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diff --git a/8531-0.txt b/8531-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0957f4b --- /dev/null +++ b/8531-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19284 @@ +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 + + + + +HELEN + +By Maria Edgeworth + +Tales And Novels + +In Ten Volumes + +With Engravings On Steel + +Vol. X. + +1857 + + + +CONTENTS + + + +HELEN + + + +VOLUME THE FIRST. + +CHAPTER I. + +CHAPTER II. + +CHAPTER III. + +CHAPTER IV. + +CHAPTER V. + +CHAPTER VI. + +CHAPTER VII + +CHAPTER VIII. + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHAPTER X. + +CHAPTER XI. + +CHAPTER XII. + +CHAPTER XIII. + +CHAPTER XIV. + +CHAPTER XV. + +CHAPTER XVI. + + + +VOLUME THE SECOND. + +CHAPTER I. + +CHAPTER II. + +CHAPTER III. + +CHAPTER IV. + +CHAPTER V. + +CHAPTER VI. + +CHAPTER VII. + +CHAPTER VIII + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHAPTER X + +CHAPTER XI. + +CHAPTER XII. + +CHAPTER XIII. + +CHAPTER XIV. + +CHAPTER XV. + +CHAPTER XVI. + + + +VOLUME THE THIRD. + +CHAPTER I. + +CHAPTER II. + +CHAPTER III. + +CHAPTER IV + +CHAPTER V. + +CHAPTER VI. + +CHAPTER VII + +CHAPTER VIII. + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHAPTER X. + +CHAPTER XI. + +CHAPTER XII. + +CHAPTER XIII + +CHAPTER XIV. + +CHAPTER XV. + + + +HELEN + + + +VOLUME THE FIRST. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“But what is to be done, my dear?” said her husband. + +“I am sure I do not know; I can only feel for her, you must think for +her.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“Right--all right, my dear Miss Stanley,” said the vicar; “I am very +glad--it is all justly yours.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“It must, indeed it must, my dear sir. Oh, pay everybody at +once--directly.” + +“No, not directly, at all events,” said Mr. Collingwood--“certainly not +directly: the law allows a year.” + +“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?” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“Never, never,” said Helen. + +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? + +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, + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Mrs. Collingwood allowed that if Helen were to live always in the +country in retirement, she might do upon her mother’s fortune. + +“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.” + +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; +_provided she lived for the next six months within her income_. + +Helen smiled, as if that were a needless proviso. + +“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.” + +“No, no, no,” cried she; “of that there is not the slightest chance.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Lady L---- has too many sons,” said Mr. Collingwood, “and they are too +poor, and Helen is not an heiress now.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +Mrs. Coldstream ends with, “I forbear to say more at present,” without +giving any reason. + +“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.’” + +“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!” + +“But they are at Florence still,” said Mr. Collingwood, “they can hardly +have heard of the poor dean’s death.” + +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. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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-- + + “No after-friendship e’er can raze + Th’ endearments of our early days, + And ne’er the heart such fondness prove, + As when it first began to love; + Ere lovely nature is expelled, + And friendship is romantic held. + But prudence comes with hundred eyes, + The veil is rent, the vision flies, + The dear illusions will not last, + The era of enchantment’s past: + The wild romance of life is done, + The real history begun!” + + + +CHAPTER II. + +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-- + +“Do you call this nothing? Helen, hear this! + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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!” + +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?” + +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?” + +“About two years; just two years it is since I parted from them at +Florence.” + +“And you have corresponded with Lady Cecilia constantly ever since?” + asked Mrs. Collingwood. + +“Not constantly.” + +“Not constantly--oh!” said Mrs. Collingwood, in a prolonged and somewhat +sarcastic tone. + +“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.” + +Helen said that Lady Cecilia’s letters were never cross-barred, always +short and far between. + +“You seem wonderfully fond of Lady Cecilia,” said Mrs. Collingwood. + +“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.” + +“But was not Lady Davenant’s heart large enough to hold two?” asked Mrs. +Collingwood. “Was not she fond of her daughter?” + +“Yes, as far as she knew her, but she did not know Lady Cecilia.” + +“Not know her own daughter!” Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood both at once +exclaimed, “How could that possibly be?” + +“Very easily,” Helen said, “because she saw so little of her.” + +“Was not Lady Cecilia educated at home?” + +“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.” + +“Bad arrangement,” said Mr. Collingwood, speaking to himself as he stood +on the hearth. “Bad arrangement which separates mother and daughter.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“What is the matter, my dear Helen?” said Mrs. Collingwood, taking her +hand. Helen had tears in her eyes and looked unhappy. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“You did not feel afraid of her, then?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Time will show,” said Mrs. Collingwood. + +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.” + +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.” + +She opened the other letters, written since their arrival in England, +she read eagerly on,--then stopped, and her looks changed. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Upon my word, this is being in earnest, when it comes to horses +meeting,” cried Mr. Collingwood. “Of course you will go directly?” + +Helen was in great agitation. + +“Write--write--my dear, directly,” said Mrs. Collingwood, “for the +post-boy waits.” + +And before she had written many lines the cross-post boy sent up word +that he could wait no longer. + +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. + +“I forgot, dear Helen, the thing that is most essential, (you remember +our friend Dumont’s definition of _une betîse: c’est d’oublier la chose +essentielle;_) I forgot to tell you that the general declares he will +not hear of a mere _visit_ 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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +Without answering the groom of the chambers, she asked, “Is Lady +Davenant out too?” + +“No; her ladyship is in the library.” + +“To the library then.” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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,-- + +“Helen, my dear, you must not think _that_”---- + +“Think what?” said Helen. + +“Think _that_--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?” + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +Then sweeping away heaps of papers, she made room for Helen on the sofa +beside her. + +“Now tell me how things are with you--somewhat I have heard reported of +my friend the dean’s affairs--tell me all.” + +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, + +“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?” + +Helen was not quite sure yet, she said she had not quite determined. + +“Am I to understand that your doubt lies between the Collingwoods and my +daughter?” + +“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.” + +“True,” said Lady Davenant--“true; a husband is certainly a thing _to +be cared for_--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.” + +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. + +“Was not Cecilhurst always a home to you, Helen Stanley?” + +“Yes, yes,--always a most happy home!” + +“Then why is not Cecilhurst to be your home?” + +“My dear Lady Davenant! how kind!--how very, very kind of you to wish +it--but I never thought of----” + +“And why did you not think of it, Helen?’” + +“I mean--I thought you were going to Russia.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +After opening and looking at the signature of several of these letters, +Helen sat in a delightful _embarras de richesse_. 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! + +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?” + +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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +Lady Davenant smiled, and promised that she should have the whole +history of the marriage in true gossip detail. + +“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 _dessoux des cartes_ +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.” + +And as Helen set the embroidery-frame, Lady Davenant searched for some +skeins of silk and silk winders. + +“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 +‘_World_’ leaning against a table, with the corner running into him all +the time.” + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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, + +“Impossible, my dear Lady Davenant! you know I was then so young, quite +a child!” + +“No, no, not quite; two from eighteen and sixteen remain, I think, and +in our days sixteen is not absolutely a child.” + +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. + +“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 _was_ +something.” + +“Nothing upon earth!” cried Helen, “if you would not look at me _so_, my +clear Lady Davenant.” + +“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. + +“Well, well! it does not signify in the least now; the man is either +dying or dead.” + +“I am glad of it,” cried Helen. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + + ‘He either fears his fate too much, + Or his deserts are small, + Who fears to put it to the touch, + To win or lose it all.’ + +“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.” + +“No: he’s too proud to be jealous,” replied Lady Davenant. + +Are proud men never jealous? thought Helen. + +“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. + +“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, _strength of mind_. 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.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +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. + +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:-- + +“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?” + +“_Distinguez_,” said Lady Davenant; “_distinguons_, as the old French +metaphysicians used to say, _distinguons_, there be various kinds of +jealousy, as of love. The old romancers make a distinction between +_amour_ and _amour par amours_. Whatever that mean, I beg leave to +take a distinction full as intelligible, I trust, between _jalousie par +amour_ and _jalousie par amitié_. Now, to apply; when I told you that +our general was not subject to jealousy, I should have distinguished, +and said, _jalousie par amour_--jealousy in love, but I will not ensure +him against _jalousie par amitié_--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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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 _brusquerie_ 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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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 _dear_ 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.” + +“Forgive me!” cried Helen; “I never could go while you were here.” + +“I did not know what you might think proper when you seemed to have lost +your senses.” + +“I have recovered them,” said Helen; “I will do whatever you +please--whatever you think best.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Helen promised that she would be patience itself: “But tell me exactly,” + said she, “what you would have me do.” + +“Nothing,” said Lady Davenant. + +“Nothing! that is easy at least,” said Helen, smiling. + +“No, not so easy as you imagine; it requires sometimes no small share of +strength of mind.” + +“Strength of mind!” said Helen, “I am afraid I have not any.” + +“Acquire it then, my dear,” said her friend. + +“But can I?” + +“Certainly; strength of mind, like strength of body, is improved by +exercise.” + +“If I had any to begin with--” said Helen. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +Half vexed, half smiling, Helen looked at Cecilia, and asked whether all +she had told her was not a little--“_plus belle que la vérité._” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _insouciance_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +“No misfortune, I hope, Miss Stanley? If I can in any way be of +service----” + +“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?” + +He received it with an air of great interest, and again moved the chair +to her. Before she sat down, she added,-- + +“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.” + +“Depend upon it, I will,” said General Clarendon. + +“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. + +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 _settled_ thing, a +promise between Miss Stanley and Lady Cecilia, that Helen should live +with Lady Cecilia when she married. + +“No such thing!” Helen said. “No such agreement had ever been made.” + +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?” + +He paused, and Helen was silent: then, taking desperate resolution, she +answered,-- + +“I should be perfectly happy here, if I were sure of your wishes, your +feelings about me--about it.