusted he had deserved, and his renunciation + of all future interference in her affairs—<i>or concerns</i>, had + been written, but a broad dash of the pen had erased the superfluous + words; and then came the inevitable conclusion, on which Helen’s eyes + fixed, and remained immovable for some time—that determination which + General Clarendon had announced to his wife in the first heat of + indignation, but which, Lady Cecilia had hoped, could be evaded, changed, + postponed—would not at least be so suddenly declared to Helen; + therefore she had given her no hint, had in no way prepared her for the + blow,—and with the full force of astonishment it came upon her—“General + Clarendon cannot have the pleasure he had proposed to himself, of giving + Miss Stanley at the altar to his ward. He cannot by any public act of his + attest his consent to that marriage, of which, in his private opinion, he + no longer approves.” + </p> + <p> + “And he is right. O Cecilia!” was Helen’s first thought, when she could + think after this shock—not of her marriage, not of herself, not of + Beauclerc, but of Cecilia’s falsehood—Cecilia’s selfish cowardice, + she thought, and could not conceive it possible,—could not believe + it, though it was there. “Incredible—yet proved—there—there—before + her eyes-brought home keen to her heart! after all! at such a time—after + her most solemn promise, with so little temptation, so utterly false—with + every possible motive that a good mind could have to be true—in this + last trial—her friend’s whole character at stake—ungenerous—base! + O Cecilia! how different from what I thought you—or how changed! And + I have helped to bring her to this!—I—I have been the cause.—I + will not stay in this house—I will leave her. To save her—to + save myself—save my own truth and my own real character—let + the rest go as it will—the world think what it may! Farther and + farther, lower and lower, I have gone: I will not go lower—I will + struggle up again at any risk, at any sacrifice. This is a sacrifice Lady + Davenant would approve of: she said that if ever I should be convinced + that General Clarendon did not wish me to be his guest—if he should + ever cease to esteem me—I should go, that instant—and I will + go. But where? To whom could she fly, to whom turn? The Collingwoods were + gone; all her uncle’s friends passed rapidly through her recollection. + Since she had been living with General and Lady Cecilia Clarendon, several + had written to invite her; but Helen knew a little more of the world now + than formerly, and she felt that there was not one, no, not one of all + these, to whom she could now, at her utmost need, turn and say, ‘I am in + distress, receive me! my character is attacked, defend me! my truth is + doubted, believe in me!’” And, her heart beating with anxiety, she tried + to think what was to be done. There was an old Mrs. Medlicott, who had + been a housekeeper of her uncle’s, living at Seven Oaks—she would go + there—she should be safe—she should be independent. She knew + that she was then in town, and was to go to Seven Oaks the next day; she + resolved to send Rose early in the morning to Mrs. Medlicott’s lodging, + which was near Grosvenor Square, to desire her to call at General + Clarendon’s as she went out of town, at eight o’clock. She could then go + with her to Seven Oaks; and, by setting out before Cecilia could be up, + she should avoid seeing her again. + </p> + <p> + There are minds which totally sink, and others that wonderfully rise, + under the urgency of strong motive and of perilous circumstance. It is not + always the mind apparently strongest or most daring that stands the test. + The firm of principle are those most courageous in time of need. Helen had + determined what her course should be, and, once determined, she was calm. + She sat down and wrote to General Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “MISS STANLEY regrets that she cannot explain to General Clarendon the + circumstances which have so much displeased him. She assures him that no + want of confidence has been, on her part, the cause; but she cannot expect + that, without further explanation, he should give her credit for + sincerity. She feels that with his view of her conduct, and in his + situation, his determination is right,—that it is what she has + deserved,—that it is just towards his ward and due to his own + character. She hopes, however, that he will not think it necessary to + announce to Mr. Beauclerc his determination of withdrawing his approbation + and consent to his marriage, when she informs him that it will now never + be by her claimed or accepted. She trusts that General Clarendon will + permit her to take upon herself the breaking off this union. She encloses + a letter to Mr. Beauclerc, which she begs may be given to him to-morrow. + General Clarendon will find she has dissolved their engagement as + decidedly as he could desire, and that her decision will be irrevocable. + And since General Clarendon has ceased to esteem her, Miss Stanley cannot + longer accept his protection, or encroach upon his hospitality. She trusts + that he will not consider it as any want of respect, that she has resolved + to retire from his family as soon as possible. She is certain of having a + safe and respectable home with a former housekeeper of her uncle Dean + Stanley’s, who will call for her at eight o’clock to-morrow, and take her + to Seven Oaks, where she resides. Miss Stanley has named that early hour, + that she may not meet Mr. Beauclerc before she goes; she wishes also to + avoid the struggle and agony of parting with Lady Cecilia. She entreats + General Clarendon will prevent Lady Cecilia from attempting to see her in + the morning, and permit her to go unobserved out of the house at her + appointed hour. + </p> + <p> + “So now farewell, my dear friend—yes, friend, this last time you + must permit me to call you; for such I feel you have ever been, and ever + would have been, to me, if my folly would have permitted. Believe me—notwithstanding + the deception of which I acknowledge I have been guilty towards you, + General Clarendon—I venture to say, <i>believe me</i>, I am not + ungrateful. At this instant my heart swells with gratitude, while I pray + that you may be happy—happy as you deserve to be. But you will read + this with disdain, as mere idle words: so be it. Farewell! HELEN STANLEY.” + </p> + <p> + Next, she was to write to Beauclerc himself. Her letter was as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “With my whole heart, dear Granville, I thank you for the generous + confidence you have shown towards me, and for the invariable steadiness of + your faith and love. For your sake, I rejoice. One good has at least + resulted from the trials you have gone through: you must now and hereafter + feel sure of your own strength of mind. With me it has been different, for + I have not a strong mind. I have been all weakness, and must now be + miserable; but wicked I will not be—and wicked I should be if I took + advantage of your confiding love. I must disappoint your affection, but + your confidence I will not betray. When I put your love to that test which + it has so nobly stood, I had hoped that a time would come when all doubts + would be cleared up, and when I could reward your constancy by the + devotion of my whole happy life—but that hope is past: I cannot + prove my innocence—I will no longer allow you to take it upon my + assertion. I cannot indeed, with truth, even assert that I have done no + wrong; for though I am not false, I have gone on step by step in + deception, and might go on, I know not how far, nor to what dreadful + consequences, if I did not now stop—and I do stop. On my own head be + the penalty of my fault—upon my own happiness—my own + character: I will not involve yours—therefore we part. You have not + yet heard all that has been said of me; but you soon will, and you will + feel, as I do, that I am not fit to be your wife. Your wife should not be + suspected; I have been—I am. All the happiness I can ever have in + this world must be henceforth in the thought of having saved from misery—if + not secured the happiness of those I love. Leave me this hope—Oh, + Granville, do not tell me, do not make me believe that you will never be + happy without me! You will—indeed you will. I only pray Heaven that + you may find love as true as mine, and strength to abide by the truth! Do + not write to me—do not try to persuade me to change my + determination: it is irrevocable. Further writing or meeting could be only + useless anguish to us both. Give me the sole consolation I can now have, + and which you alone can give—let me hear from Cecilia that you and + your noble-minded guardian are, after I am gone, as good friends as you + were before you knew me. I shall be gone from this house before you are + here again; I cannot stay where I can do no good, and might do much evil + by remaining even a few hours longer. As it is, comfort your generous + heart on my account, with the assurance that I am sustained by the + consciousness that I am now, to the best of my power, doing right. Adieu, + Granville! Be happy! you can—you have done no wrong. Be happy, and + that will console + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate HELEN STANLEY.” + </p> + <p> + This, enclosed to General Clarendon, she sent by Cockburn, who delivered + it to his master immediately. Though she could perfectly depend upon her + maid Rose’s fidelity, Helen did not tell her that she was going away in + the morning, to avoid bringing her into any difficulty if she were + questioned by Lady Cecilia; and besides, no note of preparation would be + heard or seen. She would take with her only sufficient for the day, and + would leave Rose to pack up all that belonged to her, after her departure, + and to follow her. Thanks to her own late discretion, she had no money + difficulties—no debts but such as Rose could settle, and she had now + only to write to Cecilia; but she had not yet recovered from the tumult of + mind which the writing to the general and to Beauclerc had caused. She lay + down upon the sofa, and closing her trembling eyelids, she tried to + compose herself sufficiently to think at least of what she was to say. As + she passed the table in going to the sofa, she, without perceiving it, + threw down some of the flowers; they caught her eye, and she said to + herself “Lie there! lie there! Granville’s last gifts! last gifts to me! + All over now; lie there and wither! Joys that are passed, wither! All + happiness for me, gone! Lie there, and wither, and die!—and so shall + I soon, I hope—if that only hope is not wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Some one knocked at the door; she started up, and said, “I cannot see you, + Cecilia!” + </p> + <p> + A voice not Cecilia’s, a voice she did not recollect, answered, “It is not + Cecilia; let me see you. I come from General Clarendon.” + </p> + <p> + Helen opened the door, and saw—Miss Clarendon. Her voice had sounded + so much lower and gentler than usual, that Helen had not guessed it to be + hers. She was cloaked, as if prepared to go away; and in the outer room + was another lady seated with her back towards them, and with her cloak on + also. + </p> + <p> + “My aunt Pennant—who will wait for me. As she is a stranger, she + would not intrude upon you, Miss Stanley; but will you allow me one + minute?” + </p> + <p> + Helen, surprised, begged Miss Clarendon to come in, moved a chair towards + her, and stood breathless with anxiety. Miss Clarendon sat down, and + resuming her abruptness of tone, said, “I feel that I have no right to + expect that you should have confidence in me, and yet I do. I believe in + your sincerity, even from the little I know of you, and I have a notion + you believe in mine. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it had pleased Heaven,” continued Miss Clarendon, “that my brother + had married a woman who could speak truth! But you need not be afraid; I + will not touch on your secrets. On any matter you have in keeping, my + honour as well as yours will command my silence—as will also my + brother’s happiness, which I have somewhat at heart; not that I think it + can be preserved by the means you take. But this is not what I came to + say. You mean to go away from this house to-morrow morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “You are right. I would not stay where I did not esteem or where I had + reason to believe that I was not esteemed. You are quite right to go, and + to go directly; but not to your old housekeeper.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Because, though I dare say she is vastly respectable,—an excellent + person in her way, I am convinced,—yet my brother says she might not + be thought just the sort of person to whom you should go now—not + just the thing for you at present; though, at another time, it would be + very well and condescending; but now, when you are attacked, you must look + to appearances—in short, my brother will not allow you to go to this + old lady’s boarding-house, or cottage, or whatever it may be, at Seven + Oaks; he must be able to say for you where you are gone. You must be with + me; you must be at Llansillen. Llansillen is a place that can be named. + You must be with me—with General Clarendon’s sister. You must—you + will, I am sure, my dear Miss Stanley. I never was so happy in having a + house of my own as at this moment. You will not refuse to return with my + aunt and me to Llansillen, and make our home yours? We will try and make + it a happy home to you. Try; you see the sense of it: the world can say + nothing when you are known to be with Miss Clarendon; and you will, I + hope, feel the comfort of it, out of the stir and din of this London + world. I know you like the country, and Llansillen is a beautiful place—romantic + too; a fine castle, an excellent library, beautiful conservatory; famous + for our conservatories we are in South Wales; and no neighbours—singular + blessing! And my aunt Pennant, you will love her so! Will you try? Come! + say that you will.” + </p> + <p> + But Helen could not; she could only press the hand that Miss Clarendon + held out to her. There is nothing more touching, more overcoming, than + kindness at the moment the heart is sunk in despair. “But did General + Clarendon really wish you to ask me?” said Helen, when she could speak. + “Did he think so much and so carefully for me to the last? And with such a + bad opinion as he must have of me!” + </p> + <p> + “But there you know he is wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “It is like himself,” continued Helen; “consistent in protecting me to the + last. Oh, to lose such a friend!” + </p> + <p> + “Not lost, only mislaid,” said Miss Clarendon. “You will find him again + some fair day or other; truth always comes to light. Meanwhile, all is + settled. I must run and tell my aunt, and bless the fates and Lady Emily + Greville, that Lady Cecilia did not come up in the middle of it. Luckily, + she thinks I am gone, and knows nothing of my being with you; for my + brother explained all this to me in his study, after we had left the + saloon, and he desires me to say that his carriage shall be ready for you + at your hour, at eight o’clock. We shall expect you; and now, farewell + till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + She was gone, and her motto might well be, though in a different + acceptation from that of our greatest modern politician—“<i>Tout + faire sans paraître.</i>” + </p> + <p> + But before Helen could go to rest, she must write to Lady Cecilia, and her + thoughts were in such perplexity, and her feelings in such conflict, that + she knew not how to begin. At last she wrote only a few hasty lines of + farewell, and referred for her determination, and for all explanations, to + her letter to the general. It came to “Farewell, dear Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + Dear! yes, still dear she was to Helen—she must be as Lady + Davenant’s daughter—still dear for her own sake was Cecilia, the + companion of her childhood, who had shown her such generous affection + early, such fondness always, who was so charming, with so many good + qualities, so much to win love—loved she must be still. “Farewell, + Cecilia; may you be happy!” + </p> + <p> + But as Helen wrote these words, she thought it impossible, she could + scarcely in the present circumstances wish it possible, that Cecilia + should be happy. How could she, unless her conscience had become quite + callous? + </p> + <p> + She gave her note to Rose, with orders to deliver it herself to Lady + Cecilia to-night, when she should demand admittance. And soon she came, + the very instant Lady Emily Greville went away—before Helen was in + bed she heard Cecilia at her door; she left her to parley with Rose—heard + her voice in the first instance eager, peremptory for admittance. Then a + sudden silence. Helen comprehended that she had opened her note—and + in another instant she heard her retreating step. On seeing the first + words referring for explanation to Helen’s letter to the general, + panic-struck, Lady Cecilia hurried to her own room to read the rest + privately. + </p> + <p> + Helen now tried to recollect whether every thing had been said, written, + done, that ought to be done; and at last went to bed and endeavoured to + sleep for a few hours. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + Helen was just dressed, and had given her last orders to her bewildered + maid, when she heard a knock at the door, and Mademoiselle Felicie’s + voice. She could not at this instant endure to hear her heartless + exclamatory speeches; she would not admit her. Mademoiselle Felicie gave + Rose a note for her young lady—it was from Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Dearest Helen,—The general will not allow me to take leave of you + this morning, but I shall certainly go to you in the course of to-day. I + cannot understand or make you understand any thing till I see you. I <i>will</i> + see you to-day. Your affectionate CECILIA.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand it too well!” thought Helen. + </p> + <p> + The carriage was announced, Helen was ready; she hurried into it, and she + was gone! And thus she parted from the friend of her childhood—the + friend she had but a few months before met with such joy, such true + affection; and her own affection was true to the last. + </p> + <p> + As Helen drove from the door, she saw the general—yes, it certainly + was the general riding off—at this unusual hour!—Was it to + avoid her? But she was in too great anguish to dwell upon that or any + other circumstance; her only thought now was to subdue her emotion before + she was seen by Miss Clarendon and Mrs. Pennant. And by the time she + arrived, she thought she had quite recovered herself, and was not aware + that any traces of tears remained; but to Mrs. Pennant’s sympathising eyes + they were visible, and after the first introductions and salutations were + over, that kind lady, as she seated her at the breakfast-table, gently + pressing her hand, said, “Poor thing! no wonder—parting with old + friends for new is a sad trial: but you know we shall become old friends + in time: we will make what haste we can, my dear Miss Stanley, and Esther + will help me to make you forget that you have not known us all your life.” + </p> + <p> + “There is very little to be known; no mysteries, that is one comfort,” + said Miss Clarendon; “so now to breakfast. You are very punctual, Miss + Stanley; and that is a virtue which aunt Pennant likes, and can estimate + to a fraction of a minute with that excellent watch of hers.” + </p> + <p> + There was some history belonging to that family-watch, which then came + out; and then the conversation turned upon little family anecdotes and + subjects which were naturally interesting to the aunt and niece, and not + exciting to Helen, whose mind, they saw, needed quiet, and freedom from + all observation. + </p> + <p> + From the first awkwardness of her situation, from the sense of intrusion, + and the suddenness of change, she was thus as far as possible gradually + and almost imperceptibly relieved. By their perfect good-breeding, as well + as good-nature, from their making no effort to show her particular + attention, she felt received at once into their family as one of + themselves; and yet, though there was no effort, she perceived in the most + minute circumstances the same sort of consideration which would be shown + to an intimate friend. They not only did not expect, but did not wish, + that she should make any exertion to appear to be what she could not be; + they knew the loneliness of heart she must feel, the weight that must be + upon her spirits. They left her, then, quite at liberty to be with them or + alone, as she might like, and she was glad to be alone with her own + thoughts; they soon fixed upon Beauclerc. She considered how he would + feel, what he would think, when he should receive her letter: she pictured + his looks while reading it; considered whether he would write immediately, + or attempt, notwithstanding her prohibition, to see her. He would know + from General Clarendon, that is, if the general thought proper to tell + him, where she was, and that she would remain all this day in town. Though + her determination was fixed, whether he wrote or came, to abide by her + refusal, and for the unanswerable reasons which she had given, or which + she had laid down to herself; yet she could not, and who, loving as she + did, could help wishing that Beauclerc should desire to see her again; she + hoped that he would make every effort to change her resolution, even + though it might cost them both pain. Yet in some pain there is pleasure; + or, to be without it, is a worse kind of suffering. Helen was conscious of + the inconsistency in her mind, and sighed, and endeavoured to be + reasonable. And, to do her justice, there was not the slightest wavering + as to the main point. She thought that the general might, perhaps, have + some relenting towards her. Hope would come into her mind, though she + tried to keep it out; she had nothing to expect, she repeatedly said to + herself, except that either Cecilia would send, or the general would call + this morning, and Rose must come at all events. + </p> + <p> + The morning passed on, however, and no one came so soon as Helen had + expected. She was sitting in a back room where no knocks at the door could + be heard; but she would have been called, surely, if General Clarendon had + come. He had come, but he had not asked for her; he had at first inquired + only for his sister, but she was not at home, gone to the dentist’s. The + general then desired to see Mrs. Pennant, and when she supposed that she + had not heard rightly, and that Miss Stanley must be the person he wished + to see, he had answered, “By no means; I particularly wish not to see Miss + Stanley. I beg to see Mrs. Pennant alone.” + </p> + <p> + It fell to the lot of this gentle-hearted lady to communicate to Helen the + dreadful intelligence he brought: a duel had taken place! When Helen had + seen the general riding off, he was on his way to Chalk Farm. Just as the + carriage was coming round for Miss Stanley, Mr. Beauclerc’s groom had + requested in great haste to see the general; he said he was sure something + was going wrong about his master; he had heard the words Chalk Farm. The + general was off instantly, but before he reached the spot the duel had + been fought. A duel between Beauclerc and Mr. Churchill. Beauclerc was + safe, but Mr. Churchill was dangerously wounded; the medical people + present could not answer for his life. At the time the general saw him he + was speechless, but when Beauclerc and his second, Lord Beltravers, had + come up to him, he had extended his hand in token of forgiveness to one or + the other, but to which he had addressed the only words he had uttered + could not be ascertained; the words were, “<i>You</i> are not to blame!—escape!—fly!” + Both had fled to the Continent. General Clarendon said that he had no time + for explanations, he had not been able to get any intelligible account of + the cause of the affair. Lord Beltravers had named Miss Stanley, but + Beauclerc had stopped him, and had expressed the greatest anxiety that + Miss Stanley’s name should not be implicated, should not be mentioned. He + took the whole blame upon himself—said he would write—there + was no time for more. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pennant listened with the dread of losing a single word: but however + brief his expressions, the general’s manner of speaking, notwithstanding + the intensity of his emotion, was so distinct that every word was audible, + except the name of Lord Beltravers, which was not familiar to her. She + asked again the name of Mr. Beauclerc’s second? “Lord Beltravers,” the + general repeated with a forcible accent, and loosening his neck-cloth with + his finger, he added, “Rascal! as I always told Beauclerc that he was, and + so he will find him—too late.” + </p> + <p> + Except this exacerbation, the general was calmly reserved in speech, and + Mrs. Pennant felt that she could not ask him a single question beyond what + he had communicated. When he rose to go, which he did the moment he had + finished what he had to say, she had, however, courage enough to hope that + they should soon hear again, when the general should learn something more + of Mr. Churchill. + </p> + <p> + Certainly he would let her know whatever he could learn of Mr. Churchill’s + state. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes followed him to the door with anxious eagerness to penetrate + farther into what his own opinion of the danger might be. His rigidity of + composure made her fear that he had no hope, “otherwise certainly he would + have said something.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door again, and returning, said, “Depend upon it you shall + hear how he is, my dear Mrs. Pennant, before you leave town to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “We will not go to-morrow,” she replied. “We will stay another day at + least. Poor Miss Stanley will be so anxious——” + </p> + <p> + “I advise you not to stay in town another day, my dear madam. You can do + no good by it. If Mr. Churchill survive this day, he will linger long I am + assured. Take Helen—take Miss Stanley out of town, as soon as may + be. Better go to-morrow, as you had determined.” + </p> + <p> + “But it will be so long, my dear general!—one moment—if we go, + it will be so long before we can hear any further news of your ward.” + </p> + <p> + “I will write.” + </p> + <p> + “To Miss Stanley—Oh, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “To my sister,” he looked back to say, and repeated distinctly, “To my + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well—thank you, at all events.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pennant saw that, in General Clarendon’s present disposition towards + Miss Stanley, the less she said of him the better, and she confined + herself strictly to what she had been commissioned to say, and all she + could do was to prevent the added pain of suspense; it was told to Helen + in the simplest shortest manner possible:—but the facts were + dreadful. Beauclerc was safe!—safe! but under what circumstances? + </p> + <p> + “And it was for me, I am sure,” cried Helen, “I am sure it was for me! I + was the cause! I am the cause of that man’s death—of Beauclerc’s + agony.” + </p> + <p> + For some time Helen had not power or thought for any other idea. The + promise that they should hear as soon as they could learn any thing more + of Mr. Churchill’s state was all she could rely upon or recur to. + </p> + <p> + When her maid Rose arrived from General Clarendon’s, she said, that when + Lady Cecilia heard of the duel she had been taken very ill, but had since + recovered sufficiently to drive out with the general. Miss Clarendon + assured Helen there was no danger. “It is too deep a misfortune for Lady + Cecilia. Her feelings have not depth enough for it, you will see. You need + not be afraid for her, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + The circumstances which led to the duel were not clearly known till long + afterwards, but may be now related. The moment Beauclerc had parted from + Helen when he turned away at the carriage door after the party at Lady + Castlefort’s he went in search of one, who, as he hoped, could explain the + strange whispers he had heard. The person of whom he went in search was + his friend, his friend as he deemed him, Lord Beltravers. Churchill had + suggested that if any body knew the bottom of the matter, except that + origin of all evil Lady Katrine herself,—it must be Lord Beltravers, + with whom Lady Castlefort was, it was said, <i>fortement éprise</i>, and + as Horace observed, “the secrets of scandal are common property between + lovers, much modern love being cemented by hate.” + </p> + <p> + Without taking in the full force of this observation in its particular + application to the hatred which Lord Beltravers might feel to Miss + Stanley, as the successful rival of his sister Blanche, Beauclerc hastened + to act upon his suggestion. His lordship was not at home: his people + thought he had been at Lady Castlefort’s; did not know where he might be + if not there. At some gambling-house Beauclerc at last found him, and Lord + Beltravers was sufficiently vexed in the first place at being there found, + for he had pretended to his friend Granville that he no longer played. His + embarrassment was increased by the questions which Beauclerc so suddenly + put to him; but he had <i>nonchalante</i> impudence enough to brave it + through, and he depended with good reason on Beauclerc’s prepossession in + his favour. He protested he knew nothing about it; and he returned + Churchill’s charge, by throwing the whole blame upon him; said he knew he + was in league with Lady Katrine;—mentioned that one morning, + sometime ago, he had dropped in unexpectedly early at Lady Castlefort’s, + and had been surprised to find the two sisters, contrary to their wont, + together—their heads and Horace Churchill’s over some manuscript, + which was shuffled away as he entered. This was true, all but the + shuffling away; and here it is necessary to form a clear notion, clearer + than Lord Beltravers will give, of the different shares of wrong; of wrong + knowingly and unknowingly perpetrated by the several scandal-mongers + concerned in this affair. + </p> + <p> + Lord Beltravers could be in no doubt as to his own share, for he it was + who had furnished the editor of Colonel D’Aubigny’s Memoirs with the + famous letters. When Carlos, Lady Davenant’s runaway page, escaped from + Clarendon Park, having changed his name, he got into the service of Sir + Thomas D’Aubigny, who was just at this time arranging his brother’s + papers. Now it had happened that Carlos had been concealed behind the + screen in Lady Davenant’s room, the day of her first conversation with + Helen about Colonel D’Aubigny, and he had understood enough of it to + perceive that there was some mystery about the colonel with either Helen + or Lady Cecilia; and chancing one day, soon after he entered Sir Thomas’s + service, to find his escritoire open, he amused himself with looking over + his papers, among which he discovered the packet of Lady Cecilia’s + letters. Carlos was not perfectly sure of the handwriting; he thought it + was Lady Cecilia’s; but when he found the miniature of Miss Stanley along + with them, he concluded that the letters must be hers. And having special + reasons for feeling vengeance against Helen, and certain at all events of + doing mischief, he sent them to General Clarendon: not, however, + forgetting his old trade, he copied them first. This was just at the time + when Lord Beltravers returned from abroad after his sister’s divorce. He + by some accident found out who Carlos was, and whence he came, and full of + his own views for his sister, he cross-examined him as to every thing he + knew about Miss Stanley; and partly by bribes, partly by threats of + betraying him to Lady Davenant, he contrived to get from him the copied + letters. Carlos soon after returned with his master to Portugal, and was + never more heard of. Lord Beltravers took these purloined copies of the + letters, thus surreptitiously obtained, to the editor, into whose hands + Sir Thomas D’Aubigny (who knew nothing of books or book-making) had put + his brother’s memoirs. This editor, as has been mentioned, had previously + consulted Mr. Churchill, and in consequence of his pepper and salt hint, + Lord Beltravers himself made those interpolations which he hoped would + ruin his sister’s rival in the eyes of her lover. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Churchill, however, except this hint, and except his vanity in + furnishing a good title, and his coxcombry of literary patronage, and his + general hope that Helen’s name being implicated in such a publication + would avenge her rejection of himself, had had nothing to do with the + business. This Lord Beltravers well knew, and yet when he found that the + slander made no impression upon Beauclerc, and that he was only intent + upon discovering the slanderer, he, with dexterous treachery, contrived to + turn the tables upon Churchill, and to direct all Beauclerc’s suspicion + towards him! He took his friend home with him, and showed him all the + newspaper paragraphs—paragraphs which he himself had written! Yes, + this man of romantic friendship, this blazé, this hero oppressed with his + own sensibility, could condescend to write anonymous scandal, to league + with newsmongers, and to bribe waiting-women to supply him with + information, for Mademoiselle Felicie had, through Lady Katrine’s maid, + told all, and more than all she knew, of what passed at General + Clarendon’s; and on this foundation did he construct those paragraphs, + which he hoped would blast the character of the woman to whom his dearest + friend was engaged. And now he contrived to say all that could convince + Beauclerc that Mr. Churchill was the author of these very paragraphs. And + hot and rash, Beauclerc rushed on to that conclusion. He wrote, a + challenge to Churchill, and as soon as it was possible in the morning he + sent it by Lord Beltravers. Mr. Churchill named Sir John Luttrell as his + friend: Lord Beltravers would enter into no terms of accommodation; the + challenge was accepted, Chalk Farm appointed as the place of meeting, and + the time fixed for eight o’clock next morning. And thus, partly by his own + warmth of temper, and partly by the falsehood of others, was Beauclerc + urged on to the action he detested, to be the thing he hated. Duelling and + duellists had, from the time he could think, been his abhorrence, and now + he was to end his life, or to take the life of a fellow-creature perhaps, + in a duel. + </p> + <p> + There was a dread interval. And it was during the remainder of this day + and night that Beauclerc felt most strongly compared with all other + earthly ties, his attachment, his passionate love for Helen. At every + pause, at every close of other thoughts forced upon him, his mind recurred + to Helen—what Helen would feel—what Helen would think—what + she would suffer—and in the most and in the least important things + his care was for her. He recalled the last look that he had seen at the + carriage-door when they parted, recollected that it expressed anxiety, was + conscious that he had turned away abruptly—that in the preoccupied + state of his mind he had not spoken one word of kindness—and that + this might be the last impression of him left on her mind. He knew that + her anxiety would increase, when all that day must pass without his + return, and it was then he thought of sending her those flowers which + would, he knew, reassure her better than any words he could venture to + write. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile his false friend coldly calculated what were the chances in his + sister’s favour; and when Churchill fell, and even in the hurry of their + immediate departure, Lord Beltravers wrote to Madame de St. Cymon, over + whom the present state of her affairs gave him command, to order her to + set out immediately, and to take Blanche with her to Paris, without asking + the consent of that fool and prude, her aunt Lady Grace. + </p> + <p> + It was well for poor Helen, even in the dreadful uncertainty in which she + left London, that she did not know <i>all</i> these circumstances. It may + be doubted, indeed, whether we should be altogether happier in this life + if that worst of evils, as it is often called, suspense, were absolutely + annihilated, and if human creatures could clearly see their fate, or even + know what is most likely to happen. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + According to the general’s advice, Mrs. Pennant did not delay her journey, + and Helen left London the next day with her and Miss Clarendon. The last + bulletin of Mr. Churchill had been that he was still in great danger, and + a few scarce legible lines Helen had received from Cecilia, saying that + the general would not allow her to agitate herself by going to take leave + of her, that she was glad that Helen was to be out of town till all blew + over, and that she was so much distracted by this horrible event, she + scarcely knew what she wrote. + </p> + <p> + As they drove out of town, Miss Clarendon, in hopes of turning Helen’s + thoughts, went on talking. “Unless,” said she, “we could like Madame de + Genlis, ‘promote the post-boys into agents of mystery and romance,’ we + have but little chance, I am afraid, of any adventures on our journey to + Llansillen, my dear Miss Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + She inveighed against the stupid safety, convenience, luxury, and + expedition of travelling now-a-days all over England, even in Wales, “so + that one might sleep the whole way from Hyde Park corner to Llansillen + gate,” said she, “and have no unconscionably long nap either. No + difficulties on the road, nothing to complain of at inns, no enjoying + one’s dear delight in being angry, no opportunity even of showing one’s + charming resignation. Dreadfully bad this for the nervous and bilious, for + all the real use and benefit of travelling is done away; all too easy for + my taste; one might as well be a doll, or a dolt, or a parcel in the + coach.” + </p> + <p> + Helen would have been glad to have been considered merely as a parcel in + the coach. During the whole journey, she took no notice of any thing till + they came within a few miles of Llansillen; then, endeavouring to + sympathise with her companions, she looked out of the carriage window at + the prospect which they admired. But, however charming, Llansillen had not + for Helen the chief charm of early, fond, old associations with a happy + home. To her it was to be, she doubted not, as happy as kindness could + make it, but still it was new; and in that thought, that feeling, there + was something inexpressibly melancholy; and the contrast, at this moment, + between her sensations and those of her companions, made the pain the more + poignant; they perceived this, and were silent. Helen was grateful for + this consideration for her, but she could not bear to be a constraint upon + them, therefore she now exerted herself, sat forward—admired and + talked when she was scarcely able to speak. By the time they came to + Llansillen gate, however, she could say no more; she was obliged to + acknowledge that she was not well; and when the carriage at last stopped + at the door, there was such a throbbing in her temples, and she was + altogether so ill, that it was with the greatest difficulty she could, + leaning on Miss Clarendon’s arm, mount the high steps to the hall-door. + She could scarcely stand when she reached the top, but, making an effort, + she went on, crossed the slippery floor of that great hall, and came to + the foot of the black oak staircase, of which the steps were so very low + that she thought she could easily go up, but found it impossible, and she + was carried directly up to Miss Clarendon’s own room, no other having been + yet prepared. The rosy Welsh maids looked with pity on the pale stranger. + They hurried to and fro, talking Welsh to one another very fast; and Helen + felt as if she were in a foreign land, and in a dream. The end of the + matter was, that she had a low fever which lasted long. It was more + dispiriting than dangerous—more tedious than alarming. Her illness + continued for many weeks, during which time she was attended most + carefully by her two new friends—by Miss Clarendon with the utmost + zeal and activity—by Mrs. Pennant with the greatest solicitude and + tenderness. + </p> + <p> + Her history for these weeks—indeed for some months afterwards—can + be only the diary of an invalid and of a convalescent. Miss Clarendon + meanwhile received from her brother, punctually, once a week, bulletins of + Churchill’s health; the surgical details, the fears of the formation of + internal abscess, reports of continual exfoliations of bone, were + judiciously suppressed, and the laconic general reported only “Much the + same—not progressing—cannot be pronounced out of danger.” + These bulletins were duly repeated to Helen, whenever she was able to hear + them; and at last she was considered well enough to read various letters, + which had arrived for her during her illness; several were from Lady + Cecilia, but little in them. The first was full only of expressions of + regret, and self-reproach; in the last, she said, <i>she hoped soon to + have a right to claim Helen back again</i>. This underlined passage Helen + knew alluded to the promise she had once made, that at the birth of her + child all should be told; but words of promise from Cecilia had lost all + value—all power to excite even hope, as she said to herself as she + read the words, and sighed. + </p> + <p> + One of her letters mentioned what she would have seen in the first + newspaper she had opened, that Lady Blanche Forrester was gone with her + sister, the Comtesse de St. Cymon, to Paris, to join her brother Lord + Beltravers. But Lady Cecilia observed, that Helen need not be alarmed by + this paragraph, which she was sure was inserted on purpose to plague her. + Lady Cecilia seemed to take it for granted that her rejection of Beauclerc + was only a <i>ruse d’amour</i>, and went on with her usual hopes, now + vague and more vague every letter—that things would end well + sometime, somehow or other. + </p> + <p> + Helen only sighed on reading these letters, and quick as she glanced her + eye over them, threw them from her on the bed; and Miss Clarendon said, + “Ay! you know her now, I see!” + </p> + <p> + Helen made no reply: she was careful not to make any comment which could + betray how much, or what sort of reason she had to complain of Lady + Cecilia; but Miss Clarendon, confident that she had guessed pretty nearly + the truth, was satisfied with her own penetration, and then, after seeming + to doubt for a few moments, she put another letter into Helen’s hand, and + with one of those looks of tender interest which sometimes softened her + countenance, she left the room. + </p> + <p> + The letter was from Beauclerc; it appeared to have been written + immediately after he had received Helen’s letter, and was as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “Not write to you, my dearest Helen! Renounce my claim to your hand! + submit to be rejected by you, my affianced bride! No, never—never! + Doubt! suspicion!—suspicion of you!—you, angel as you are—you, + who have devoted, sacrificed yourself to others. No, Helen, my admiration, + my love, my trust in you, are greater than they ever were. And do <i>I</i> + dare to say these words to you? <i>I</i>, who am perhaps a murderer! I + ought to imitate your generosity, I ought not to offer you a hand stained + with blood:—I ought at least to leave you free till I know when I + may return from banishment. I have written this at the first instant I + have been able to command during my hurried journey, and as you know + something of what led to this unhappy business, you shall in my next + letter hear the whole; till then, adieu! GRANVILLE BEAUCLERC.” + </p> + <p> + The next day, when she thought Helen sufficiently recovered from the + agitation of reading Beauclerc’s letter, aunt Pennant produced one letter + more, which she had kept for the last, because she hoped it would give + pleasure to her patient. Helen sat up in her bed eagerly, and stretched + out her hand. The letter was directed by General Clarendon, but that was + only the outer cover, they knew, for he had mentioned in his last dispatch + to his sister, that the letter enclosed for Miss Stanley was from Lady + Davenant. Helen tore off the cover, but the instant she saw the inner + direction, she sank hack, turned, and hid her face on the pillow. + </p> + <p> + It was directed—“To Mrs. Granville Beauclerc.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant had unfortunately taken it for granted, that nothing could + have prevented the marriage. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Pennant blamed herself for not having foreseen, and prevented this + accident, which she saw distressed poor Helen so much. But Miss Clarendon + wondered that she was so shocked, and supposed she would get over it in a + few minutes, or else she must be very weak. There was nothing that tended + to raise her spirits much in the letter itself, to make amends for the + shock the direction had given. It contained but a few lines in Lady + Davenant’s own handwriting, and a postscript from Lord Davenant. She wrote + only to announce their safe arrival at Petersburgh, as she was obliged to + send off her letter before she had received any dispatches from England; + and she concluded with, “I am sure the first will bring me the joyful news + of Beauclerc’s happiness and yours, my dear child.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Davenant’s postscript added, that in truth Lady Davenant much needed + such a cordial, for that her health had suffered even more than he had + feared it would. He repented that he had allowed her to accompany him to + such a rigorous climate. + </p> + <p> + All that could be said to allay the apprehensions this postscript might + excite, was of course said in the best way by aunt Pennant. But it was + plain that Helen did not recover during the whole of this day from the + shock she had felt “from that foolish direction,” as Miss Clarendon said. + She could not be prevailed upon to rise this day, though Miss Clarendon, + after feeling her pulse, had declared that she was very well able to get + up. “It was very bad for her to remain in bed.” This was true, no doubt. + And Miss Clarendon remarked to her aunt that she was surprised to find + Miss Stanley so weak. Her aunt replied that it was not surprising that she + should be rather weak at present, after such a long illness. + </p> + <p> + “Weakness of body and mind need not go together,” said Miss Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “Need not, perhaps,” said her aunt, “but they are apt to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “It is to be hoped the weakness of mind will go with the weakness of body, + and soon,” said Miss Clarendon. + </p> + <p> + “We must do what we can to strengthen and fatten her, poor thing!” said + Mrs. Pennant. + </p> + <p> + “Fatten the body, rather easier than to strengthen the mind. Strength of + mind cannot be thrown in, as you would throw in the bark, or the chicken + broth.” + </p> + <p> + “Only have patience with her,” said Mrs. Pennant, “and you will find that + she will have strength of mind enough when she gets quite well. Only have + patience.” + </p> + <p> + During Helen’s illness Miss Clarendon had been patient, but now that she + was pronounced convalescent, she became eager to see her quite well. In + time of need Miss Clarendon had been not only the most active and zealous, + but a most gentle and—doubt it who may—soft-stepping, + soft-voiced nurse; but now, when Doctor Tudor had assured them that all + fever was gone, and agreed with her that the patient would soon be well, + if she would only think so, Miss Clarendon deemed it high time to use + something more than her milder influence, to become, if not a rugged, at + least a stern nurse, and she brought out some of her rigid lore. + </p> + <p> + “I intend that you should get up in seasonable time to-day, Helen,” said + she, as she entered her room. + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” said Helen in a languid voice. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Miss Clarendon; “and I hope you do not intend to do as you + did yesterday, to lie in bed all day.” + </p> + <p> + Helen turned, sighed, and Mrs. Pennant said, “Yesterday is over, my dear + Esther—no use in talking of yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Only to secure our doing better to-day, ma’am,” replied Miss Clarendon + with prompt ability. + </p> + <p> + Helen was all submission, and she got up, and that was well. Miss + Clarendon went in quest of arrow-root judiciously; and aunt Pennant stayed + and nourished her patient meanwhile with “the fostering dew of praise;” + and let her dress as slowly and move as languidly as she liked, though + Miss Clarendon had admonished her “not to <i>dawdle</i>.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as she was dressed, Helen went to the window and threw up the sash + for the first time to enjoy the fresh air, and to see the prospect which + she was told was beautiful; and she saw that it was beautiful, and, though + it was still winter, she felt that the air was balmy; and the sun shone + bright, and the grass began to be green, for spring approached. But how + different to her from the spring-time of former years! Nature the same, + but all within herself how changed! And all which used to please, and to + seem to her most cheerful, now came over her spirits with a sense of + sadness;—she felt as if all the life of life was gone. Tears filled + her eyes, large tears rolled slowly down as she stood fixed, seeming to + gaze from that window at she knew not what. Aunt Pennant unperceived stood + beside her, and let the tears flow unnoticed. “They will do her good; they + are a great relief sometimes.” Miss Clarendon returned, and the tears were + dried, but the glaze remained, and Miss Clarendon saw it, and gave a + reproachful look at her aunt, as much as to say, “Why did you let her + cry?” And her aunt’s look in reply was, “I could not help it, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Eat your arrow-root,” was all that transpired to Helen. And she tried to + eat, but could not; and Miss Clarendon was not well pleased, for the + arrow-root was good, and she had made it; she felt Miss Stanley’s pulse, + and said that “It was as good a pulse as could be, only low and a little + fluttered.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not flutter it any more, then, Esther my dear,” said Mrs. Pennant. + </p> + <p> + “What am I doing or saying, ma’am, that should flutter anybody that has + common sense?” + </p> + <p> + “Some people don’t like to have their pulse felt,” said aunt Pennant. + </p> + <p> + “Those people have not common sense,” replied the niece. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I have not common sense,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Sense you have enough—resolution is what you want, Helen, I tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Helen, “too true——” + </p> + <p> + “True, but not too true—nothing can be too true.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Helen, with languid submission. Helen was not in a condition + to chop logic, or ever much inclined to it; now less than ever, and least + of all with Miss Clarendon, so able as she was. There is something very + provoking sometimes in perfect submission, because it is unanswerable. But + the langour, not the submission, afforded some cause for further remark + and remonstrance. + </p> + <p> + “Helen, you are dreadfully languid to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Sadly,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “If you could have eaten more arrow-root before it grew cold, you would + have been better.” + </p> + <p> + “But if she could not, my dear Esther,” said aunt Pennant. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Could</i> not, ma’am! As if people could not eat if they pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “But if people have no appetite, my dear, I am afraid eating will not do + much good.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, my dear aunt, you will not do Miss Stanley much good,” said + Miss Clarendon, shaking her head; “you will only spoil her.” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite spoiled, I believe,” said Helen; “you must unspoil me, + Esther.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so very easy,” said Esther; “but I shall try, for I am a sincere + friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + Then what more could be said? Nothing at that time—Helen’s look was + so sincerely grateful, and “gentle as a lamb,” as aunt Pennant observed; + and Esther was not a wolf quite—at heart not at all. + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon presently remarked that Miss Stanley really did not seem + glad to be better—glad to get well. Helen acknowledged that instead + of being glad, she was rather sorry. + </p> + <p> + “If it had pleased Heaven, I should have been glad to die.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense about dying, and worse than nonsense,” cried Miss Clarendon, + “when you see that it did not please Heaven that you should die—” + </p> + <p> + “I am content to live,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Content! to be sure you are,” said Miss Clarendon. “Is this your + thankfulness to Providence?” + </p> + <p> + “I am resigned—I am thankful—I will try to be more so—but + cannot be glad.” + </p> + <p> + General Clarendon’s bulletins continued with little variation for some + time; they were always to his sister—he never mentioned Beauclerc, + but confined himself to the few lines or words necessary to give his + promised regular accounts of Mr. Churchill’s state, the sum of which + continued to be for a length of time: “Much the same.”—“Not in + immediate danger.”—“Cannot be pronounced out of danger.” + </p> + <p> + Not very consolatory, Helen felt. “But while there is life, there is + hope,” as aunt Pennant observed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and fear,” said Helen; and her hopes and fears on this subject + alternated with fatiguing reiteration, and with a total incapacity of + forming any judgment. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc’s letter of explanation arrived, and other letters came from him + from time to time, which, as they were only repetitions of hopes and fears + as to Churchill’s recovery, and of uncertainty as to what might be his own + future fate, only increased Helen’s misery; and as even their expressions + of devoted attachment could not alter her own determination, while she + felt how cruel her continued silence must appear, they only agitated + without relieving her mind. Mrs. Pennant sympathised with and soothed her, + and knew how to sooth, and how to raise, and to sustain a mind in sorrow, + suffering under disappointed affection, and sunk almost to despondency; + for aunt Pennant, besides her softness of manner, and her quick + intelligent sympathy, had power of consolation of a higher sort, beyond + any which this world can give. She was very religious, of a cheerfully + religious turn of mind—of that truly Christian spirit which hopeth + all things. When she was a child somebody asked her if she was bred up in + the fear of the Lord. She said no, but in the love of God. And so she was, + in that love which casteth out fear. And now the mildness of her piety, + and the whole tone and manner of her speaking and thinking, reminded Helen + of that good dear uncle by whom she had been educated. She listened with + affectionate reverence, and she truly and simply said, “You do me good—I + think you have done me a great deal of good—and you shall see it.” + And she did see it afterwards, and Miss Clarendon thought it was her + doing, and so her aunt let it pass, and was only glad the good was done. + </p> + <p> + The first day Helen went down to the drawing-room, she found there a man + who looked, as she thought at first glance, like a tradesman—some + person, she supposed, come on business, standing waiting for Miss + Clarendon, or Mrs. Pennant. She scarcely looked at him, but passed on to + the sofa, beside which was a little table set for her, and on it a + beautiful work-box, which she began to examine and admire. + </p> + <p> + “Not nigh so handsome as I could have wished it, then, for you, Miss Helen—I + ask pardon, Miss Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + Helen looked up, surprised at hearing herself addressed by one whom she + had thought a stranger; but yet she knew the voice, and a reminiscence + came across her mind of having seen him somewhere before. + </p> + <p> + “Old David Price, ma’am. Maybe you forget him, you being a child at that + time. But since you grew up, you have been the saving of me and many more——” + Stepping quite close to her, he whispered that he had been paid under her + goodness’s order by Mr. James, along with <i>the other creditors</i> that + had been <i>left</i>. + </p> + <p> + Helen by this time recollected who the poor Welshman was—an + upholsterer and cabinet-maker, who had been years before employed at the + Deanery. Never having been paid at the time, a very considerable debt had + accumulated, and having neither note nor bond, Price said that he had + despaired of ever obtaining the amount of his earnings. He had, however, + since the dean’s death, been paid in full, and had been able to retire to + his native village, which happened to be near Llansillen, and most + grateful he was; and as soon as he perceived that he was recognised, his + gratitude became better able to express itself. Not well, however, could + it make its way out for some time; between crying and laughing, and + between two languages, he was at first scarcely intelligible. Whenever + much moved, David Price had recourse to his native Welsh, in which he was + eloquent; and Mrs. Pennant, on whom, knowing that she understood him, his + eyes turned, was good enough to interpret for him. And when once fairly + set a-going, there was danger that poor David’s garrulous gratitude should + flow for ever. But it was all honest; not a word of flattery; and his old + face was in a glow and radiant with feeling, and the joy of telling Miss + Helen all, how, and about it; particularly concerning the last day when + Mr. James paid him, and them, and all of them: that was a day Miss Stanley + ought to have seen; pity she could not have witnessed it; it would have + done her good to the latest hour of her life. Pity she should never see + the faces of many, some poorer they might have been than himself; many + richer, that would have been ruined for ever but for her. For his own + part, he reckoned himself one of the happiest of them all, in being + allowed to see her face to face. And he hoped, as soon as she was able to + get out so far—but it was not so far—she would come to see how + comfortable he was in his own house. It ended at last in his giving a + shove to the work-box on the table, which, though nothing worth otherwise, + he knew she could not mislike, on account it was made out of all the + samples of wood the dean, her uncle, had given to him in former times. + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding the immoderate length of his speeches, and the + impossibility he seemed to find of ending his visit, Helen was not much + tired. And when she was able to walk so far, Mrs. Pennant took her to see + David Price, and in a most comfortable house she found him; and every one + in that house, down to the youngest child, gathered round her by degrees, + some more, some less shy, but all with gratitude beaming and smiling in + their faces. It was delightful to Helen; for there is no human heart so + engrossed by sorrow, so over whelmed by disappointment, so closed against + hope of happiness, that will not open to the touch of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + But there was still in Helen’s inmost soul one deceitful hope. She thought + she had pulled it up by the roots many times, and the last time + completely; but still a little fibre lurked, and still it grew again. It + was the hope that Cecilia would keep that last promise, though at the + moment Helen had flung from her the possibility; yet now she took it up + again, and she thought it was possible that Cecilia might be true to her + word. If her child should be born alive, and if it should be a boy! It + became a heart-beating suspense as the time approached, and every day the + news might be expected. The post came in but three times a week at + Llansillen, and every post day Miss Clarendon repeated her prophecy to her + aunt, “You will see, ma’am, the child will be born in good time, and + alive. You who have always been so much afraid for Lady Cecilia, will find + she has not feeling enough to do her any harm.” + </p> + <p> + In due time came a note from the general. “A boy! child and mother doing + well. Give me joy.” + </p> + <p> + The joy to Miss Clarendon was much increased by the triumph, in her own + perfectly right opinion. Mrs. Pennant’s was pure affectionate joy for the + father, and for Lady Cecilia, for whom, all sinner as she was in her + niece’s eyes, this good soul had compassion. Helen’s anxiety to hear again + and again every post was very natural, the aunt thought; quite + superfluous, the niece deemed it: Lady Cecilia would do very well, no + doubt, she prophesied again, and laughed at the tremor, the eagerness, + with which Helen every day asked if there was any letter from Cecilia. At + last one came, the first in her own hand-writing, and it was to Helen + herself, and it extinguished all hope. Helen could only articulate, “Oh! + Cecilia!” Her emotion, her disappointment, were visible, but + unaccountable: she could give no reason for it to Miss Clarendon, whose + wondering eye was upon her; nor even to sympathising aunt Pennant could + she breathe a word without betraying Cecilia; she was silent, and there + was all that day, and many succeeding days, a hopelessness of languor in + her whole appearance. There was, as Miss Clarendon termed it, a + “backsliding in her recovery,” which grieved aunt Pennant, and Helen had + to bear imputation of caprice, and of indolence from Miss Clarendon; but + even that eye immediately upon her, that eye more severe than ever, had + not power to rouse her. Her soul was sunk within, nothing farther to hope; + there, was a dead calm, and the stillness and loneliness of Llansillen + made that calm almost awful. The life of great excitation which she had + led previous to her illness, rendered her more sensible of the change, of + the total want of stimulus. The walks to Price’s cottage had been + repeated, but, though it was a very bright spot, the eye could not always + be fixed upon it. + </p> + <p> + Bodily exertion being more easy to her now than mental, she took long + walks, and came in boasting how far she had been, and looking quite + exhausted. And Miss Clarendon wondered at her wandering out alone; then + she tried to walk with Miss Clarendon, and she was more tired, though the + walks were shorter—and that was observed, and was not agreeable + either to the observer, or to the observed. Helen endeavoured to make up + for it; she followed Miss Clarendon about in all her various occupations, + from flower-garden to conservatory, and from conservatory to pheasantry, + and to all her pretty cottages, and her schools, and she saw and admired + all the good that Esther did so judiciously, and with such extraordinary, + such wonderful energy. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing wonderful in it,” Miss Clarendon said: and as she ungraciously + rejected praise, however sincere, and required not sympathy, Helen was + reduced to be a mere silent, stupid, useless stander-by, and she could not + but feel this a little awkward. She tried to interest herself for the poor + people in the neighbourhood, but their language was unintelligible to her, + and her’s to them, and it is hard work trying to make objects for oneself + in quite a new place, and with a pre-occupying sorrow in the mind all the + time. It was not only hard work to Helen, but it seemed labour in vain—bringing + soil by handfulls to a barren rock, where, after all, no plant will take + root. Miss Clarendon thought that labour could never be in vain. + </p> + <p> + One morning, when it must be acknowledged that Helen had been sitting too + long in the same position, with her head leaning on her hand, Miss + Clarendon in her abrupt voice asked, “How much longer, Helen, do you + intend to sit there, doing only what is the worst thing in the world for + you—thinking?” + </p> + <p> + Helen started, and said she feared she had been sitting too long idle. + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to know how long, I can tell you,” said Miss Clarendon; “just + one hour and thirteen minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “By the stop watch,” said Helen, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “By my watch,” said grave Miss Clarendon; “and in the mean time look at + the quantity of work I have done.” + </p> + <p> + “And done so nicely!” said Helen, looking at it with admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do not think to bribe me with admiration; I would rather see you do + something yourself than hear you praise my doings.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had anybody to work for. I have so few friends now in the world who + would care for anything I could do! But I will try—you shall see, my + dear Esther, by and bye.” + </p> + <p> + “By and bye! no, no—now. I cannot bear to see you any longer, in + this half-alive, half-dead state.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Helen, “that all you say is for my good. I am sure your + only object is my happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Your happiness is not in my power or in your’s, but it is in your power + to deserve to be happy, by doing what is right—by exerting yourself:—that + is my object, for I see you are in danger of being lost in indolence. Now + you have the truth and the whole truth.” + </p> + <p> + Many a truth would have come mended from Miss Clarendon’s tongue, if it + had been uttered in a softer tone, and if she had paid a little more + attention to times and seasons: but she held it the sacred duty of + sincerity to tell a friend her faults as soon as seen, and without + circumlocution. + </p> + <p> + The next day Helen set about a drawing. She made it an object to herself, + to try to copy a view of the dear Deanery in the same style as several + beautiful drawings of Miss Clarendon’s. While she looked over her + portfolio, several of her old sketches recalled remembrances which made + her sigh frequently; Miss Clarendon heard her, and said—“I wish you + would cure yourself of that habit of sighing; it is very bad for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Despondency is not penitence,” continued Esther: “reverie is not + reparation.” + </p> + <p> + She felt as desirous as ever to make Helen happy at Llansillen, but she + was provoked to find it impossible to do so. Of a strong body herself, + capable of great resistance, powerful reaction under disappointment or + grief, she could ill make allowance for feebler health and spirits—perhaps + feebler character. For great misfortunes she had great sympathy, but she + could not enter into the details of lesser sorrows, especially any of the + sentimental kind, which she was apt to class altogether under the head—“Sorrows + of my Lord Plumcake!” an expression which had sovereignly taken her fancy, + and which her aunt did not relish, or quite understand. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pennant was, indeed, as complete a contrast to her niece in these + points, as nature and habit joined could produce. She was naturally of the + most exquisitely sympathetic mimosa-sensibility, shrinking and expanding + to the touch of others’ joy or woe; and instead of having by long use worn + this out, she had preserved it wonderfully fresh in advanced years. But, + notwithstanding the contrast and seemingly incompatible difference between + this aunt and niece, the foundations of their characters both being good, + sound, and true, they lived on together well, and loved each other dearly. + They had seldom differed so much on any point as in the present case, as + to their treatment of their patient and their guest. Scarcely a day passed + in which they did not come to some mutual remonstrance; and sometimes when + she was by, which was not pleasant to her, as may be imagined. Yet perhaps + even these little altercations and annoyances, though they tried Helen’s + temper or grieved her heart at the moment, were of use to her upon the + whole, by drawing her out of herself. Besides, these daily vicissitudes—made + by human temper, manner, and character—supplied in some sort the + total want of events, and broke the monotony of these tedious months. + </p> + <p> + The general’s bulletins, however, became at last more favourable: Mr. + Churchill was decidedly better; his physician hoped he might soon be + pronounced out of danger. The general said nothing of Beauclerc, but that + he was, he believed, still at Paris. And from this time forward no more + letters came from Beauclerc to Helen; as his hopes of Churchill’s recovery + increased, he expected every day to be released from his banishment, and + was resolved to write no more till he could say that he was free. But + Helen, though she did not allow it to herself, felt this deeply: she + thought that her determined silence had at last convinced him that all + pursuit of her was vain; and that he submitted to her rejection: she told + herself it was what should be, and yet she felt it bitterly. Lady + Cecilia’s letters did not mention him, indeed they scarcely told anything; + they had become short and constrained: the general, she said, advised her + to go out more, and her letters often concluded in haste, with “Carriage + at the door,” and all the usual excuses of a London life. + </p> + <p> + One day when Helen was sitting intently drawing, Miss Clarendon said + “Helen!” so suddenly that she started and looked round; Miss Clarendon was + seated on a low stool at her aunt’s feet, with one arm thrown over her + great dog’s neck; he had laid his head on her lap, and resting on him, she + looked up with a steadiness, a fixity of repose, which brought to Helen’s + mind Raphael’s beautiful figure of Fortitude leaning on her lion; she + thought she had never before seen Miss Clarendon look so handsome, so + graceful, so interesting; she took care not to say so, however. + </p> + <p> + “Helen!” continued Miss Clarendon, “do you remember the time when I was at + Clarendon Park and quitted it so abruptly? My reasons were good, whatever + my manner was; the opinion of the world I am not apt to fear for myself, + or even for my brother, but to the whispers of conscience I do listen. + Helen! I was conscious that certain feelings in my mind were too strong,—in + me, you would scarcely believe it—too tender. I had no reason to + think that Granville Beauclerc liked me; it was therefore utterly unfit + that I should think of him: I felt this, I left Clarendon Park, and from + that moment I have refused myself the pleasure of his society, I have + altogether ceased to think of him. This is the only way to conquer a + hopeless attachment. But you, Helen, though you have commanded him never + to attempt to see you again, have not been able to command your own mind. + Since Mr. Churchill is so much better, you expect that he will soon be + pronounced out of danger—you expect that Mr. Beauclerc will come + over—come here, and be at your feet!” + </p> + <p> + “I expect nothing,” said Helen in a faltering voice, and then added + resolutely, “I cannot foresee what Mr. Beauclerc may do, but of this be + assured, Miss Clarendon, that until I stand as I once stood, and as I + deserve to stand, in the opinion of your brother; unless, above all, I can + bring <i>proofs</i> to Granville’s confiding heart, that I have ever been + unimpeachable of conduct and of mind, and in all but one circumstance true—true + as yourself, Esther—never, never, though your brother and all the + world consented, never till I myself felt that I was <i>proved</i> to be + as worthy to be his wife as I think I am, would I consent to marry him—no, + not though my heart were to break.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it,” said Mrs. Pennant; “and I wish—oh, how I wish—” + </p> + <p> + “That Lady Cecilia were hanged, as she deserves,” said Miss Clarendon: “so + do I, I am sure; but that is nothing to the present purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” said Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Helen!” continued Esther, “remember that Lady Blanche Forrester is at + Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Helen shrank. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Cecilia tells you there is no danger; I say there is.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you say so, my dear Esther?” said her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Has not this friend of yours always deceived, misled you, Helen?” + </p> + <p> + “She can have no motive for deceiving me in this,” said Helen: “I believe + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Believe her then!” cried Miss Clarendon; “believe her, and do not believe + me, and take the consequences: I have done.” + </p> + <p> + Helen sighed, but though she might feel the want of the charm of Lady + Cecilia’s suavity of manner, of her agreeable, and her agreeing temper, + yet she felt the safe solidity of principle in her present friend, and + admired, esteemed, and loved, without fear of change, her unblenching + truth. Pretty ornaments of gold cannot be worked out of the native ore; to + fashion the rude mass some alloy must be used, and when the slight + filigree of captivating manner comes to be tested against the sterling + worth of unalloyed sincerity, weighed in the just balance of adversity, we + are glad to seize the solid gold, and leave the ornaments to those that + they deceive. + </p> + <p> + The fear about Lady Blanche Forrester was, however, soon set at rest, and + this time Lady Cecilia was right. A letter from her to Helen announced + that Lady Blanche was married!—actually married, and not to + Granville Beauclerc, but to some other English gentleman at Paris, no + matter whom. Lord Beltravers and Madame de St. Cymon, disappointed, had + returned to London; Lady Cecilia had seen Lord Beltravers, and heard the + news from him. There could be no doubt of the truth of the intelligence, + and scarcely did Helen herself rejoice in it with more sincerity than did + Miss Clarendon, and Helen loved her for her candour as well as for her + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Time passed on; week after week rolled away. At last General Clarendon + announced to his sister, but without one word to Helen, that Mr. Churchill + was pronounced out of danger. The news had been sent to his ward, the + general said, and he expected Granville would return from his banishment + immediately. + </p> + <p> + Quite taken up in the first tumult of her feelings at this intelligence, + Helen scarcely observed that she had no letter from Cecilia. But even aunt + Pennant was obliged to confess, in reply to her niece’s observation, that + this was “certainly very odd! but we shall soon hear some explanation, I + hope.