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Did Cecilia tell you of this?” + +“No, Lady Davenant did; and since I heard it I never could be happy--I +never can be happy till I know your feeling.” + +His manner instantly changed. + +“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. + +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---- + +He understood. She ran up-stairs to her own room, glad to be alone; a +flood of joy came over her. + +“A brother in Cecilia’s husband!--a brother!” + +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_--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.” + +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. + +“My dear Helen, I admire your plain straightforward truth; I am +satisfied with this first essay of your strength of mind and courage.” + +“Courage!” said Helen, smiling. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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 +_can_ 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?” + +“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?’” + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +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. + +“Amusing himself, I suppose,” replied Lord Davenant. + +“I believe he forgets that I am his guardian,” said the general. + +“I am sure he cannot forget that you are his friend,” said Lady Cecilia; +“for he has the best heart in the world.” + +“And the worst head for any thing useful,” said the general. + +“He is a man of genius,” said Lady Davenant. + +“Did you speak to him, my lord,” pursued the general, “about standing +for the county?” + +“Yes.” + +“And he said what?” + +“That he would have nothing to do with it.” + +“Why?” + +“Something about not being tied to party, and somewhat he said about +patriotism,” replied Lord Davenant. + +“Nonsense!” said the general, “he is a fool.” + +“Only young,” said Lady Davenant, + +“Men are not so very young in these days at two-and-twenty,” said the +general. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“My dear lord,” cried Lady Davenant, “you, of all men, to speak of +patriotism as a disease!” + +“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.” + +Lady Davenant passed over these satirical observations, and somewhat +abruptly asked Lord Davenant if he recollected the late Mr. Windham. + +“Certainly he was not a man to be easily forgotten: but what in +particular?” + +“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.” + +“Rash of wrong, resolute of right,” said Lord Davenant. + +“He is constitutionally wilful, and metaphysically vacillating,” said +Lady Davenant. + +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. + +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. + +“By all means! write to him yourself, my love; get him down here and he +will be safe; he cannot refuse you.” + +“Tuesday, then?” she would name the earliest day if the general +approved. + +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. + +“Then shall I write to your sister, or will you?” + +“You,” said the general, “let the kindness come from you, as it always +does.” + +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. + +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. + +“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---- + +“Oleander in the middle of that bed; vases nearer to the balustrade--” + +“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 _patient of the knife_, 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.’” + +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.” + +“No, no, do not,” said Helen; “do not, my dear Cecilia, and I will tell +you why.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“Still, if you knew who gave it--it was given by a very great man.” + +“A very great man! now you make me curious. Well, what is it?” said Lady +Cecilia. + +“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!” + +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; _‘Inconcevable--mais, vraiment inconcevable;’_ +and _‘Bien Anglaise,’_ they would have added, no doubt, if I had not +been by.” + +“But there must surely have been some particular reason,” said Helen. + +“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!” + +Helen felt some sympathy in this, and was going to have said so, but +Cecilia went on with-- + +“And then to expect that Granville Beauclerc--should--” + +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. + +“I know something _has_ been thought of,” said Cecilia. “A match has +been in contemplation--do you comprehend me, Helen?” + +“You mean that Mr. Beauclerc is to marry Miss Clarendon,” said Helen, +compelled to speak. + +“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--” + +“Oh, I don’t mean to ask any thing,” cried Helen. + +“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.” + +There was a pause for some minutes. + +“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--” + +Helen looked distressed. + +“I am as innocent as a dove,” pursued Lady Cecilia; “but I suppose even +doves may have their own private little thoughts and wishes.” + +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. + +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.” + +And when Lady Cecilia would have put down his paws--“Let him alone, let +him alone, dear, honest, old fellow.” + +“But the dear, honest, old fellow’s paws are wet, and will ruin your +pretty new pelisse.” + +“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. + +“O my dear Esther, how can you bear him? he is so rough in his love!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Yes they are, to settle my mind.” + +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. + +“There’s the use of telling the truth.” + +“Of listening to it,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“I never was here when I was a child, and I am not one of your amiable +people.” + +“Very true, indeed,” thought Helen. + +“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?” + +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.” + +“Surely, as you like best,” said Lady Cecilia; “pray consider yourself, +as you know you are, at home here.” + +“No, I never shall be at home here,” said Esther. + +“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.” + +“You will never be deceived in Cecilia,” said Helen. + +“Take care--stay till you try.” + +“I have tried,” said Helen, “I know her.” + +“How long?” + +“From childhood!” + +“You’re scarcely out of childhood yet.” + +“I am not so very young. I have had trials of my friends--of Cecilia +particularly, much more than you could ever have had.” + +“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. + +“It is very extraordinary,” said Helen, “to hear such a young person as +you are talk so-- + +“So--how?” + +“Of false friends--you must have been very unfortunate.” + +“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.” + +“But whoever makes truth disagreeable commits high treason against +virtue,” said Helen. + +“Is that yours?” cried Miss Clarendon, stopping short. + +“No,” said Helen. “It is excellent whoever said it.” + +“It was from my uncle Stanley I heard it,” said Helen. + +“Superior man that uncle must have been.” + +“I will leave you now,” said Helen. + +“Do, I see we shall like one another in time, Miss Stanley; in time,--I +hate sudden friendships.” + +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. + +“Then it was not an original promise between you?” + +“Not at all,” said Helen. + +“Lady Cecilia told me it was. Just like her,--I knew all the time it was +a lie.” + +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?” + +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?” + +“That we expect him to-morrow.” + +“You did not tell me so when you wrote!” + +“No, my dear.” + +“Why pray?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“You don’t know, Lady Cecilia! why should people say they do not know, +when they do know perfectly well?” + +“If I had thought it was of any consequence to you, Esther,” said +Cecilia, with an arch look---- + +“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.” + +“And if I did?” + +“If you did, why say ‘If I had thought it of any consequence to +you?’--why say so? answer me truly.” + +“Answer me truly!” repeated Lady Cecilia, laughing. “Oh, my dear Esther, +we are not in a court of justice.” + +“Nor in a court of honour,” pursued Miss Clarendon. + +“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.’” + +“Very likely; but to the point,” said Miss Clarendon, “when do you +expect Mr. Beauclerc?” + +“To-morrow.” + +“Then I shall go to-morrow!” + +“My dear Esther, why?” + +“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.” + +“My dear Esther, but your brother will be so vexed--so surprised.” + +“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.” + +She rang accordingly, and ordered that her carriage should be at the +door at six o’clock in the morning. + +“Nay, my dear Esther,” persisted Cecilia, “I wish you would not decide +so suddenly; we were so glad to have you come to us--” + +“Glad! why you know--” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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 “_too late_,” 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. + +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 ‘_if possible_’ his friends should never expect him till the +last of the two named.” + +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. + +“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’--” + +The general left the room repeating, “I expect him to-day, Cecilia.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“You are fond of this young man, I see general,” said Lord Davenant. + +“But not of his fault.” + +Lady Cecilia said something about forgiving a first fault. + +“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.” + +“Love him!” resumed the general; “with all his faults and follies, I +love him as if he were my brother.” + +At which words Lady Cecilia, with a scarcely perceptible smile, cast a +furtive glance at Helen. + +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. + +“The first move often secures the game against the best players,” said +she. + +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. + +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, + +“Before you make any move in a dangerous game, listen to the voice of +old experience.” + +Lady Cecilia startled, looked up, but as if she did not comprehend. + +“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.” + +Lady Cecilia still looked with an innocent air, and still as if she +could not comprehend. + +“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.” + +“Certainly if they fall they disappoint one,” said Lady Cecilia, “but if +they stand?” + +Seeing that she made no impression on her daughter, Lady Davenant turned +to Helen, and gravely said,-- + +“My dear Helen, do not let my daughter inspire you with false, and +perhaps vain imaginations, certainly premature, therefore unbecoming.” + +Helen shrunk back, yet instantly looked up, and her look was ingenuously +grateful. + +“But, mamma,” said Lady Cecilia, “I declare I do not understand what all +this is about.” + +“About Mr. Granville Beauclerc,” said her mother. + +“How can you, dear mamma, pronounce his name so _tout an long?_” + +“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.” + +“Certainly, certainly, mamma, only not necessary now; and I am so sorry +you have said all this to poor dear Helen.” + +“If you have said nothing to her, Cecilia, I acknowledge I have said too +much.” + +“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--” + +An appealing look to Helen was however _protested_. + +“To the best of my recollection, at least,” Lady Cecilia immediately +added. + +“Helen seems to be blushing for your want of recollection, Cecilia.” + +“I am sure I do not know why you blush, Helen. I am certain I never did +say a word distinctly.” + +“Not _distinctly_ certainly,” said Helen in a low voice. “It was my +fault if I understood----” + +“Always true, you are,” said Lady Davenant. + +“I protest I said nothing but the truth,” cried Lady Cecilia hastily. + +“But not the whole truth, Cecilia,” said her mother. + +“I did, upon my word, mamma,” persisted Lady Cecilia, repeating “upon my +word.” + +“Upon your word, Cecilia! that is either a vulgar expletive or a most +serious asseveration.” + +She spoke with a grave tone, and with her severe look, and Helen dared +not raise her eyes; Lady Cecilia now coloured deeply. + +“Shame! Nature’s hasty conscience,” said Lady Davenant. “Heaven preserve +it!” + +“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. + +“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. + +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!” + +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 + + “Or shake the downy _blowball_ from her stalk.” + + + +CHAPTER VII + +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. + +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. + +“Another put off from Mr. Beauclerc! He will not be here to-day. I give +him up.” + +Lady Davenant stopped short, and asked whether Cecilia had told him that +probably she should soon be gone? + +“To be sure I did, mamma.” + +“And what reason does he give for his delay?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +Lady Cecilia exclaimed--“Very extraordinary! Provoking! Insufferable! +Intolerable!” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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? + +“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.’” + +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. + +“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.” + +“But I could never have presumed to ask such a question of you,” said +Helen, “there is such a difference.” + +“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.” + +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.’” + +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.” + +“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.” + +Lady Davenant paused again, and then said,--“It is a general opinion, +that nobody is the better for advice.” + +“I am sure I do not think so,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I shall sink in your esteem,” said Lady Davenant--“so be it.” + +“I need not begin, as most people do, with ‘I was born’--” but, +interrupting herself, she said, “this heat is too much for me.” + +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:-- + +“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. + +“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 _preux +chevalier_ 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. + +“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.” + +“Had not!” interrupted Helen, “I always heard----” + +“_He_ 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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 _then_, resolved. That resolve gave me force. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“‘As a passion, it may be so, not as an affection,’ was his reply. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Oh! I cannot believe that,” cried Helen; “pray, pray go on.” + +“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 _l’ancien +régime_, was obtained in France by what they would call their _femmes +marquantes_, 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. + +“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, _un +grand succés_.’ + +“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-- + + ‘New wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain, + Too strong for feeble women to sustain.’ + +“‘To my face?’ said I, smiling, for I tried to command my temper. + +“‘Better than behind your back, as others do,’ said he. + +“‘Behind my back!’ said I; ‘impossible.’ + +“‘Perfectly possible,’ said he, ‘as I could prove if you were strong +enough to bear it.’ + +“‘Quite strong enough,’ I said, and bade him speak on. + +“‘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?’ + +“‘Put it on my finger,’ I replied; ‘and this instant, for a true friend +is better than a magic ring, I put it on.’ + +“‘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-- + + ‘Tell me, gentles, have you seen, + The prating she, the mock Corinne?’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“I recollect one day his seeing a note on my table from one of my +_protegés_, 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, + + And so obliging that she ne’er obliged.’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“After this you will wonder that I could go on, but I did. + +“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. + +“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 _me_?’ 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 _get it done_. 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.’ + +“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, +_‘C’est facile de se servir de pareils moyens, c’est difficile de s’y +resoudre.’_ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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? + +“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!’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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:-- + +“‘Davenant, I am come to ask you a favour, and you must do it for me.’ + +“‘I hope it is in my power, my dear,’ said he; ‘I am sure you would not +ask--’ and there he stopped. + +“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--’ + +“‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ I said, ‘such words are only to mask a refusal.’ +_Mask_, 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. + +“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. + +“‘Call me Anne! O call me Anne!’ + +“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?’ + +“He put me gently away, and leaned against the chimney-piece in silence. +Then turning to me, in a low suppressed voice, he said,-- + +“‘I have loved you--love you as much as man can love woman, there is +nothing I would not sacrifice for you except--’ + +“‘No exceptions!’ cried I, in an affected tone of gaiety. + +“‘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. + +“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.’ + +“These were the last words I heard. The blow was wholly unexpected. + +“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.’ + +“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.” + +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. + +“‘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.’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 _exigeante_ 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. + +“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. + +“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! + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Mr. Beauclerc!” said Helen. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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! + +“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.’” + +“You are really a very good little friend,” added she, “but keep my +personal narrative for your own use.” + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +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? + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +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? + +Lady Davenant answered, that he had ‘trampled,’ as Lord Chatham did, ‘on +impossibilities.’ “It was not a physical impossibility, it seems.” + +“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.” + +“Yes,” said Lady Davenant, “but rashly generous; an uncommon fault in +these days, when young men are in general selfishly prudent or selfishly +extravagant.” + +“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. + +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.” + +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.” + +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, _La modestie n’est bonne qu’à quinze +ans_, 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.” + +“I could find it in my heart to scold you to death,” said Lady Cecilia, +“but that I am vexed myself.” + +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. + +“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!” + +“Ill!” said Helen; “what ill is coming?” + +“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--” + +“Oh, my dear Cecilia, do tell me at once what it is you mean.” + +“I mean, that Granville Beauclerc, like all men of genius, has acted +like the greatest fool.” + +“What has he done?” + +“He is absolutely--you must look upon him in future--as a married man.” + +Helen was delighted. Cecilia could form no farther schemes on her +account, and she felt relieved from all her awkwardness. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“But he told it to you?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _ben trovato_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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,-- + +“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.” + +The general replied that he did not see the necessity. + +“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.” + +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. + +“What is the object of this essential visit to Old Forest, may I ask?” + said Lady Davenant. + +“To see a dilapidated house,” said the general. + +“To save a whole family from ruin,” cried Beauclerc; “to restore a man +of first-rate talents to his place in society.” + +“Pshaw!” said the general. + +“Why that contemptuous exclamation, my dear general?” said Beauclerc. + +“I have told you, and again I tell you, the thing is impossible!” said +the general. + +“So I hear you say, sir,” replied his ward; “but till I am convinced, I +hold to my project.” + +“And what is your project, Granville?” said Lady Davenant. + +“I will explain it to you when we are alone,” said Beauclerc. + +“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.” + +“To which I will not consent,” said the general. + +“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. + +“I have given you my reasons, Beauclerc,” said the general, “It is +unnecessary to repeat what I have said, you will do no good.” + +“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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +“Economy! The cant of all those who have not courage to retrench at +home,” said Lady Davenant. + +“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?” + +“A cheap provision it is for a family in many cases,” said Lord +Davenant. “Wife, son, and daughter, Satan, are thy own.” + +“Not in this case,” cried Beauclerc; “you cannot mean I hope.” + +“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.” + +“Your ladyship was quite right,” said the general. + +Beauclerc could not say, “Quite wrong,”--and he looked--suffering. + +“I know nothing of the son,” pursued Lady Davenant. + +“I do,” said Beauclerc, “he is my friend.” + +“I thought he had been a very distressed man, that young Beltravers,” + said the aid-de-camp. + +“And if he were, that would not prevent my being his friend, sir,” said +Beauclerc. + +“Of course,” said the aid-de-camp, “I only asked.” + +“He is a man of genius and feeling,” continued Beauclerc, turning to +Lady Davenant. + +“But I never heard you mention Lord Beltravers before. How long has he +been your friend?” said Lady Davenant. + +Beauclerc hesitated. The general without hesitation answered, “Three +weeks and one day.” + +“I do not count my friendship by days or weeks,” said Beauclerc. + +“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. + +“You are prejudiced against Beltravers, general; but you will think +better of him, I am sure, when you know him.” + +“You will think worse of him when you know him, I suspect,” replied the +general. + +“Suspect! But since you only _suspect_,” said Beauclerc, “we English do +not condemn on suspicion, unheard, unseen.” + +“Not unheard,” said the general, “I have heard enough of him.” + +“From the reports of his enemies,” said Beauclerc. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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 _did_ +the general form his judgment?” + +“From his own words.” + +“Stay judgment, my dear general,” cried Beauclerc; “words repeated! by +whom?” + +“Repeated by no one--heard from himself, by myself.” + +“Yourself! I was not aware you had ever met;--when? where?” Beauclerc +started forward on his chair, and listened eagerly for the answer. + +“Pity!” said Lady Davenant, speaking to herself,--“pity! that ‘with such +quick affections kindling into flame,’ they should burn to waste.” + +“When, where?” repeated Beauclerc, with his eyes fixed on his guardian, +and his soul in his eyes. + +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.” + +“At Lady Grace Bland’s!--where he could not possibly appear to +advantage! Well, go on, sir.” + +“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?” + +“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.’” + +“Good!” said the general, “he said this of his own aunt!” + +“Aunt! You cannot mean that Lady Grace is his aunt?” cried Beauclerc. + +“She is his mother’s sister,” replied the general, “and therefore is, I +conceive, his aunt.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.’” + +“Such bad taste!” said the aid-de-camp. + +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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“Never, never!” cried Beauclerc. + +“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, _not_ 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.’” + +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!” + +“Better!” cried Lady Cecilia. + +“Ladies and gentlemen may laugh,” resumed Beauclerc, “but I seriously +maintain--better!” + +“How better than the general, who was present, and heard and saw the +whole?” said Lady Cecilia. + +“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?” + +“He may say he knows more, at all events,” replied Lady Davenant; “but +now for the discovery of causes, metaphysical sir.” + +“I have done,” cried the general, turning to leave the breakfast-room; +“when Beauclerc goes to metaphysics I give it up.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Unnecessary, I should think,” said Lady Davenant. + +“Impossible, I should think,” said the general. + +“Impossible I know it is to change your opinion, general, of any one,” + said Beauclerc. + +“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.” + +“But,” said Beauclerc; “one cannot be content to think only of +one’s-self always.” + +“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.” + +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 _mot d’énigme_ of this sudden friendship.” + +“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!” + +“No immediate necessity for being shot, my dear Granville, I hope,” said +Lady Davenant. “But if this be indeed _all_, 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.” + +“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?” + +“I hope not,” said Lady Davenant. + +“Be assured not; my own will, my own heart alone, must decide that +matter.” + +“The horses are at the door!” cried Cecilia, as she entered; but +“where’s Helen?” + +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. + +“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. + +“But, Helen,” cried Lady Cecilia, as she re-appeared,--“but, Helen, are +you not coming with us?” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER X. + +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.” + +“But what can you know yet of Helen?” + +“One forms some idea of character from trifles light as air. How +delightful this day is!” + +“And now you really allow she may be called beautiful?” + +“Yes, that is, with some expression of mind, heart, soul, which is what +I look for in general,” said Beauclerc. + +“In general, what can you mean by in general?” + +“Not in particular; in particular cases I might think--I--I might +feel--otherwise.” + +“In particular, then, do you like fools that have no mind, heart, or +soul, Granville?--Answer me.” + +“Take care,” said he, “that horse is too spirited for a lady.” + +“Not for me,” said Lady Cecilia; “but do not think you shall get off so; +what did you mean?” + +“My meaning lies too deep for the present occasion.” + +“For the present company--eh?” + +Beauclerc half smiled and answered--“You know you used to tell me that +you hated long discussions on words and nice distinctions.” + +“Well, well, but let me have the nice distinction now.” + +“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.’” + +“To the right, turn,” the general’s voice far behind was heard to say. + +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! + +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.” + +“And remember, it was general Clarendon gave you this advice,” added +Beauclerc, and turning to Lady Cecilia--“‘_Et souvenez vous que c’est +Maréchal Turenne qui vous l’a dit_.’” + +While the general searched for that English memento, six-pence, Lady +Cecilia repeated, “Marshal Turenne! I do not understand.” + +“Yes, if you recollect,” said Helen, “you do.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +He smiled. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“You mean M. de Staël?” said the general; “true English sense in that +book, I allow.” + +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. + +“So little understood any where,” said the general. + +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. + +The general seemed to demur at the word superior, drew himself up, but +said nothing in contradiction. + +“Industry, and wealth, and education, and fashion, all emulous, act in +England beneficially on each other,” continued Beauclerc. + +The general sat at ease again. + +“And above all,” pursued Beauclerc,--“above all, education and the +diffusion of knowledge----” + +“Knowledge--yes, but take care of what kind,” said his guardian. “All +kinds are good,” said Beauclerc. + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +The general led the way on to the great gate of entrance: the porter’s +lodge was in ruins. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“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. + +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. + +Lady Cecilia asked if she did not know him? + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +The expression of the general’s eye changed. + +“I am sure you must pity him, my dear general,” continued Beauclerc. + +“I might, had he done any thing to prevent, or had he done less to +hasten, this ruin.” + +“How? he should not have cut down the trees, do you mean?--but it was to +pay his father’s debts----” + +“And his own,” said the general. + +“He told me his father’s, sir.” + +“And I tell you his own.” + +“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.” + +“But what is it you would do, Beauclerc?” said the general. + +“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.” + +“But how--my dear Beauclerc? Tell me plainly--how?” + +“Plainly, I would lend him money enough to make this house fit to live +in.” + +“And he would never repay you, and would never live in it.” + +“He would, sir--he promised me he would.” + +“Promised you!” + +“And I promised him that I would lend him the money.” + +“Promised! Beauclerc? Without your guardian’s knowledge? Pray, how +much--” + +“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.” + +“Ten thousand!--fifteen thousand would not do.” + +“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.” + +“All that I have been saving for you with such care from the time your +father died!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“You forget sir, that I told you I had promised.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“To one who can take care of his own honour,” said the general. + +“And of mine, I trust.” + +“You do well to trust it, as your father did, to me: it shall not be +implicated--” + +“When once I am of age,” interrupted Beauclerc. + +“You will do as you please,” said the general. “In the mean time I shall +do my duty.” + +“But, sir, I only ask you to let me _lend_ this money.” + +“Lend--nonsense! lend to a man who cannot give any security.” + +“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.” + +“I make no doubt of it; then at once I say No, sir.” + +“No, sir! and why do you say no?” + +“Because I think it my duty, and nothing I have heard has at all shaken +my opinion.” + +“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?” + +“Because, my dear Beauclerc, I am your guardian, and can say _no_, +and can adhere to a refusal as firmly as any man living, when it is +necessary.” + +“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!” + +“Abide!” + +“Yes, I require it, to keep my promise to Beltraver’s, and have it I +MUST.” + +“Not from me.” + +“From some one else then, for have it I WILL. + +“Dearest Clarendon,” whispered Lady Cecilia, “let him have it, since he +has promised----” + +Without seeming to hear her whisper, without a muscle of his countenance +altering, General Clarendon repeated, “Not from me.” + +“From some one else then--I can.” + +“Not while I have power to prevent.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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----” + +“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. + +“My dear Lady Cecilia, for your sake----” he tried to restrain himself. + +“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.” + +“Yes, and indeed that should be considered,” said Lady Cecilia, turning +to the general. + +“I have always considered General Clarendon more as my friend than my +guardian.” + +“And have found him so, I had hoped,” said the general, relaxing in tone +but not in looks. + +“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.” + +“Acknowledged, and felt by me, Beauclerc.” + +“Then now, my dear Clarendon, grant the only request of any consequence +I ever made you--say yes.” Beauclerc trembled with impatience. + +“No,” said the general, “I have said it--No.” + +The gallery rung with the sound. + +“No!” repeated Beauclerc. + +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. + +Suddenly turning, Beauclerc exclaimed,-- + +“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.” + +“From whom?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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----” + +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.” + +“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!” + +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.” + +There was silence for a few moments. “You are right, I believe,” said +the general, “it was heat of anger----” + +“To which the best are subject,” said Helen, “and the best and kindest +most easily forgive.” + +“But Beauclerc said some things which were----” + +“Unpardonable--only forget them; let all be forgotten.” + +“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.” + +“I am certain of that,” said Helen, “but I am not clear that your mind +is made up.” + +The general looked at her with astonishment. + +“Your refusal is not irrevocable.” + +“You do not know me, Miss Stanley.” + +“I think I do.” + +“Better than I know myself.” + +“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?” + +“Certainly!” He waited with eyes fixed, bending forward, but with +intensity of purpose in his calmness of attention. + +“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.” + +“I never heard that offer.” + +“I heard him,” said Helen, “I assure you: it was when you were both +walking up and down the room.” + +“This may be so, I was angry _then_,” said the general. + +“But you are not angry now,” said Helen. + +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 _so_--only say so. + +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?” + +“Quite right, was not she, Granville?” + +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. + +“Can you forgive, and will you?” + +“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. + +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. + +“Well, well, let it rest so.” + +It was all settled, witness present--“two angels to witness,” as +Beauclerc quoted from some old play. + +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. + +“The roof will not fall--all will be well: and there is the man that +will do it all.” + +“Well, well, my heart inclined to him from the first--at least from the +minute I knew him not to be my young lord.” + +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. + +Lady Cecilia was charming, and every thing was delightful, especially +the cold chicken. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +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 _his_; 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,-- + +“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.’” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _ultra-liberal_ 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. + +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. + +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 “_Schwärmerey_,”--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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +Helen smiled and said, “You cannot be serious in saying this, I am +sure?” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 +_at_, or _with_ him, he was necessary to all and with all, for some +reason or other, a favourite. + +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. + +“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.” + +Now it was clear it was of Beauclerc that he spoke. “So rash and yet so +resolute,” continued the general. + +“How is that?” said Lady Davenant. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Yes,” pursued the general; “forty alterations--shuffling about +continually. Cannot a man be decided?” + +“Always with poor Beauclerc,” said Lady Cecilia, “le mieux est l’ennemi +du bien.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“And your fancies and his differ,” said Lady Davenant. + +“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.” + +“Agreeable! satisfied to be called an agreeable man!” cried the general +indignantly; “yes, he has no ambition.” + +“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.” + +“Visions indeed!” said the general. + +“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?’” + +“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. + +“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, + +_“Act I. Scene 1. Sextus Tarquin goes to consult the Oracle, who +foretells the crime he is to commit.’_ + +“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. + +_“‘Tarquin’s complaint to Jupiter of the Oracle--Modern Predestination +compared to Ancient Destiny.’_ + +“And here,” continued Cecilia, “come prices of Norway deal and a great +blot, and then we have _‘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_ _renounce the crown. Good speech here on +vanity, and inconsistency of human wishes.’_ + +“‘Kitchen 23 ft. by 21. Query with hobs?’ + +“I cannot conceive, my dear Helen,” continued Lady Cecilia, “how you +could make the drawing out through all this,” and she continued to read. + +_“‘Scene 3rd._ + +_“‘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.’_ + +“‘N.B. Old woman at Old Forest, promised her an oven,’--‘_Leibnitz +gives_----’ + +“Oh! if he goes to Leibnitz,” said Lady Cecilia, “he will be too grand +for me, but it will do for you, mamma.” + +_“‘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.’_ + +“Very true indeed,” said Lady Cecilia; “but, Helen, listen, Granville +has really found an ingenious resource.” + +_“‘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.’_ + +“Well, well,” continued Lady Cecilia, “I don’t understand it; but I +understand this,--‘Bricks wanting.’” + +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.” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +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? + +Helen had no album of her own, she said, but she was curious always to +see the autographs of celebrated people. + +“Why?” said Beauclerc. + +“I don’t know. It seems to bring one nearer to them. It gives more +reality to our imagination of them perhaps,” said Helen. + +“The imagination is probably in most cases better than the reality,” + replied he. + +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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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 _lion_--to +make any thing belonging to him valuable to collectors, who preserve and +worship even ‘the parings of lions’ claws.’” + +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. + +“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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“In the _fine_ 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.” + +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. + +“I hope you will not include yourself in it,” answered Lady Davenant: +“it is contrary to your nature, and if you join the _nil admirari_ +coxcombs, it can be only for fashion’s sake--mere affectation.” + +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.” + +“And may I ask,” said Beauclerc, “if any of them equalled the +expectations you had formed of them?” + +“Some far exceeded them,” said Lady Davenant. + +“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----” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Then,” said Helen, “if Lady Davenant misunderstood you, why do not you +explain?” + +“No, no it is not worth while, if she could so mistake me.” + +“But any body may be mistaken; do explain.” + +“No, no,” said he, very diligently cutting the pencil to pieces; “she is +engaged, you see, with somebody--something else.” + +“But now she has done listening.” + +“No, no, not now; there are too many people, and it’s of no +consequence.” + +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!’ + +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!’” + +“But by whatever name,” said Helen, “surely you join in that general +wish to have seen him?” + +“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?” + +“Pardon me, on the contrary, I am glad that I have never seen him.” + +“Glad not to have seen him!--_not_?” + +The word _not_ was repeated with astonished incredulous emphasis by all +voices. “Glad not to have seen Sir Walter Scott! How extraordinary! What +can Mr. Beauclerc mean?” + +“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.” + +“But I have not, and will not have patience,” said Lord Davenant, whose +good-nature seldom failed, but who was now quite indignant. + +“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.” + +“I hear the loud voice of universal execration,” said Beauclerc; “you +have all abused me, but whom have I abused? What have I said?” + +“Nothing.” replied Lady Cecilia; “that is what we complain of. I could +have better borne any abuse than indifference to Sir Walter Scott.” + +“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!” + +“Yes, the great Enchanter,” cried Cecilia. + +“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!” + +Helen, who had sympathised with Beauclerc in every word he had said, +felt how true it is that + +“----Next to genius, is the power Of feeling where true genius lies.” + +“Yet after all this, Granville,” said Lady Cecilia, “you would make us +believe you never wished to have seen this great man?” + +Beauclerc made no answer. + +“Oh! how I wish I had seen him!” said Helen to Lady Davenant, the only +person present who had had that happiness. + +“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.” + +“And now, mamma,” said Lady Cecilia, “do make Granville confess honestly +he would give the world to have seen him.” + +“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 _affectation_.” + +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. + +“Come in!” said Lady Davenant. + +Mr. Beauclerc stood pausing on the threshold---- + +“Do not go, Miss Stanley,” said he, looking very miserable and ashamed, +and proud, and then ashamed again. + +“What is the matter, Granville?” said Lady Davenant. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Miss Stanley is too good to laugh.” + +“That is being too good indeed,” said Lady Davenant. “Well, now to the +point.” + +“You were very unjust to me, Lady Davenant, yesterday, and unkind.” + +“Unkind is a woman’s word; but go on.” + +“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.” + +“Now what can you have to say, Granville, that will not be anticlimax to +this exordium?” + +“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.” + +“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----” + +“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.” + +“You may allow him that,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +Beauclerc’s face instantly cleared up. + +“But you said two thorns had gone into your mind--one is out, now for +the other.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.’” + +“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!” + +“Would you then be deceived?” said Lady Davenant. + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +Lady Cecilia was now impatient to have the house filled with company. +She gave Helen a _catalogue raisonné_ 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 _have_ 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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 + + “The first in birth, the first in fame.” + +men distinguished in literature and science, in senatorial eloquence and +statesmanlike abilities. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +“It is so generous,” said Lady Cecilia to Helen; “is not it?” and Helen +agreed. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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 _coup de patte_. 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 _bonne +mère de famille_.” + +“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.” + +“Now, Horace, how can you say so?--she is so amiable and so clever.” + +“So clever? only, perhaps, a thought too fond of English liberty and +French dress. _Poissarde bien coiffée_.” + +“_Poissarde!_ of one of the best born, best bred women in England!” + cried Lady Cecilia; “_bien coiffée_, I allow.” + +“Lady Cecilia is _si coiffée de sa belle amie_, 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.” + +“Yet nobody is better worth hearing----” + +“Oh! yes, the queen of the Blues--the Blue Devils!” + +“Hush!” cried the aide-de-camp, “she is coming in to take leave.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Afraid! what could malice or envy itself find to say of your ladyship, +_intacte_ as you are?--_Intacte!_” repeated he, as she drove off, +“_intacte!_--a well chosen epithet, I flatter myself!” + +“Yes, _intacte_--untouched--above the breath of slander,” cried Lady +Cecilia. + +“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----” + +“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.” + +“A thousand pardons! I depended too much on the general maxim--that the +nearer the bone the sweeter the slander.” + +“Nonsense!” said Lady Cecilia. + +“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!” + +“Positively false,” said Lady Cecilia. + +“At every breath a reputation dies,” said Beauclerc. + +“‘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?” + +Horace turned away from him contemptuously, and looked to see +whereabouts Lady Davenant might be all this time. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +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,-- + +“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.’” + +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. + +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. + +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! + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Try--try, my dear friend,” answered Lord Davenant. “Try, don’t be +modest.” + +“That would be difficult when so distinguished,” said Beauclerc, with an +admirable look of proud humility. + +“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.” + +“O, Lady Davenant!--male gossip--what an expression!” + +“What a reality!” + +“Male gossip!--‘_Tombe sur moi le ciel!_’” cried Churchill. + +“‘_Pourvu que je me venge_,’ 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. + + “And gossiping wonders at being so fine-- + +“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!” + +He bowed low as Lady Davenant, summoned by her lord, left the room, and +there he stood as one condemned but not penitent. + +“If I have not been well sentenced,” said he, as the door closed, “and +made ‘_to feel detraction virtue_!’--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.” + +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. + +“Pretty!” said Lady Cecilia, “pretty are not they?--though one’s so +tired of them every where now--those doves!” + +“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. + +“Poor Doctor V------,” cried Helen to Cecilia; “that poor Doctor +V-------is as absent as ever! he is gone, and has forgotten his gloves!” + +“Absent! oh, as ever!” said Lady Cecilia, going on with her note, “the +most absent man alive.” + +“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 _soupçon_ of rouge, which may become a pretty woman; +all depends on the measure, the taste, with which these things are +managed--put on.” + +“There is nothing managed, nothing _put on_ in Doctor V------,” cried +Helen, eagerly, her colour rising; “it is all perfectly sincere, true in +him, whatever it be.” + +Beauclerc put down his book. + +“All perfectly true! You really think so, Miss Stanley?” said Churchill, +smiling, and looking superior down. + +“I do, indeed,” cried Helen. + +“Charming--so young! How I do love that freshness of mind!” + +“Impertinent fellow! I could knock him down, felt Beauclerc. + +“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.” + +She meant no _malice_, though for a moment he thought she did; and he +winced under Beauclerc’s smile. + +“I do not wonder that any one who does not know Doctor V------ should be +surprised by his great humility,” added Helen. + +“You are sure that it is not pride that apes humility?” asked Churchill. + +“Yes, quite sure!” + +“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.” + +“Horace is a famous fellow for picking holes and making much of them, +Miss Stanley, you see,” said the aide-de-camp. + +“Vanity! Doctor V----has no vanity!” said Helen, “if you knew him.” + +“No vanity! Whom does Miss Stanley mean?” cried the aide-de-camp. “No +vanity? that’s good. Who? Horace?” + +“_Mauvais plaisant_!” Horace put him by, and, happily not easily put out +of countenance, he continued to Helen,-- + +“You give the good doctor credit, too, for all his _naïveté_?” said +Churchill. + +“He does not want credit for it,” said Helen, “he really has it.” + +“I wish I could see things as you do, Miss Stanley.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“He cannot lay aside his nature,” said Helen, “and I am glad of it, it +is such a good nature.” + +“Kind-hearted creature he is, I never heard him say a severe word of any +one,” said Lady Cecilia. + +“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?” + +“You have dusted his jacket for him famously, Horace, I think,” said the +aide-de-camp. + +At this instant the door opened, and in came the doctor himself. + +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. + +“What surprises you all so, my good friends,” said the doctor, stopping +and looking round in all his native simplicity. + +“My dear doctor” said Lady Cecilia, “only we all thought you were +gone--that’s all.” + +“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--” + +“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,--_au revoir_, he hoped, in Park +Lane.” + +“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.” + +“Frightened! so was I, almost out of my wits,” said Churchill. +“_Les revenans_ 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.” + +“What sort of a best friend can yours he?” cried Beauclerc. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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 _lusus natures_, a friend perfectly sincere.” + +“How I pity you!” cried Beauclerc, “if you are in earnest; but in +earnest you can’t be.” + +“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. + +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. + +Lady Cecilia had thrown herself on a sofa, resting, after the labour of +_l’éloquence de billet_. He stopped, and, leaning over the back of the +sofa on which she reclined, repeated an Italian line in which was the +word “_pavoneggiarsi_.” + +“My dear Lady Cecilia, you, who understand and feel Italian so well, how +expressive are some of their words! _Pavoneggiarsi!_--untranslatable. +One cannot say well in English, to peacock oneself. To make oneself like +unto a peacock is flat; but _pavoneggiarsi_--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 _peacocks himself_, 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 _effusion de coeur_: 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----” + +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. + +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 _judiciously_ 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!” + +“Solid in your opinion,” said Churchill, with a smile deferential, +slightly sneering. + +“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.” + +“And Bacon is under your protection, too?” + +“Protection! my protection?” said Beauclerc. + +“Pardon me, I simply meant to ask if you are one of those who swear by +Lord Verulam.” + +“I swear by no man, I do not swear at all, not on philosophical subjects +especially; swearing adds nothing to faith,” said Beauclerc. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“But my being ridiculous does not make my cause so, and that is a +comfort.” + +“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.” + +“But where is the book?” continued Beauclerc. + +Helen gave it to him. + +“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.” + +“You are too good,” said Churchill. + +“Will you then be good enough to point out the errors for me?” + +“Oh, by no means,” cried Churchill, “don’t note me, do not quote me, I +am nobody, and I cannot give up my authorities.” + +“But the truth is all I want to get at,” said Beauclerc. + +“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.” + +“Such an author as this,” continued Beauclerc, “would have been so glad +to have corrected any error.” + +“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!” + +“But you would be thanked now,” said Beauclerc:--“the faults in style, +at least.” + +“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.” + +“Thank you,” said Beauclerc, “these faults are easily mended.” + +“Easily mended, say you? I say, better make a new one.” + +“WHO COULD?” said Beauclerc. + +“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,-- + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Mr. Churchill is amusing certainly,” said Helen, “but I think Mr. +Beauclerc’s conversation much more interesting--though Mr. Churchill is +agreeable, sometimes--when--” + +“When he flatters you,” said Lady Davenant. + +“When he is not satirical--I was going to say,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +Helen, though she admitted the tinder-box, thought it too low a +comparison. She thought Churchill’s were not mere sparks. + +“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 _feu d’artifice_ 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, ‘_De l’esprit on ne peut pas plus même +à Paris_,’ the highest compliment a Parisian can pay, but they allowed +that Beauclerc had ‘_beaucoup plus d’ame_.’” + +“Yes,” said Helen; “how far superior!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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;--_journalier_ (a French word settles +everything)--_journalier_ 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. + +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 +“_cachet de faveur et de disgrace_;” 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. + +“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. + +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! + + O line extreme of human misery! + +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. + +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 _sangre azul_, the _blue blood_, +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 _en +dernier ressort_, 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. + +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. + +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--_amontillado_ 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 _growers_ of Xeres:--it is a variety of sherry, almost as +difficult to judge of as to procure.” + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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 +_comfortable_, given to us by the Duchess d’Abrantes, _convenablement +bon_; 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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +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. + +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!’ + +Bright he shone out, all gaiety and graciousness; the _cachet de faveur_ +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.” + +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! + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Bow, Miss Stanley,” said Lady Cecilia; “that pretty compliment deserves +at least a bow, if not a look-up.” + +“I should prefer a look-down, if I were to choose,” said Churchill. + +“Beggars must not be choosers,” said the aide-de-camp. + +“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 _Notables_ 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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But as she was old, Churchill,” said Lord Davenant, “might not your +lady have defied his black majesty, without her distaff?” + +“His _black_ 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---- + +“Now, Horace, I protest against your beginning with scandal so early +in the morning. None of your _on dits_, for decency’s sake, before +luncheon; wait till evening.” + +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 _je ne sais quoi_, 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 +_laid ideal_, 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”--_assez bien, +assez_--just up to the Bellasis motto, “_Bonne et belle assez_.” 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?” + +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!” + +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:-- + + “I saw her upon nearer view, + A spirit, yet a woman too! + Her household motions light and free, + And steps of virgin liberty; + A countenance in which did meet + Sweet records, promises as sweet; + A creature not too bright or good + For human nature’s daily food; + For transient sorrows, simple wiles, + Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.” + +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?” + +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 _tant mieux_ say I--_tant pis_ says mamma--and +all mothers.” + +“There is one thing I like better in Mr. Beauclerc’s manners than in Mr. +Churchill,” said Helen. + +“There are a hundred I like better,” said Lady Cecilia, “but what is +your one thing?” + +“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?” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“_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._” + +“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.” + +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--“_Ah! le pauvre homme! +comme il se batte les flancs d’un enthousiasme de commande._” + +Horace was too clever a man to persist in a wrong line, or one in which +his test of right _success_ 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. + +END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. + + + +VOLUME THE SECOND. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +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. + +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 _hanging committee_, 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. + +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. + +“For instance, now _à priori_, 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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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.’” + +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. + +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. + +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! + +“How far did your order go, may I ask?” said Churchill. + +“Carte blanche.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +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. + +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.’” + +“Ha! very well that,” said good-natured Lord Davenant, stopping his pen, +dipping again, dotting, and going on. + +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 _in the +Fields_, 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.” + +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 _tended_ 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-- + +1st. If he speak rudely to her. 2nd. If he feed her carelessly. + +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 +_first_ and _secondly_--reasons especially. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. _Set_, did +we say?--no: “_cast_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +“Curse the wind!” cried Churchill; “and confusion seize the fellow who +says there is to be no more hawking to-day!” + +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, “_Dieu soit loué_,” and “remember that the mother of hawks is +not dead.” + +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! + +“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 _ish_ 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. + +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.” + +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. + +And when all were refreshed and renewed in mind and body, to the hawking +they went again. For now that + + “The wind was laid, and all their fears asleep,” + +there was to be a battle between heron and hawk, one of the finest +sights that can be in all falconry. + +“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 _canceleer_--turn on her wing, Miss Stanley, +as she comes down, whirl round, and balance herself--_chanceler_. Now! +now look! cancelleering gloriously!” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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!” + +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 _available individuals_. 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. + +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.” + +“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.’” + +“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.” + +“True,” said Lord Davenant; “I never saw a strong-pulling fancy better +thrown upon its haunches.” + +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. + +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. + +The general feared, he said, “that this vase might be a little too +deep--dangerously perhaps----.” + +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,-- + +“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.” + +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!” + +She would do credit to his taste; he thought she would, when she had a +little more _usage du monde_, 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. + +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 “_touch and go_” of good +conversation to perfection. + +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, + +“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.” + +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. + +“It was my misfortune,” he said, “to be spoiled, even in childhood, by +my mother.” + +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. + +“True, very true,” said Lady Davenant; “I quite agree with you.” + +“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 _Avicenna_ 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.” + +“Why should it be unavoidable necessity?” asked Lady Davenant. + +“Because _should_ waits upon _must_, in London always, if not +elsewhere,” said Churchill. + +“A conversation answer,” replied Lady Davenant. + +“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, _bel esprit_, altogether too much for mortal. +In parliament, in politics, in the tug of war you see how the strongest +minds fail, come to untimely----” + +“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----” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _reputation de salon_ 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.” + +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.” + +“But it is all true,” said Helen, “And I admire Mr. Churchill’s knowing +the truth so well and telling it so candidly.” + +“Every thing Mr. Churchill has said may be true--and yet I think the +truth is not in him.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I doubt whether he has any heart,” said Beauclerc. + +“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. + +“Poor man, he said----” repeated Beauclerc, fixing his eyes upon her, +“What did he say, may I ask?” + +“No,--” said Helen, “I am not sure that I distinctly heard or understood +Mr. Churchill.” + +“Oh, if there was any mystery!” Beauclerc begged pardon. + +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? + +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. + +“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.” + +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 _Fata +Morgana_ 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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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 +_historique_, or that he was to swear to it. + +“And even if it were _historique_,” 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 _historique_, how much pleasanter is +graceful fiction than grim, rigid truth; and how much more amusing in my +humble opinion!” + +“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.” + +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 _Mirabeauder_ was no easy +task; it was a certain road to notoriety, if not to honest fame. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +Helen pointed out in the dedication a pretty, a happy thought. + +Horace smiled, and confessed that was his own. + +What! in the dedication to himself?--and in the blindness of his vanity +he did not immediately see the absurdity. + +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. + +Of this, however, he had not enough of the sympathy or penetration of +feeling to be aware. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +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 +_quizzing_, and for all that is vulgarly called _fun_, 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. + +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 _le petit bossu_ was in love with Louisa. + +But what _could_ 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 _le petit bossu_, +Lord Castlefort obtained the fair hand--the very fair hand of Lady +Louisa Hawksby, _plus belle que fée!_ + +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 _trousseau_ and the +_corbeille_, for you know, ‘_Le présent fait oublier le futur_.’” + +Helen could scarcely smile. + +“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.” + +“It will be no pleasure to me,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +“No indeed,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“In the old French _régime_,” 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.” + +“Comfortably!” exclaimed Helen, “it must be most miserable.