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon shook her head; she said that she had always thought how + matters would end; she judged from her brother’s letters that he began to + find out that he was not the happiest of men. Yet nothing to that effect + was ever said by him; one phrase only excepted, in his letter to her on + her last birth-day, which began with, “In our happy days, my dear Esther.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon said nothing to Helen upon this subject; she refrained + altogether from mentioning Lady Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + Two, three post-days passed without bringing any letter to Helen. The + fourth, very early in the morning, long before the usual time for the + arrival of the post, Rose came into her room with a letter in her hand, + saying, “From General Clarendon, ma’am. His own man, Mr. Cockburn, has + just this minute arrived, ma’am—from London.” With a trembling hand, + Helen tore the letter open: not one word from General Clarendon! It was + only a cover, containing two notes; one from Lord Davenant to the general, + the other from Lady Davenant to Helen. + </p> + <p> + Lord Davenant said that Lady Davenant’s health had declined so alarmingly + after their arrival at Petersburgh, that he had insisted upon her return + to England, and that as soon as the object of his mission was completed, + he should immediately follow her. A vessel, he said, containing letters + from England, had been lost, so that they were in total ignorance of what + had occurred at home; and, indeed, it appeared from the direction of Lady + Davenant’s note to Helen, written on her landing in England, that she had + left Russia without knowing that the marriage had been broken off, or that + Helen had quitted General Clarendon’s. She wrote—“Let me see you and + Granville once more before I die. Be in London, at my own house, to meet + me. I shall be there as soon as I can be moved.” + </p> + <p> + The initials only of her name were signed. Elliot added a postscript, + saying that her lady had suffered much from an unusually long passage, and + that she was not sure what day they could be in town. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing from Lady Cecilia.—Cockburn said that her ladyship + had not been at home when he set out; that his master had ordered him to + travel all night, to get to Llansillen as fast as possible, and to make no + delay in delivering the letter to Miss Stanley. + </p> + <p> + To set out instantly, to be in town at her house to meet Lady Davenant, + was, of course, Helen’s immediate determination. General Clarendon had + sent his travelling carriage for her; and under the circumstances, her + friends could have no wish but to speed her departure. Miss Clarendon + expressed surprise at there being no letter from Lady Cecilia, and would + see and question Cockburn herself; but nothing more was to be learned than + what he had already told, that the packet from Lady Davenant had come by + express to his master after Lady Cecilia had driven out, as it had been + her custom of late, almost every day, to Kensington, to see her child. + Nothing could be more natural, Mrs. Pennant thought, and she only wondered + at Esther’s unconvinced look of suspicion. “Nothing, surely, can be more + natural, my dear Esther.” To which Esther replied, “Very likely, ma’am.” + Helen was too much hurried and too much engrossed by the one idea of Lady + Davenant to think of what they said. At parting she had scarcely time even + to thank her two friends for all their kindness, but they understood her + feelings, and, as Miss Clarendon said, words on that point were + unnecessary. Aunt Pennant embraced her again and again, and then let her + go, saying, “I must not detain you, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must,” said Miss Clarendon, “for one moment. There is one point on + which my parting words are necessary. Helen! keep clear of Lady Cecilia’s + affairs, whatever they may be. Hear none of her secrets.” + </p> + <p> + Helen wished she had never heard any; did not believe there were any more + to hear; but she promised herself and Miss Clarendon that she would + observe this excellent counsel. + </p> + <p> + And now she was in the carriage, and on her road to town. And now she had + leisure to breathe, and to think, and to feel. Her thoughts and feelings, + however, could be only repetitions of fears and hopes about Lady Davenant, + and uncertainty and dread of what would happen when she should require + explanation of all that had occurred in her absence. And how would Lady + Cecilia he able to meet her mother’s penetration?—ill or well, Lady + Davenant was so clear-sighted. “And how shall I,” thought Helen, “without + plunging deeper in deceit, avoid revealing the truth? Shall I assist + Cecilia to deceive her mother in her last moments; or shall I break my + promise, betray Cecilia’s secret, and at last be the death of her mother + by the shock?” It is astonishing how often the mind can go over the same + thoughts and feelings without coming to any conclusion, any ease from + racking suspense. In the mean time, on rolled the carriage, and Cockburn, + according to his master’s directions, got her over the ground with all + conceivable speed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + When they were within the last stage of London, the carriage suddenly + stopped, and Helen, who was sitting far back, deep in her endless reverie, + started forward—Cockburn was at the carriage-door. + </p> + <p> + “My lady, coming to meet you, Miss Stanley.” + </p> + <p> + It was Cecilia herself. But Cecilia so changed in her whole appearance, + that Helen would scarcely have known her. She was so much struck that she + hardly knew what was said; but the carriage-doors were opened, and Lady + Cecilia was beside her, and Cockburn shut the door without permitting one + moment’s delay, and on they drove. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia was excessively agitated. Helen had not power to utter a + word, and was glad that Cecilia went on speaking very fast; though she + spoke without appearing to know well what she was saying: of Helen’s + goodness in coming so quickly, of her fears that she would never have been + in time—“but she was in time,—her mother had not yet arrived. + Clarendon had gone to meet her on the road, she believed—she was not + quite certain.” + </p> + <p> + That seemed very extraordinary to Helen. “Not quite certain?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not,” replied Cecilia, and she coloured; her very pale cheek + flushed; but she explained not at all, she left that subject, and spoke of + the friends Helen had left at Llansillen—then suddenly of her + mother’s return—her hopes—her fears—and then, without + going on to the natural idea of seeing her mother, and of how soon they + should see her, began to talk of Beauclerc—of Mr. Churchill’s being + quite out of danger—of the general’s expectation of Beauclerc’s + immediate return. “And then, my dearest Helen,” said she, “all will be——-” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I do not know how it will be!” cried she, her tone changing suddenly; + and, from the breathless hurry in which she had been running on, sinking + at once to a low broken tone, and speaking very slowly. “I cannot tell + what will become of any of us. We can never be happy again—any one + of us. And it is all my doing—and I cannot die. Oh! Helen, when I + tell you——-” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, and Miss Clarendon’s warning counsel, all her own past + experience, were full in Helen’s mind; and after a moment’s silence, she + stopped Cecilia just as she seemed to have gathered power to speak, and + begged that she would not tell her any thing that was to be kept secret. + She could not, would not hear any secrets; she turned her head aside, and + let down the glass, and looked out, as if determined not to be compelled + to receive this confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Have you, then, lost all interest, all affection for me, Helen? I deserve + it!—But you need not fear me now, Helen: I have done with deception, + would to Heaven I had never begun with it!” + </p> + <p> + It was the tone and look of truth—she steadily fixed her eyes upon + Helen—and instead of the bright beams that used to play in those + eyes, there was now a dark deep-seated sorrow, almost despair. Helen was + touched to the heart: it was indeed impossible for her, it would have been + impossible for any one who had any feeling, to have looked upon Lady + Cecilia Clarendon at that moment, and to have recollected what she had so + lately been, without pity. The friend of her childhood looked upon her + with all the poignant anguish of compassion— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear Cecilia! how changed!” + </p> + <p> + Helen was not sensible that she uttered the words “how changed!” + </p> + <p> + “Changed! yes! I believe I am,” said Lady Cecilia, in a calm voice, “very + much changed in appearance, but much more in reality; my mind is more + altered than my person. Oh! Helen! if you could see into my mind at this + moment, and know how completely it is changed;—but it is all in vain + now! You have suffered, and suffered for me! but your sufferings could not + equal mine. You lost love and happiness, but still conscious of deserving + both: I had both at my command, and I could enjoy neither under the + consciousness, the torture of remorse.” + </p> + <p> + Helen threw her arms round her, and exclaimed, “Do not think of me!—all + will be well—since you have resolved on the truth, all will yet be + well.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia sighed deeply and went on.—“I am sure, Helen, you were + surprised that my child was born alive; at least I was. I believe its + mother had not feeling enough to endanger its existence. Well, Clarendon + has that comfort at all events, and, as a boy, it will never put him in + mind of his mother. Well, Helen, I had hopes of myself to the last minute; + I really and truly hoped, as I told you, that I should have had courage to + tell him all when I put the child into his arms. But his joy!—I + could not dash his joy—I could not!—and then I thought I never + could. I knew you would give me up; I gave up all hope of myself. I was + very unhappy, and Clarendon thought I was very ill; and I acknowledge that + I was anxious about you, and let all the blame fall on you, innocent, + generous creature!—I heard my husband perpetually upbraiding you + when he saw me ill—all, he said, the consequences of your falsehood—and + all the time I knew it was my own. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Helen, it is impossible to tell you all the daily, hourly + necessities for dissimulation which occurred. Every day, you know, we were + to send to inquire for Mr. Churchill; and every day when Clarendon brought + me the bulletin, he pitied me, and blamed you; and the double dealing in + my countenance he never suspected—always interpreted favourably. Oh, + such confidence as he had in me—and how it has been wasted, abused! + Then letters from Beauclerc—how I bore to hear them read I cannot + conceive: and at each time that I escaped, I rejoiced and reproached + myself—and reproached myself and rejoiced. I succeeded in every + effort at deception, and was cursed by my own success. Encouraged to + proceed, I soon went on without shame and without fear. The general heard + me defending you against the various reports which my venomous cousin had + circulated, and he only admired what he called ‘my amiable zeal.’ His love + for me increased, but it gave me no pleasure: for, Helen, now I am going + to tell you an extraordinary turn which my mind took, for which I cannot + account—I can hardly believe it—it seems out of human nature—my + love for him decreased!—not only because I felt that he would hate + me if he discovered my deceit, but because he was lowered in my + estimation! I had always had, as every body has, even my mother, the + highest opinion of his judgment. To that judgment I had always looked up; + it had raised me in my own opinion; it was a motive to me to be equal to + what he thought me: but now that motive was gone, I no longer looked up to + him; his credulous affection had blinded his judgment—he was my + dupe! I could not reverence—I could not love one who was my dupe. + But I cannot tell you how shocked I was at myself when I felt my love for + him decrease every time I saw him. + </p> + <p> + “I thought myself a monster; I had grown use to every thing but that—that + I could not endure; it was a darkness of the mind—a coldness; it was + as if the sun had gone out of the universe; it was more—it was worse—it + was as if I was alone in the world. Home was a desert to me. I went out + every evening; sometimes, but rarely, Clarendon accompanied me: he had + become more retired; his spirits had declined with mine; and though he was + glad I should go out and amuse myself, yet he was always exact as to the + hours of my return. I was often late—later than I ought to have + been, and I made a multitude of paltry excuses; this it was, I believe, + which first shook his faith in my truth; but I was soon detected in a more + decided failure. + </p> + <p> + “You know I never had the least taste for play of any kind: you may + remember I used to be scolded for never minding what I was about at + ecarté: in short, I never had the least love for it—it wearied me; + but now that my spirits were gone, it was a sort of intoxication in which + I cannot say I indulged—for it was no indulgence, but to which I had + recourse. Louisa Castlefort, you know, was always fond of play—got + into her first difficulties by that means—she led me on. I lost a + good deal of money to her, and did not care about it as long as I could + pay; but presently it came to a time when I could not pay without applying + to the general: I applied to him, but under false pretences—to pay + this bill or that, or to buy something, which I never bought: this + occurred so often and to such extent, that he suspected—he + discovered how it went; he told me so. He spoke in that low, suppressed, + that terrible voice which I had heard once before; I said, I know not + what, in deprecation of his anger. ‘I am not angry, Cecilia,’ said he. I + caught his hand, and would have detained him; he withdrew that hand, and, + looking at me, exclaimed, ‘Beautiful creature! half those charms would I + give for <i>truth!</i>’ He left the room, and there was contempt in his + look. + </p> + <p> + “All my love—all my reverence, returned for him in an instant; but + what could I say? He never recurred to the subject; and now, when I saw + the struggle in his mind, my passion for him returned in all its force. + </p> + <p> + “People who flattered me often, you know, said I was fascinating, and I + determined to use my powers of fascination to regain my husband’s heart; + how little I knew that heart! I dressed to please him—oh! I never + dressed myself with such care in my most coquettish days;—I gave a + splendid ball; I dressed to please him—he used to be delighted with + my dancing: he had said, no matter what, but I wanted to make him say it—feel + it again; he neither said nor felt it. I saw him standing looking at me, + and at the close of the dance I heard from him one sigh. I was more in + love with him than when first we were married, and he saw it, but that did + not restore me to his confidence—his esteem; nothing could have done + that, but—what I had not. One step in dissimulation led to another. + </p> + <p> + “After Lord Beltravers returned from Paris on Lady Blanche’s marriage, I + used to meet him continually at Louisa Castlefort’s. As for play, that was + over with me for ever, but I went to Louisa’s continually, because it was + the gayest house I could go to; I used to meet Lord Beltravers there, and + he pretended to pay me a vast deal of attention, to which I was utterly + indifferent, but his object was to push his sister into society again by + my means. He took advantage of that unfortunate note which I had received + from Madame de St. Cymon, when she was at Old Forest; he wanted me to + admit her among my acquaintance; he urged it in every possible way, and + was excessively vexed that it would not do: not that he cared for her; he + often spoke of her in a way that shocked me, but it hurt his pride that + she should be excluded from the society to which her rank entitled her. I + had met her at Louisa’s once or twice; but when I found that for her + brother’s sake she was always to be invited, I resolved to go there no + more, and I made a merit of this with Clarendon. He was pleased; he said, + ‘That is well, that is right, my dear Cecilia.’ And he went out more with + me. One night at the Opera, the Comtesse de St. Cymon was in the box + opposite to us, no lady with her, only some gentlemen. She watched me; I + did all I could to avoid her eye, but at an unlucky moment she caught + mine, bent forward, and had the assurance to bow. The general snatched the + opera-glass from my hand, made sure who it was, and then said to me, + </p> + <p> + “‘How does that woman dare to claim your notice, Lady Cecilia? I am afraid + there must have been some encouragement on your part.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘None,’ said I, ‘nor ever shall be; you see I take no notice.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But you must have taken notice, or this could never be?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No indeed!’ persisted I. ‘Helen! I really forgot at the moment that + first unfortunate note. An instant afterwards I recollected it, and the + visit about the cameos, but that was not my fault. I had, to be sure, + dropped a card in return at her door, and I ought to have mentioned that, + but I really did not recollect it till the words had passed my lips, and + then it was too late, and I did not like to go back and spoil my case by + an exception. The general did not look quite satisfied; he did not receive + my assertions as implicitly as formerly. He left the box afterwards to + speak to some one, and while he was gone in came Lord Beltravers. After + some preliminary nothings, he went directly to the point; and said in an + assured manner, ‘I believe you do not know my sister at this distance. She + has been endeavouring to catch your eye.