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +Lord Castlefort pinched his pointed chin, and casting up an angry look, +replied in a dissonant voice,--“I do not remember!” + +“_Tout voir, tout entendre, tout oublier_,” whispered Lady Katrine +to Mr. Churchill, as she stooped to assist him in the search for a +music-book--“_Tout voir, tout entendre, tout oublier_, should be the +motto adopted by all married people.” + +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--” + +There it ended as far as words went; but she sighed, and retired so +gracefully, that all the gentlemen pitied her. + +There is one moment in which ill-nature sincerely repents--the moment +when it sees pity felt for its victim. + +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-- + +“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!” + +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.” + +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.” + +“What can you mean?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I beg your pardon, Miss Stanley, but----” + +“Thank you! thank you!” said Helen; “you need not beg my pardon.” + +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--“_Felice, felicissima notte_.” + +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 _go +out_ 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. + +These two sisters had never agreed-- + + --“Doom’d by Fate + To live in all the elegance of hate;” + +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?” + +Faint was the _suppose_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _fête_. 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. + +Lady Katrine went round canvassing. “Blue, green, or white? say blue, +_pray_.” 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 _double_.” + +“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----” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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 +_femme d’esprit_, answered, with his ambiguous smile, “that no doubt it +was a great misfortune to have ‘_plus d’esprit qu’on ne sait mêner_.’” + +“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.” + +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----” + +“Lord Davenant’s waiting, my lady,” and she hurried away. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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 _le désiré_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Some days afterwards Lady Katrine took up a book, in which Helen’s name +was written in Beauclerc’s hand. “_Gage d’amitié?_” 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 _refrain_, if I remember right, is something +like this-- + + Sous le nom d’amitié--sous le nom d’amitié, + La moitié du monde trompe l’autre moitié, + Sous le nom, sous le nom, sous le nom d’amitié. + +And it ends with + + Sous le nom d’amitié, Damon, je vous adore, + Sous le nom, sous le nom d’amitié. + +“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--“_sous le nom d’amitié_,” + 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. + +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,-- + +“Why are you so anxious, Helen?” + +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?” + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 _wrong_, or rather +_right_, 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. + +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 _so far_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“I thought you were gone to Old Forest?” said she. + +“Not yet,” said he. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Beauclerc ejaculated something about the temper of an angel while she +patted Nelson’s penitent head. + +“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. + +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 +_must_. “If I _must_ go to Old Forest.” Was not it a pleasure?--was it +not his own choice?--what could he mean?--What could be the matter? + +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. + +“It is a charming morning!” + +After a pause of absence of mind, he answered, + +“Charming!--very!” + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +“In haste! impatient! to leave you, Helen!” She blushed deeper than he +had ever seen her blush before. Beauclerc in general knew-- + + “Which blush was anger’s, which was love’s!” + +--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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“Is not that your boat that I see, rowing close?” + +“Yes, I believe--certainly. Yes,” said he. + +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!” + +“I!--Mr. Beauclerc!--” + +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.” + +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.” + +“I have consulted him, and he approves.” + +“You have! That is well, that is well at all events,” cried she; “if he +approves, then all is right.” + +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----?” + +Helen withdrew her arm decidedly. “I know all,” said she; “all I ought +to know, Mr. Beauclerc.” + +“You know all!” cried he, astonished at her manner. + +“You know the circumstances in which I am placed?” + +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. + +“I understand you,” said he; “you think I ought to go?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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?” + +“Is that a question, Mr. Beauclerc, which you have a right to ask me?” + +“I have no right--no right, I acknowledge--I am answered.” + +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!” + +“Go!” Helen firmly pronounced. “You never can be more than a friend to +me! Oh never be less!--go!” + +“I am gone,” said he, “you shall never see me more.” + +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! + +“Oh! that we had parted while I might have still perfectly esteemed him; +but now--!” + + + +CHAPTER V. + +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. + +“My dearest Helen! what can be the matter?” + +“Mr. Beauclerc--” + +“Well! what of him?” cried Cecilia, and she smiled. + +“Oh, Cecilia! do not smile; you cannot imagine--” + +“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.” + +Helen started up. “Not engaged!” + +“No more than you are, my dear! Oh! I am glad to see your colour come +again!” + +“Thank Heaven!” cried Helen, “then he is not--” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Gone! Gone for ever! Those were his last words.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Gone for some time!” repeated Cecilia, “you mean as long as Lady +Castlefort is here.” + +“Yes,” said the general. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Then,” said Cecilia, “it would be but civil to go to see the comtesse. +I will go this morning.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“It must not be done!” the general said; “it is a question of right, not +of expediency.” + +“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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Beauclerc, no doubt, will go to Paris with him,” said the general. + +“To Paris! when will he set out?” + +“To-day--directly, if Helen has decidedly rejected him; but you say he +did not declare himself. Pray tell me all at once.” + +And if she had done so, all might have been well; but she was afraid. +Her husband was as exact about _some things_ 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 _but_ 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?” + +“First let me understand,” said the general. “Miss Stanley has made a +mistake--what mistake?” + +“She thought Beauclerc was engaged to Lady Blanche.” + +“How could she think so? What reason had she?” + +“She had been told so by somebody.” + +“Somebody!--that eternal scandal-monger Lady Katrine, I suppose.” + +“No--not Lady Katrine,” said Cecilia; “but I am not at liberty to tell +you whom.” + +“No matter; but Miss Stanley is not a fool; she could not believe +somebody or anybody, contrary to common sense.” + +“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.” + +“I do not understand one word of it,” said the general; “nor I am sure +do you, my dear Cecilia.” + +“Yes, I really do, but----” + +“My dear Cecilia, I assure you it is always best to let people settle +their love affairs their own way.” + +“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?” + +“No.” + +“Could you not write?” + +“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.” + +“But, my dear, she will think it so unkind.” + +“Let her show me how I can serve her, and I will do it.” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“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--” + +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:-- + +“‘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.’ + +“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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +“‘And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.’” + +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 _mockery_ 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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +“But there is such a difference _now_” said Helen; “and I cannot +afford----” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _most undressed_ of the three, merely +because she could not disappoint the poor little fellow.” + +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. + +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. + +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-- + + “Oft to refuse and never once offend” + +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.” + +“None, then, let it be for me this time, dear Cecilia.” + +Cecilia seemed to submit, and Helen thought she had well settled it. +But on the day of the general’s _fête_, 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. + +“Oh, Cecilia!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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 _à ravir_ +with her lady’s dress, which, indeed, without it, would have no effect; +would be quite _mésquine_ and _manquée_. + +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. + +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. + +“_Charmante!_ 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; _positivement_, she knew her +lady would do it for Miss Stanley if Miss Stanley did not do it of her +own head.” + +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. + +“You think you have out-generaled me, but we shall see. Remember, I am +the wife of a general, and not without resources.” + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +“Oh no, not in the least tired; quite the contrary,” said Helen. + +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 _auréole_ 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?” + +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. + +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.” + +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 _could_ 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?” + +“No, Cecilia, I cannot let you do that, for you have one the same, I +know, and you cannot want another--no, no.” + +“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.” + +“Well, if you have a use for it, really,” said Helen, “I should indeed +be very glad----” + +“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!” + +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----” + +“Where!” said Cecilia; “you look as if you had heard a knell that +summoned you--what are you going to do?” + +“To tell all my follies to Lady Davenant.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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----” + +Cecilia let her go, but trembled for her, as she looked after her, and +saw her stop at her mother’s door. + +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. + +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.” + +“Oh do not speak in that dreadful calm voice, as if--do not give me up +at once,” cried Helen. + +“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.” + +“Dishonesty! how?” + +“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.” + +“Dishonest! if I had intended not to pay. But I did intend to pay, and I +will.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“And what will you live upon in the mean time?” + +“I should not have said my whole allowance, but I can do with very +little, I will buy nothing new.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +Lady Davenant was now obliged to be silent, lest her voice should betray +more tenderness than her countenance chose to show. + +“Only tell me what I can do now,” continued Helen; “what can I do?” + +“What you CAN do, I will tell you, Helen. Who was the man you were +dancing with last night?” + +“I danced with several; which do you mean?” + +“Your partner in the quadrille you were dancing when I came in.” + +“Lord Estridge: but you know him--he has been often here.” + +“Is he rich?” said Lady Davenant. + +“Oh yes, very rich, and very self-sufficient: he is the man Cecilia used +to call ‘_Le prince de mon mérite._’” + +“Did she? I do not remember. He made no impression on me, nor on you, I +dare say.” + +“Not the least, indeed.” + +“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.” + +“Do you think I can?” said Helen. + +“You can, I suppose, as well as others. You know that young ladies often +marry to pay their debts?” + +“So I once heard,” said Helen, “but is it possible?” + +“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?” + +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? + +“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.” + +“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! + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +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.” + +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 +_the situation_; 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 _governs_, 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.” + +Helen hoped not, but looked frightened. + +“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. + +“Unless what?” said Helen. + +“Unless the storm be dispersed in time.” + +“And how?” + +“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 _coup d’état_.” + +“_Coup d’état_? you, Cecilia! my dear--” + +“I, Helen, little as you think of me.” + +“Of your political talents you don’t expect me to think much, do you?” + +“My political talents! you shall see what they are. I am capable of +a grand _coup d’état_. 