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The Comtesse de St. Cymon does me too much honour,’ said I with a slight + inclination of the head, and elevation of the eyebrow, which spoke + sufficiently plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Unabashed, and with a most provoking, almost sneering look, he replied, + ‘Madame de St. Cymon had wished to say a few words to your ladyship on + your own account; am I to understand this cannot be?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘On my own account?’ said I, ‘I do not in the least understand your + lordship.’ ‘I am not sure,’ said he, ‘that I perfectly comprehend it. But + I know that you sometimes drive to Kensington, and sometimes take a turn + in the gardens there. My sister lives at Kensington, and could not she, + without infringing etiquette, meet you in your walk, and have the honour + of a few words with you? Something she wants to say to you,’ and here he + lowered his voice, ‘about a locket, and Colonel D’Aubigny.’ + </p> + <p> + “Excessively frightened, and hearing some one at the door, I answered, ‘I + do not know, I believe I shall drive to Kensington to-morrow.’ He bowed + delighted, and relieved me from his presence that instant. The moment + afterwards General Clarendon came in. He asked me, ‘Was not that Lord + Beltravers whom I met?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ said I; ‘he came to reproach me for not noticing his sister, and I + answered him in such a manner as to make him clear that there was no + hope.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You did right,’ said he, ‘if you did so.’ My mind was in such confusion + that I could not quite command my countenance, and I put up my fan as if + the lights hurt me. “‘Cecilia,’ said he, ‘take care what you are about. + Remember, it is not my request only, but my command to my wife’ (he laid + solemn stress on the words) ‘that she should have no communication with + this woman.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘My dear Clarendon, I have not the least wish.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I do not ask what your wishes may be; I require only your obedience.’ + </p> + <p> + “Never have I heard such austere words from him. I turned to the stage, + and I was glad to seize the first minute I could to get away. But what was + to be done? If I did not go to Kensington, there was this locket, and I + knew not what, standing out against me. I knew that this wretched woman + had had Colonel D’Aubigny in her train abroad, and supposed that he must—treacherous + profligate as he was—have given the locket to her, and now I was so + afraid of its coming to Clarendon’s eyes or ears!—and yet why should + I have feared his knowing about it? Colonel D’Aubigny stole it, just as he + stole the picture. I had got it for you, do you recollect?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” said Helen, “and your mother missed it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued Lady Cecilia. “O that I had had the sense to do nothing + about it! But I was so afraid of its somehow bringing everything to light: + my cowardice—my conscience—my consciousness of that first + fatal falsehood before my marriage, has haunted me at the most critical + moments: it has risen against me, and stood like an evil spirit + threatening me from the right path. + </p> + <p> + “I went to Kensington, trusting to my own good fortune, which had so often + stood me in stead; but Madame de St. Cymon was too cunning for me, and so + interested, so mean, she actually bargained for giving up the locket. She + hinted that she knew Colonel D’Aubigny had never been your lover, and + ended by saying she had not the locket with her; and though I made her + understand that the general would never allow me to receive her at my own + house, yet she ‘hoped I could manage an introduction for her to some of my + friends, and that she would bring the locket on Monday, if I would in the + mean time try, at least with Lady Emily Greville and Mrs. Holdernesse.’ + </p> + <p> + “I felt her meanness, and yet I was almost as mean myself, for I agreed to + do what I could. Monday came, Clarendon saw me as I was going out, and, as + he handed me into the carriage, he asked me where I was going. To + Kensington I said, and added—oh! Helen, I am ashamed to tell you, I + added,—I am going to see my child. And there I found Madame de St. + Cymon, and I had to tell her of my failure with Lady Emily and Mrs. + Holdernesse. I softened their refusal as much as I could, but I might have + spared myself the trouble, for she only retorted by something about + English prudery. At this moment a shower of rain came on, and she insisted + upon my taking her home; ‘Come in,’ said she, when the carriage stopped at + her door: ‘if you will come in, I will give it to you now, and you need + not have the trouble of calling again.’ I had the folly to yield, though I + saw that it was a trick to decoy me into her house, and to make it pass + for a visit. It all flashed upon me, and yet I could not resist, for I + thought I must obtain the locket at all hazards. I resolved to get it from + her before I left the house, and then I thought all would be finished. + </p> + <p> + “She looked triumphant as she followed me into her saloon, and gave a + malicious smile, which seemed to say, ‘You see you are visiting me after + all.’ After some nonsensical conversation, meant to detain me, I pressed + for the locket, and she produced it: it was indeed the very one that had + been made for you—But just at that instant, while she still held it + in her band, the door suddenly opened, and Clarendon stood opposite to me! + </p> + <p> + “I heard Madame de St. Cymon’s voice, but of what she said, I have no + idea. I heard nothing but the single word ‘rain’ and with scarcely + strength to articulate, I attempted to follow up that excuse. Clarendon’s + look of contempt!—But he commanded himself, advanced calmly to me, + and said, ‘I came to Kensington with these letters; they have just arrived + by express. Lady Davenant is in England—she is ill.’ He gave me the + packet, and left the room, and I heard the sound of his horses’ feet the + next instant as he rode off. I broke from Madame de St. Cymon, forgetting + the locket and everything. I asked my servants which way the general had + gone? ‘To Town.’ I perceived that he must have been going to look for me + at the nurse’s, and had seen the carriage at Madame de St. Cymon’s door. I + hastened after him, and then I recollected that I had left the locket on + the table at Madame de St. Cymon’s, that locket for which I had hazarded—lost—everything! + The moment I reached home, I ran to Clarendon’s room; he was not there, + and oh! Helen, I have not seen him since! + </p> + <p> + “From some orders which he left about horses, I suppose he went to meet my + mother. I dared not follow him. She had desired me to wait for her arrival + at her own house. All yesterday, all last night, Helen, what I have + suffered! I could not bear it any longer, and then I thought of coming to + meet you. I thought I must see you before my mother arrived—my + mother! but Clarendon will not have met her till to-day. Oh, Helen! you + feel all that I fear—all that I foresee.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia sank back, and Helen, overwhelmed with all she had heard, + could for some time only pity her in silence; and at last could only + suggest that the general would not have time for any private communication + with Lady Davenant, as her woman would be in the carriage with her, and + the general was on horseback. + </p> + <p> + It was late in the day before they reached town. As they came near + Grosvenor Square, Cockburn inquired whether they were to drive home, or to + Lady Davenant’s? + </p> + <p> + “To my mother’s, certainly, and as fast as you can.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant had not arrived, but there were packages in the hall, her + courier, and her servants, who said that General Clarendon was with her, + but not in the carriage; he had sent them on. No message for Lady Cecilia, + but that Lady Davenant would be in town this night. + </p> + <p> + To night—some hours still of suspense! As long as there were + arrangements to be made, anything to do or to think of but that meeting of + which they dared not think, it was endurable, but too soon all was + settled; nothing to be done, but to wait and watch, to hear the carriages + roll past, and listen, and start, and look at each other, and sink back + disappointed. Lady Cecilia walked from the sofa to the window, and looked + out, and back again—-continually, continually, till at last Helen + begged her to sit down. She sat down before an old piano-forte of her + mother’s, on which her eyes fixed; it was one on which she had often + played with Helen when they were children. “Happy, innocent days,” said + she; “I never shall we be so happy again, Helen! But I cannot think of + it;” she rose hastily, and threw herself on the sofa. + </p> + <p> + A servant, who had been watching at the hall-door, came in—“The + carriage, my lady! Lady Davenant is coming.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia started up; they ran down stairs; the carriage stopped, and + in the imperfect light they saw the figure of Lady Davenant, scarcely + altered, leaning upon General Clarendon’s arm. The first sound of her + voice was feebler, softer, than formerly—quite tender, when she + said, as she embraced them both by turns, “My dear children!” + </p> + <p> + “You have accomplished your journey, Lady Davenant, better than you + expected,” said the general. + </p> + <p> + Something struck her in the tone of his voice. She turned quickly, saw her + daughter lay her hand upon his arm, and saw that arm withdrawn! + </p> + <p> + They all entered the saloon—it was a blaze of light; Lady Davenant, + shading her eyes with her hand, looked round at the countenances, which + she had not yet seen. Lady Cecilia shrank back. The penetrating eyes + turned from her, glanced at Helen, and fixed upon the general. + </p> + <p> + “What is all this?” cried she. + </p> + <p> + Helen threw her arms round Lady Davenant. “Let us think of you first, and + only—be calm.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant broke from her, and pressing forwards exclaimed, “I must see + my daughter—if I have still a daughter! Cecilia!” + </p> + <p> + The general moved. Lady Cecilia, who had sunk upon a chair behind him, + attempted to rise. Lady Davenant stood opposite to her; the light was now + full upon her face and figure; and her mother saw how it was changed! and + looking back at Helen, she said in a low, awful tone, “I see it; the black + spot has spread!” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had Lady Davenant pronounced these words, when she was seized + with violent spasms. The general had but just time to save her from + falling; he could not leave her. All was terror! Even her own woman, so + long used to these attacks, said it was the worst she had ever seen, and + for some time evidently feared it would terminate fatally. At last slowly + she came to herself, but perfectly in possession of her intellects, she + sat up, looked round, saw the agony in her daughter’s countenance, and + holding out her hand to her, said, “Cecilia, if there is anything that I + ought to know, it should be said now.” Cecilia caught her mother’s hand, + and threw herself upon her knees. “Helen, Helen, stay!” cried she, “do not + go, Clarendon!” + </p> + <p> + He stood leaning against the chimney-piece, motionless, while Cecilia, in + a faltering voice, began; her voice gaining strength, she went on, and + poured out all—even from the very beginning, that first suppression + of the truth, that first cowardice, then all that followed from that one + falsehood—all—even to the last degradation, when in the power, + in the presence of that bad woman, her husband found and left her. She + shuddered as she came to the thought of that look of his, and not daring, + not having once dared while she spoke, to turn towards him, her eyes fixed + upon her mother’s; but as she finished speaking, her head sank, she laid + her face on the sofa beside her; she felt her mother’s arm thrown over her + and she sobbed convulsively. + </p> + <p> + There was silence. + </p> + <p> + “I have still a daughter!” were the first words that broke the silence. + “Not such as I might have had, but that is my own fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh mother!” + </p> + <p> + “I have still a daughter,” repeated Lady Davenant. “There is,” continued + she, turning to General Clarendon, “there is a redeeming power in truth. + She may yet be more worthy to be your wife than she has ever yet been!” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” exclaimed the general. His countenance was rigid as iron; then + suddenly it relaxed, and going up to Helen, he said, + </p> + <p> + “I have done you injustice, Miss Stanley. I have been misled. I have done + you injustice, and by Heaven! I will do you public justice, cost me what + it will. Beauclerc will be in England in a few days, at the altar I will + give you to him publicly; in the face of all the world, will I mark my + approbation of his choice; publicly will I repair the wrong I have done + you. I will see his happiness and yours before I leave England for ever!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia started up: “Clarendon!” was all she could say. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Lady Cecilia Clarendon,” said he, all the stern fixedness of his + face returning at once—“Yes, Lady Cecilia Clarendon, we separate, + now and for ever.” + </p> + <p> + Then turning from her, he addressed Lady Davenant. “I shall be ordered on + some foreign service. Your daughter, Lady Davenant, will remain with you, + while I am still in England, unless you wish otherwise——” + </p> + <p> + “Leave my daughter with me, my dear general, till my death,” said Lady + Davenant. She spoke calmly, but the general, after a respectful—an + affectionate pressure of the hand she held out to him, said, “That may be + far distant, I trust in God, and we shall at all events meet again the day + of Helen’s marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “And if that day is to be a happy day to me,” cried Helen, “to me or to + your own beloved ward, General Clarendon, it must be happy to Cecilia!” + </p> + <p> + “As happy as she has left it in my power to make her. When I am gone, my + fortune——” + </p> + <p> + “Name it not as happiness for my daughter,” interrupted Lady Davenant, “or + you do her injustice, General Clarendon.” + </p> + <p> + “I name it but to do her justice,” said he. “It is all that she has left + it in my power to give;” and then his long suppressed passion suddenly + bursting forth, he turned to Cecilia. “All I can give to one so false—false + from the first moment to the last—false to me—to me! who so + devotedly, fondly, blindly loved her!” He rushed out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Then Lady Davenant, taking her daughter in her arms, said, “My child, + return to me!” + </p> + <p> + She sank back exhausted. Mrs. Elliott was summoned, she wished them all + out of the room, and said so; but Lady Davenant would have her daughter + stay beside her, and with Cecilia’s hand in hers, she fell into a profound + slumber. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + On awaking in the morning, after some long-expected event has happened, we + feel in doubt whether it has really occurred, or whether it is all a + dream. Then comes the awful sense of waking truth, and the fear that what + has been done, or said, is irremediable, and then the astonishment that it + really is done. “It is over!” Helen repeated to herself, repeated aloud, + before she could well bring herself from that state of half belief, before + she could recover her stunned faculties. + </p> + <p> + Characters which she thought she perfectly understood, had each appeared, + in these new circumstances, different from what she had expected. From + Cecilia she had scarcely hoped, even at the last moment, for such perfect + truth in her confession. From Lady Davenant not so much indulgence, not + all that tenderness for her daughter. From the general, less violence of + expression, more feeling for Cecilia; he had not allowed the merit of her + candour, her courage at the last. It was a perfectly voluntary confession, + all that concerned Colonel D’Aubigny, and the letters could never have + been known to the general by any other means. Disappointed love, + confidence duped, and his pride of honour, had made him forget himself in + anger, even to cruelty. Helen thought he would feel this hereafter, + fancied he must feel it even now, but that, though he might relent, he + would not recede; though he might regret that he had made the + determination, he would certainly abide by it; that which he had resolved + to do, would certainly be done,—the separation between him and + Cecilia would take place. And though all was clear and bright in Helen’s + own prospects, the general’s esteem restored, his approbation to be + publicly marked, Beauclerc to be convinced of her perfect innocence! + Beauclerc, freed from all fear and danger, returning all love and joy; yet + she could not be happy—it was all mixed with bitterness, anguish for + Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + She had so often so forcibly urged her to this confession! and now it was + made, did Helen regret that it was made? No, independently of her own + cleared character, she was satisfied, even for Cecilia’s sake, for it was + right, whatever were the consequences; it was right, and in the confusion + and discordance of her thoughts and feelings, this was the only fixed + point. To this conclusion she had come, but had not been able farther to + settle her mind, when she was told that Lady Davenant was now awake, and + wished to see her. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant, renovated by sleep, appeared to Helen, even when she saw + her by daylight, scarcely altered in her looks. There was the same life, + and energy, and elasticity, and strength, Helen hoped, not only of mind, + but of body, and quick as that hope rose, as she stood beside her bed, and + looked upon her, Lady Davenant marked it, and said, “You are mistaken, my + dear Helen, I shall not last long; I am now to consider how I am to make + the most of the little life that remains. How to repair as far as may be, + as far as can be, in my last days, the errors of my youth! You know, + Helen, what I mean, and it is now no time to waste words, therefore I + shall not begin by wasting upon you, Helen, any reproaches. Foolish, + generous, weak creature that you are, and as the best of human beings will + ever be—I must be content with you as you are; and so,” continued + she, in a playful tone, “we must love one another, perhaps all the better, + for not being too perfect. And indeed, my poor child, you have been well + punished already, and the worst of criminals need not be punished twice. + Of the propensity to sacrifice your own happiness for others you will + never be cured, but you will, I trust, in future, when I am gone never to + return, be true to yourself. Now as to my daughter—” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant then went over with Helen every circumstance in Cecilia’s + confession, and showed how, in the midst of the shock she had felt at the + disclosure of so much falsehood, hope for her daughter’s future truth had + risen in her mind even from the courage, and fulness, and exactness of her + confession. “And it is not,” continued she, “a sudden reformation; I have + no belief in sudden reformations. I think I see that this change in + Cecilia’s mind has been some time working out by her own experience of the + misery, the folly, the degradation of deceit.” + </p> + <p> + Helen earnestly confirmed this from her own observations, and from the + expressions which had burst forth in the fulness of Cecilia’s heart and + strength of her conviction, when she told her all that had passed in her + mind. + </p> + <p> + “That is well!” pursued Lady Davenant; “but principles cannot be depended + upon till confirmed by habit; and Cecilia’s nature is so variable—impressions + on her are easily, even deeply made, but all in sand; they may shift with + the next tide—may be blown away by the next wind.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” exclaimed Helen, “there is no danger of that. I see the + impression deepening every hour, from your kindness and—” Helen + hesitated, “And besides—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Besides</i>,” said Lady Davenant, “usually comes as the <i>arrière-ban</i> + of weak reasons: you mean to say that the sight of my sufferings must + strengthen, must confirm all her principles—her taste for truth. + Yes,” continued she, in her most firm tone, “Cecilia’s being with me + during my remaining days will be painful but salutary to her. She sees, as + you do, that all the falsehood meant to save me has been in vain; that at + last the shock has only hastened my end: it must be so, Helen. Look at it + steadily, in the best point of view—the evil you cannot avert; take + the good and be thankful for it.” + </p> + <p> + And Cecilia—how did she feel? Wretched she was, but still in her + wretchedness there was within her a relieved conscience and the sustaining + power of truth; and she had now the support of her mother’s affection, and + the consolation of feeling that she had at last done Helen justice! To her + really generous, affectionate disposition, there was in the return of her + feelings to their natural course, an indescribable sense of relief. + Broken, crushed, as were all her own hopes, her sympathy, even in the + depths of her misery, now went pure, free from any windings of deceit, + direct to Helen’s happy prospects, in which she shared with all the + eagerness of her warm heart. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc arrived, found the general at home expecting him, and in his + guardian’s countenance and voice he saw and heard only what was natural to + the man. The general was prepared, and Beauclerc was himself in too great + impatience to hear the facts, to attend much to the manner in which things + were told. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Davenant has returned ill; her daughter is with her, and Helen——” + </p> + <p> + “And Helen——” + </p> + <p> + “And you may be happy, Beauclerc, if there be truth in woman,” said the + general. “Go to her—you will find I can do justice. Go, and return + when you can tell me that your wedding-day is fixed. And, Beauclerc,” he + called after him, “let it be as soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “The only unnecessary advice my dear guardian has ever given me,” + Beauclerc, laughing, replied. + </p> + <p> + The general’s prepared composure had not calculated upon this laugh, this + slight jest; his features gave way. Beauclerc, struck with a sudden change + in the general’s countenance, released his hand from the congratulatory + shake in which its power failed. The general turned away as if to shun + inquiry, and Beauclerc, however astonished, respected his feelings, and + said no more. He hastened to Lady Davenant with all a lover’s speed—with + all a lover’s joy saw the first expression in Helen’s eyes; and with all a + friend’s sorrow for Lady Davenant and for the general, heard all that was + to be told of Lady Cecilia’s affairs: her mother undertook the + explanation, Cecilia herself did not appear. + </p> + <p> + In the first rush of Beauclerc’s joy in Helen’s cleared fame, he was ready + to forgive all the deceit; yes, to forgive all; but it was such + forgiveness as contempt can easily grant, which can hardly be received by + any soul not lost to honour. This Lady Davenant felt, and felt so keenly, + that Helen trembled for her: she remained silent, pressing her hand upon + her heart, which told her sense of approaching danger. It was averted by + the calmness, the truth, the justice with which Helen spoke to Beauclerc + of Cecilia. As she went on, Lady Davenant’s colour returned and + Beauclerc’s ready sympathy went with her as far as she pleased, till she + came to one point, from which he instantly started back. Helen proposed, + if Beauclerc would consent, to put off their marriage till the general + should be reconciled to Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “Attempt it not, Helen,” cried Lady Davenant; “delay not for any + consideration. Your marriage must be as soon as possible, for my sake, for + Cecilia’s—mark me!—for Cecilia’s sake, as soon as possible let + it be; it is but justice that her conscience should be so far relieved, + let her no longer obstruct your union. Let me have the satisfaction of + seeing it accomplished; name the day, Helen, I may not have many to live.” + </p> + <p> + The day, the earliest possible, was named by Helen; and the moment it was + settled, Lady Davenant hurried Beauclerc away, saying—“Return to + General Clarendon—spare him suspense—it is all we can do for + him.” + </p> + <p> + The general’s wishes in this, and in all that followed, were to be obeyed. + He desired that the marriage should be public, that all should be bidden + of rank, fashion, and note—all their family connections. Lady + Katrine Hawksby, he especially named. To do justice to Helen seemed the + only pleasurable object now remaining to him. In speaking to Beauclerc, he + never once named Lady Cecilia; it seemed a tacit compact between him and + Beauclerc, that her name should not be pronounced. They talked of Lady + Davenant; the general said he did not think her in such danger as she + seemed to consider herself to be: his opinion was, he declared, confirmed + by his own observation; by the strength of mind and of body which she had + shown since her arrival in England. Beauclerc could only hope that he was + right; and the general went on to speak of the service upon which he was + to be employed: said that all <i>arrangements</i>, laying an emphasis upon + the word, would be transacted by his man of business. He spoke of what + would happen after he quitted England, and left his ward a legacy of some + favourite horse which he used to ride at Clarendon Park, and seemed to + take it for granted that Beauclerc and Helen would be sometimes there when + he was gone. Then, having cleared his throat several times, the general + desired that Lady Cecilia’s portrait, which he designated only as “the + picture over the chimney-piece in my room,” should be sent after him. And + taking leave of Beauclerc, he set off for Clarendon Park, where he was to + remain till the day before the wedding;—the day following he had + fixed for his departure from England. + </p> + <p> + When Beauclerc was repeating this conversation to Helen, Lady Davenant + came into the room just as he was telling these last particulars. She + marked the smile, the hope that was excited, but shook her head, and said, + “Raise no false hopes in my daughter’s mind, I conjure you;” and she + turned the conversation to other subjects. Beauclerc had been to see Mr. + Churchill, and of that visit Lady Davenant wished to hear. + </p> + <p> + As to health, Beauclerc said that Mr. Churchill had recovered almost + perfectly; “but there remains, and I fear will always remain, a little + lameness, not disabling, but disfiguring—an awkwardness in moving, + which, to a man of his personal pretensions, is trying to the temper; but + after noticing the impediment as he advanced to meet me, he shook my hand + cordially, and smiling, said, ‘You see I am a marked man; I always wished + to be so, you know, so pray do not repent, my good friend.’ He saw I was + too much moved for jesting, then he took it more seriously, but still + kindly, assuring me that I had done him real service; it is always of + service, he said, to be necessitated to take time for quiet reflection, of + which he had had sufficient in his hours of solitary confinement—this + little adversity had left him leisure to be good. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” continued Beauclerc, “Churchill adverting to our foolish + quarrel, to clear that off my mind, threw the whole weight of the blame at + once comfortably upon the absent—on Beltravers. Churchill said we + had indeed been a couple of bravely blind fools; he ought, as he observed, + to have recollected in time, that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> ‘A full hot horse, who being allowed his way,<br /> Self-mettle tires him.‘<br /></pre> + <p> + “So that was good, and Horace, in perfect good-humour with me and himself, + and all the world, played on with the past and the future, glad he had no + more of his bones to exfoliate; glad, after so many months of failure in + ‘the first intention,’ to find himself in a whole skin, and me safe + returned from transportation—spoke of Helen seriously; said that his + conduct to her was the only thing that weighed upon his mind, but he hoped + that his sincere penitence, and his months of suffering, would be + considered as sufficient atonement for his having brought her name before + the public; and he finished by inviting himself to our wedding, if it were + only for the pleasure of seeing what sort of a face Lady Katrine Hawksby + will have upon the occasion.—It was told of a celebrated statesman, + jealous of his colleagues, Horace says, that every commonly good speech + cost him a twinge of the gout; and every uncommonly good one sent him to + bed with a regular fit. Now Horace protests that every commonly decent + marriage of her acquaintance costs Lady Katrine at least a sad headache; + but Miss Stanley’s marriage, likely as it is to be so happy after all, as + he politely said, foredooms poor Lady Katrine to a month’s heartache at + the least, and a face full ell long.” + </p> + <p> + Whether in his penitence he had forsworn slander or not, it was plain that + Churchill had not lost either his taste, talent, or power of sarcasm, and + of this Beauclerc could have given, and in time gave, further + illustrations; but it was in a case which came home to him rather too + nearly, and on which his reports did not flow quite so fluently—touching + Lord Beltravers, it was too tender a subject. Beauclerc was ashamed of + himself for having been so deceived when, after all his guardian had done + to save his fortune, after all that noble sacrifice had been made, he + found that it was to no good end, but for the worst purpose possible. Lord + Beltravers, as it was now clear, never had the slightest intention of + living in that house of his ancestors on which Beauclerc had lavished his + thousands, ay, and tens of thousands: but while he was repairing, and + embellishing, and furnishing Old Forest, fit for an English aristocrat of + the first water, the Lord Beltravers at the gaming-table, pledged it, and + lost it, and sold it; and it went to the hammer. This came out in the + first fury of Lord Beltravers upon his sister’s marriage at Paris: and + then and there Beauclerc first came to the perception that his good friend + had predestined him and his fortune for the Lady Blanche, whom, all the + time, he considered as a fool and a puppet, and for whom he had not the + slightest affection: it was all for his own interested purposes. + </p> + <p> + Beauclerc suddenly opened his eyes wide, and saw it all at once: how it + had happened that they had never seen it before, notwithstanding all that + the general on one side, and Lady Davenant on the other, had done to force + them open, was incomprehensible; but, as Lady Davenant observed, “A sort + of cataract comes over the best eyes for a time, and the patient will not + suffer himself to be couched; and if you struggle to perform the operation + that is to do him good against his will, it is odds but you blind him for + life.” + </p> + <p> + Helen could not, however, understand how Granville could have been so + completely deceived, except that it had been impossible for him to imagine + the exquisite meanness of that man’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “There,” cried Beauclerc, “you see my fault was having too little, instead + of too much imagination.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant smiled, and said, “It has been admirably observed, that it + is among men as among certain tribes of animals, it is sometimes only + necessary that one of the herd should step forward and lead the way, to + make all the others follow with alacrity and submission; and I solve the + whole difficulty thus: I suppose that Lord Beltravers, just following + Beauclerc’s lead, succeeded in persuading him that he was a man of genius + and a noble fellow, by allowing all Beauclerc’s own paradoxes, adopting + all his ultra-original opinions, and, in short, sending him back the image + of his own mind, till Granville had been caught by it, and had fairly + fallen in love with it—a mental metaphysical Narcissus.” [Footnote: + Lord Mahon.] “After all,” continued Lady Davenant, smiling, “of all the + follies of youth, the dangerous folly of trying to do good—that for + which you stand convicted, may be the most easily pardoned, the most + safely left to time and experience to cure. You know, Granville, that ever + since the time of Alexander the Great’s great tutor, the characteristic + faults of youth and age have been the ‘<i>too much</i>’ and the ‘<i>too + little</i>.’ In youth, the too much confidence in others and in + themselves, the too much of enthusiasm—too much of benevolence;—in + age, alas! too little. And with this youth, who has the too much in every + thing—what shall we do with him, Helen? Take him, for better for + worse, you must; and I must love him as I have done from his childhood, a + little while longer—to the end of my life.” + </p> + <p> + “A little longer, to the end of her life!” said Beauclerc to himself, as + leaning on the back of Helen’s chair he looked at Lady Davenant. “I cannot + believe that she whom I see before me is passing away, to be with us but a + little longer; so full of life as she appears; such energy divine! No, no, + she will live, live long!” + </p> + <p> + And as his eyes looked that hope, Helen caught it, and yet she doubted, + and sighed, but still she had hope. Cecilia had none; she was sitting + behind her mother; she looked up at Helen, and shook her head; she had + seen more of her mother’s danger, she had been with her in nights of + fearful struggle. She had been with her just after she had written to Lord + Davenant what she must have felt to be a farewell letter—letter, + too, which contained the whole history of Cecilia’s deception and Helen’s + difficulties, subjects so agitating that the writing of them had left her + mother in such a state of exhaustion that Cecilia could think only with + terror for her, yet she exerted all her power over herself to hide her + anguish, not only for her mother’s but for Helen’s sake. + </p> + <p> + The preparations for the wedding went on, pressed forward by Lady Davenant + as urgently as the general could desire. The bridesmaids were to be Lady + Emily Greville’s younger sister, Lady Susan, and, at Helen’s particular + request, Miss Clarendon. Full of joy, wonder, and sympathy, in wedding + haste Miss Clarendon and Mrs. Pennant arrived both delighted that it was + all happily settled for Helen: which most, it was scarcely possible to + say; but which most curious as to the means by which it had been settled, + it was very possible to see. When Miss Clarendon had secured a private + moment with Helen, she began. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me—tell me everything about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Helen could only repeat what the general had already written to her sister—that + he was now convinced that the reports concerning Miss Stanley were false, + his esteem restored, his public approbation to be given, Beauclerc + satisfied, and her rejection honourably retracted. + </p> + <p> + “I will ask you no more, Helen, by word or look,” said Esther; “I + understand it all, my brother and Lady Cecilia are separated for life. And + now let us go to aunt Pennant: she will not annoy you by her curiosity, + but how she will be able to manage her sympathy amongst you with these + crossing demands I know not; Lady Cecilia’s wretchedness will almost spoil + my aunt’s joy for you—it cannot be pure joy.” + </p> + <p> + Pure joy! how far from it Helen’s sigh told; and Miss Clarendon had + scarcely patience enough with Lady Cecilia to look at her again; had + scarcely seconded, at least with good grace, a suggestion of Mrs. + Pennant’s that they should prevail on Lady Cecilia to take a turn in the + park with them, she looked so much in want of fresh air. + </p> + <p> + “We can go now, my dear Esther, you know, before it is time for that + picture sale, at which you are to be before two o’clock.” Lady Davenant + desired Cecilia to go. “Helen will be with me, do, my dear Cecilia, go.” + </p> + <p> + She went, and before the awkwardness of Miss Clarendon’s silence ceased, + and before Mrs. Pennant had settled which glass or which blind was best up + or down, Lady Cecilia burst into tears, thanked aunt Pennant for her + sympathy, and now, above the fear of Miss Clarendon—above all fear + but that of doing further wrong by concealment, she at once told the whole + truth, that they might, as well as the general, do full justice to Helen, + and that they might never, never blame Clarendon for the separation which + was to be. + </p> + <p> + That he should have mentioned nothing of her conduct even to his sister, + was not surprising. “I know his generous nature,” said Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + “But I never knew yours till this moment, Cecilia,” cried Miss Clarendon, + embracing her; “my sister, now,—separation or not.” + </p> + <p> + “But there need be no separation,” said kind aunt Pennant. Cecilia sighed, + and Miss Clarendon repeated, “You will find in me a sister at all events.” + </p> + <p> + She now saw Cecilia as she really was—faults and virtues. Perhaps + indeed in this moment of revulsion of feeling, in the surprise of + gratified confidence, she overvalued Lady Cecilia’s virtues, and was + inclined to do her more than justice, in her eagerness to make generous + reparation for unjust suspicion. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + After setting down Lady Cecilia at her mother’s, the aunt and niece + proceeded to the picture sale which Miss Clarendon was eager to attend, as + she was in search of a pendant to a famous Berghem she possessed; and + while she was considering the picture, she had the advantage of hearing a + story, which seemed, indeed, to be told for the amusement of the whole + room, by a party of fashionables who were standing near her:—a + wonderful story of a locket, which was going about; it was variously told, + but all agreed in one point—that a young married lady of high rank + had never dared to appear in the World since her husband had seen this + locket in her hands—it had brought out something—something + which had occurred before marriage;—and here mysterious nods were + interchanged. + </p> + <p> + Another version stated that the story had not yet been fully explained to + the husband, that he had found the locket on the table in a room that he + had suddenly entered, where he discovered her kneeling to the person in + question,—“the person in question” being sometimes a woman and + sometimes a man. + </p> + <p> + Then leaned forward, stretching her scraggy neck, one who had good reason + to believe that the husband would soon speak out—the public would + soon hear of a separation: and everybody must be satisfied that there + could not be a separation without good grounds. + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon inquired from a gentleman near them, who the lady was with + the outstretched scraggy neck—Lady Katrine Hawksby. Miss Clarendon + knew her only by reputation. She did not know Miss Clarendon either by + reputation or by sight; and she went on to say, she would “venture any + wager that the separation would take place within a month. In short, there + could be no doubt that before marriage,”—and she ended with a look + which gave a death-blow to the reputation. + </p> + <p> + Exceedingly shocked, Miss Clarendon, not only from a sense of justice to + Lady Cecilia, but from feeling for her brother’s honour, longed to reply + in defence; but she constrained herself for once, and having been assured + by Lady Cecilia that all had been confessed to her mother, she thought + that Lady Davenant must be the best person to decide what should be done. + She went to her house immediately, sent in word that she begged to see + Lady Davenant for two or three minutes alone, was admitted; Cecilia + immediately vacated the chair beside her mother’s bed, and left the room. + Miss Clarendon felt some difficulty in beginning, but she forced herself + to repeat all she had heard. Then Lady Davenant started up in her bed, and + the colour of life spread over her face— + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, thank you, Miss Clarendon! a second time I have to thank you + for an inestimable service. It is well for Cecilia that she made the whole + truth known to us both—made you her friend; now we <i>can</i> act + for her. I will have that locket from Madame de St. Cymon before the sun + goes down.” + </p> + <p> + Now Lady Davenant had Madame de St. Cymon completely in her power, from + her acquaintance with a disgraceful transaction which had come to her + knowledge at Florence. The locket was surrendered, returned with humble + assurances that Madame de St. Cymon now perfectly understood the thing in + its true light, and was quite convinced it had been stolen, not given. + Lady Davenant glanced over her note with scorn, and was going to throw it + from her into the fire, but did not. When Miss Clarendon called upon her + again that evening as she had appointed, she showed it to her, and desired + that she would, when her brother arrived next day, tell him what she had + heard, what Lady Davenant had done, and how the locket was now in her + possession. + </p> + <p> + Some people who pretend to know, maintain that the passion of love is of + such an all-engrossing nature that it swallows up every other feeling; but + we who judge more justly of our kind, hold differently, and rather believe + that love in generous natures imparts a strengthening power, a magnetic + touch, to every good feeling. Helen was incapable of being perfectly happy + while her friend was miserable; and even Beauclerc, in spite of all the + suffering she had caused, could not help pitying Lady Cecilia, and he + heartily wished the general could be reconciled to her; yet it was a + matter in which he could not properly interfere; he did not attempt it. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant determined to give a breakfast to all the bridal party after + the marriage. In her state of health, Helen and Cecilia remonstrated, but + Lady Davenant had resolved upon it, and at last they agreed it would be + better than parting at the church-door—better that she should at her + own house take leave of Helen and Beauclerc, who would set out immediately + after the breakfast for Thorndale. + </p> + <p> + And now equipages were finished, and wedding paraphernalia sent home—the + second time that wedding-dresses had been furnished for Miss Stanley;—and + never once were these looked at by the bride elect, nor even by Cecilia, + but to see that all was as it should be—that seen, she sighed, and + passed on. + </p> + <p> + Felicie’s ecstasies were no more to be heard: we forgot to mention that + she had, before Helen’s return from Llansillen, departed, dismissed in + disgrace; and happy was it for Lady Cecilia and Helen to be relieved from + her jabbering, and not exposed to her spying and reporting. Nevertheless, + the gloom that hung over the world above could not but be observed by the + world below; it was, however, naturally accounted for by Lady Davenant’s + state of health, and by the anxiety which Lady Cecilia must feel for the + general, who, as it had been officially announced by Mr. Cockburn, was to + set out on foreign service the day after the marriage. + </p> + <p> + Lady Cecilia, notwithstanding the bright hopefulness of her temper, and + her habits of sanguine belief that all would end well in which she and her + good fortune had any concern, seemed now, in this respect, to have changed + her nature; and ever since her husband’s denunciations, had continued + quite resigned to misery, and submissive to the fate which she thought she + had deserved. She was much employed in attendance upon her mother, and + thankful that she was so permitted to be. She never mentioned her + husband’s name, and if she alluded to him, or to what had been decreed by + him, it was with an emotion that scarcely dared to touch the point. She + spoke most of her child, and seemed to look to the care of him as her only + consolation. The boy had been brought from Kensington for Lady Davenant to + see, and was now at her house. Cecilia once said she thought he was very + like his father, and hoped that he would at least take leave of his boy at + the last. To that last hour—that hour when she was to see her + husband once more, when they were to meet but to part, to meet first at + the wedding ceremony, and at a breakfast in a public company,—altogether + painful as it must be, yet she looked forward to it with a sort of longing + ardent impatience. “True, it will be dreadful, yet still—still I + shall see him again, see him once again, and he cannot part with his once + so dear Cecilia without some word—some look, different from his + last.” + </p> + <p> + The evening before the day on which the wedding was to be, Lady Cecilia + was in Lady Davenant’s room, sitting beside the bed while her mother + slept. Suddenly she was startled from her still and ever the same + recurring train of melancholy thoughts, by a sound which had often made + her heart beat with joy—her husband’s knock; she ran to the window, + opened it, and was out on the balcony in an instant. His horse was at the + door, he had alighted, and was going up the steps; she leaned over the + rails of the balcony, and as she leaned, a flower she wore broke off—it + fell at the general’s feet: he looked up, and their eyes met. There he + stood, waiting on those steps, some minutes, for an answer to his inquiry + how Lady Davenant was: and when the answer was brought out by Elliott, + whom, as it seemed, he had desired to see, he remounted his horse, and + rode away without ever again looking up to the balcony. + </p> + <p> + Lady Davenant had awakened, and when Cecilia returned on hearing her + voice, her mother, as the light from the half-open shutters shone upon her + face, saw that she was in tears; she kneeled down by the side of the bed, + and wept bitterly; she made her mother understand how it had been. + </p> + <p> + “Not that I hoped more, but still—still to feel it so! Oh! mother, I + am bitterly punished.” + </p> + <p> + Then Lady Davenant seizing those clasped hands, and raising herself in her + bed, fixed her eyes earnestly upon Cecilia, and asked,—“Would you, + Cecilia—tell me, would you if it were now, this moment, in your + power—would you retract your confession?” + </p> + <p> + “Retract! impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you repent—regret having made it, Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + “Repent—regret having made it. No, mother, no!” replied Cecilia + firmly. “I only regret that it was not sooner made. Retract!—impossible + I could wish to retract the only right thing I have done, the only thing + that redeems me in my inmost soul from uttermost contempt. No! rather + would I be as I am, and lose that noble heart, than hold it as I did, + unworthily. There is, mother, as you said—as I feel, a sustaining—a + redeeming power in truth.” + </p> + <p> + Her mother threw her arms round her. + </p> + <p> + “Come to my heart, my child, close—close to my heart Heaven bless + you! You have my blessing—my thanks, Cecilia. Yes, my thanks,—for + now I know—I feel, my dear daughter, that my neglect of you in + childhood has been repaired. You make me forgive myself, you make me + happy, you have my thanks—my blessing—my warmest blessing!” + </p> + <p> + A smile of delight was on her pale face, and tears ran down as Cecilia + answered—“Oh, mother, mother! blind that I have been. Why did not I + sooner know this tenderness of your heart?” + </p> + <p> + “And why, my child, did I not sooner know you? The fault was mine, the + suffering has been yours,—not yours alone, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Suffer no more for me, mother, for now, after this, come what may, I can + bear it. I can be happy, even if——” There she paused, and then + eagerly looking into her mother’s eyes she asked,— + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, mother, about him? do you think I may hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not bid you hope,” replied her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Do you bid me despair?” + </p> + <p> + “No, despair in this world is only for those who have lost their own + esteem, who have no confidence in themselves, for those who cannot repent, + reform, and trust. My child, you must not despair. Now leave me to + myself,” continued she “Open a little more of the shutter, and put that + book within my reach.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as Miss Clarendon heard that her brother had arrived in town she + hastened to him, and, as Lady Davenant had desired, told him of all the + reports that were in circulation, and of all that Lady Cecilia had + spontaneously confided to her. Esther watched his countenance as she + spoke, and observed that he listened with eager attention to the proofs of + exactness in Cecilia; but he said nothing, and whatever his feelings were, + his determination, she could not doubt, was still unshaken; even she did + not dare to press his confidence. + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarendon reported to Lady Davenant that she had obeyed her command, + and she described as nearly as she could all that she thought her + brother’s countenance expressed. Lady Davenant seemed satisfied, and this + night she slept, as she told Cecilia in the morning, better than she had + done since she returned to England. And this was the day of trial—— + </p> + <p> + The hour came, and Lady Davenant was in the church with her daughter. This + marriage was to be, as described in olden times, “celebrated with all the + lustre and pomp imaginable;” and so it was, for Helen’s sake, Helen, the + pale bride—- + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” the whispers ran as she appeared, “but too pale.” Leaning on + General Clarendon’s arm she was led up the aisle to the altar. He felt the + tremor of her arm on his, but she looked composed and almost firm. She saw + no one individual of the assembled numbers, not even Cecilia or Lady + Davenant. She knelt at the altar beside him to whom she was to give her + faith, and General Clarendon, in the face of all the world, proudly gave + her to his ward, and she, without fear, low and distinctly pronounced the + sacred vow. And as Helen rose from her knees, the sun shone out, and a ray + of light was on her face, and it was lovely. Every heart said so—every + heart but Lady Katrine Hawksby’s—And why do we think of her at such + a moment? and why does Lady Davenant think of her at such a moment? Yet + she did; she looked to see if she were present, and she bade her to the + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + And now all the salutations were given and received, and all the murmur of + congratulations rising, the living tide poured out of the church; and then + the noise of carriages, and all drove off to Lady Davenant’s; and Lady + Davenant had gone through it all so far, well. And Lady Cecilia knew that + it had been; and her eyes had been upon her husband, and her heart had + been full of another day when she had knelt beside him at the altar. And + did he, too, think of that day? She could not tell, his countenance + discovered no emotion, his eyes never once turned to the place where she + stood. And she was now to see him for one hour, but one hour longer, and + at a public breakfast! but still she was to see him. + </p> + <p> + And now they are all at breakfast. The attention of some was upon the + bride and bridegroom; of others, on Lady Cecilia and on the general; of + others, on Lady Davenant; and of many, on themselves. Lady Davenant had + Beauclerc on one side, General Clarendon on the other, and her daughter + opposite to him. Lady Katrine was there, with her “<i>tristeful</i> + visage,” as Churchill justly called it, and more <i>tristeful</i> it + presently became. + </p> + <p> + When breakfast was over, seizing her moment when conversation flagged, and + when there was a pause, implying “What is to be said or done next?” Lady + Davenant rose from her seat with an air of preparation, and somewhat of + solemnity.—All eyes were instantly upon her. She drew out a locket, + which she held up to public view; then, turning to Lady Katrine Hawksby, + she said—“This bauble has been much talked of, I understand, by your + ladyship, but I question whether you have ever yet seen it, or know the + truth concerning it. This locket was <i>stolen</i> by a worthless man, + given by him to a worthless woman, from whom I have obtained it; and now I + give it to the person for whom it was originally destined.” + </p> + <p> + She advanced towards Helen and put it round her neck. This done, her + colour flitted—her hand was suddenly pressed to her heart; yet she + commanded—absolutely commanded, the paroxysm of pain. The general + was at her side; her daughter, Helen, and Beauclerc, were close to her + instantly. She was just able to walk: she slowly left the room—and + was no more seen by the world! + </p> + <p> + She suffered herself to be carried up the steps into her own apartment by + the general, who laid her on the sofa in her dressing-room. She looked + round on them, and saw that all were there whom she loved; but there was + an alteration in her appearance which struck them all, and most the + general, who had least expected it. She held out her hand to him, and + fixing her eyes upon him with deathful expression, calmly smiled, and said—“You + would not believe this could be; but now you see it must be, and soon. We + have no time to lose,” continued she, and moving very cautiously and + feebly, she half-raised herself—“Yes,” said she, “a moment is + granted to me, thank Heaven!” She rose with sudden power and threw herself + on her knees at the general’s feet: it was done before he could stop her. + </p> + <p> + “For God’s sake!” cried he, “Lady Davenant!—I conjure you—-” + </p> + <p> + She would not be raised. “No,” said she, “here I die if I appeal to you in + vain—to your justice, General Clarendon, to which, as far as I know + none ever appealed in vain—and shall I be the first?—a mother + for her child—a dying mother for your wife—for my dear + Cecilia, once dear to you.” + </p> + <p> + His face was instantly covered with his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Not to your love,” continued she—“if that be gone—to your + justice I appeal, and MUST be heard, if you are what I think you: if you + are not, why, go—go, instantly—go, and leave your wife, + innocent as she is, to be deemed guilty—Part from her, at the moment + when the only fault she committed has been repaired—Throw her from + you when, by the sacrifice of all that was dear to her, she has proved her + truth—Yes, you know that she has spoken the whole, the perfect truth—-” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” exclaimed he. + </p> + <p> + “Give her up to the whole world of slanderers!—destroy her + character! If now her husband separate from her, her good name is lost for + ever! If now her husband protect her not—-” + </p> + <p> + Her husband turned, and clasped her in his arms. Lady Davenant rose and + blessed him—blessed them both: they knelt beside her, and she joined + their hands. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said she, “I give my daughter to a husband worthy of her, and she + more worthy of that noble heart than when first his. Her only fault was + mine—my early neglect: it is repaired—I die in peace! You make + my last moments the happiest! Helen, my dearest Helen, now, and not till + now, happy—perfectly happy in Love and Truth!” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Helen, by Maria Edgeworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN *** + +***** This file should be named 8531-h.htm or 8531-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/5/3/8531/ + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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