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.” + +“I think you had better not,” remonstrated Helen; “if she is so very +vulgar, Lady Davenant and the general will never endure her.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_artistes_ 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, +_sunshine_ and _cooks_. “Good! Good! Very!” voices from different sides +of the table pronounced; and there was silence again. + +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 _chargé-d’affaires_; not certain that he was +an _attaché_ even, but he was said to have the ear of _somebody_, +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 +_somewhere_. 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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +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. + +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. + +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 _manque d’esprit_, and _manque +d’usage_. + +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. + +“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 _malapropoisms_. 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!’” + +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. + +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.” + +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 +_élégantes_, 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--” + +“Miss Stanley--give me leave to mention,” said Lady Cecilia. “Let me +introduce you regularly.” + +“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 _showed one up_, rather than help one out in any +pin’s point of a difficulty.” + +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, _à propos_ to some _love_ +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 _people_, 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! + +Lady Masham’s “Wonderful!” was worthy of any Jesuit male or female, that +ever existed. + +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 _stabbers_, 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.” + +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.” + +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 _attaché_, 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. + +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 _ci-devant_ 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 _Nef_--the _Nef_ 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.” + +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 _tabouret_ 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 _les rois fainéans_ of any time or country. + +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. + +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. + +Towards the close of the evening, when mortals are beginning to think of +bed-chamber candles, Lady Cecilia looked at the _ecarté_ 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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Well, then--sit ye down one instant, Miss Hanley.” + +Helen suggested that her name was Stanley. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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 “_Mis-sent_,” 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?” + +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. + +“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 _mis-sent_ is her +hand. Now then, I want to know, do you think Lady Davenant knew what she +was about when she wrote it?” + +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. + +“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 _that_ sense.” + +“What sense?” said Helen. + +“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. + +“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 _put_--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.” + +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. + +“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 _coggledy_, as I observed when you came +down--Good night, good night.” + + + +CHAPTER X + +“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----” + +“What?” said Helen, “for you have not given me the least idea of what +has happened.” + +“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 _woman,_ +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?” + +Quite pale, Lady Cecilia stood, really in despair; and Helen did not +know what to advise. + +“Do you know any thing about it, Helen, for you look as if you did?” + +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 _boggle-de-botch,_ I have made of it!” But seeing +Lady Cecilia, she stopped short--“Beg pardon--thought you were by +yourself, Miss Hanley.” + +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---- + +“By _boggle-de-botch_, 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.” + +“Certainly not,” said Lady Cecilia; “but what is the matter? I am sorry +any thing unpleasant has occurred.” + +“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 _sneezed at_?” + +She opened the case; Lady Cecilia said the diamonds were certainly very +handsome, but---- + +“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.” + +Lady Cecilia was sure her mother could not mean any affront. + +“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.” + +“Impossible!” cried Helen. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Yes, mamma, yes; now I feel much more comfortable. The unicorn has +convinced me,” said Lady Cecilia, laughing and singing + + ‘’Tis all a mere fable; there’s nothing to fear.’ + +“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 _metier_.” + +“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.” + +“Just so, mamma; one gets on so easy with her.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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--” + +“Come, come! Cecilia!” said her mother. + +“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.” + +“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.’” + +“Oh mamma!--Oh Lady Davenant!” exclaimed Helen and Cecilia. + +“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----” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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 _guilty of contempt_ 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 _‘Monsieur Robinson parent apparemment de Monsieur Crusoe?’_ to the +present day.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +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. + +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. + +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?’ + + “Whereas the religion and fate of three nations + Depend on th’ importance of our conversations: + Whereas some objections are thrown in our way, + And words have been construed to mean what they say,-- + Be it known from henceforth to each friend and each brother, + When’er we say one thing we mean quite another.” + +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, _subaudito,_ 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. + +“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, + +‘Fond to spread friendships, but to cover heats.’” + +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. + +“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.” + +Lady Davenant joined with him in his regrets, and added, that she feared +society in England would soon be brought to the same condition. + +“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, ‘_qui heurlent comme des demons_.’” + +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 _pelotons_ in which +they gathered, back to their proper positions round the _fauteuils_ of +the fair ladies. + +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.” + +“Female _influence_ is and ought to be _potent,_” 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. + +“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.” + +“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: + + “And placing raillery in railing, + Will tell aloud your greatest failing--” + +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. + +“Capital!” Lady Bearcroft, however, pronounced them, as she spread all +upon the table for applause--but no applause ensued. + +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.” + +“The world is grown mighty nice!” said Lady Bearcroft; “for my part, +give me a good laugh when it is to be had.” + +“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 _rat political_. 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 _rats_. +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. + +The _chargé-d’affaires_ 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, “_Ah! Je renonce à +ça_--” + +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.” + +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”-- + +She sang-- + +“Here’s to rats and ratcatchers of every degree, The rat that is trapped, and the rat that is free, + The rat that is shy, sir, the rat that is bold, sir, + The rat upon sale, sir, the rat that is sold, sir. + Let the rats rat! Success to them all, + And well off to the old ones before the house fall!” + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +Sir Benjamin and Lady Bearcroft departed at six o’clock the next +morning, and all the rest of the political and diplomatic corps _left_ +immediately after breakfast. + +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. + +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.” + +“I! oh, I hope not!” cried Helen, almost before she felt the whole +inference that might be drawn from this exclamation. + +“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.’” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I agree with you, my dear Helen, in all you do _not_ 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. _Interfering_, 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 _domestic bramble_, 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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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, + +“‘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. + +“Had not you better wait till you are stronger, my dear Lady Davenant!” + said Helen, seeing her prepare to write. + +“It was once said, gloriously well,” replied Lady Davenant, “that the +duties of life are more than life itself--so I think.” + +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. + +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 _Congress_ 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.” + +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. + +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 _protegé_; 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. + +“You are wrong, Helen,” said Lady Davenant, as she lighted the taper to +seal her letters. + +“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 _bad?_” + +Lady Davenant could not but see that countenance change in an +extraordinary manner, in spite of his efforts to keep it steady. + +“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 _equity_ 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.” + +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. + +“What do you think is the cause of this change in his countenance--you +observe it, do you not?” asked Helen. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“How!” said Lady Davenant. “By the universal language of the eyes.” + +“Not only by that universal language, I think,” said Helen; “but I +suspect he understands every word we say.” + +Helen, without ever looking up from a bunch of seals which she was +rubbing bright, slowly and very distinctly added, + +“I think that he can speak, read, and write English.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +“You mean this to apply to me about Carlos?” said Helen. + +“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. + +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. + +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 _effective_ 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. + +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. + +“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! + +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 _is_ 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.” + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Never!” said Helen, low, but very decidedly. Lady Davenant sighed, but +did not speak. + +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!” + +“To see what?” cried Helen. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +Helen uttered a faint cry. + +“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!” + +“Impossible!--about what--about whom?” + +“That Colonel D’Aubigny,” said Lady Davenant. + +“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?” + +“I saw it, Helen, and thought as you did, but I have been so +deceived--so lately in countenance!” + +“Not by hers--never.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“And now,” said she, “let us put this matter out of our minds +entirely--I want to talk to you of yourself.” + +She took Helen out with her in her pony-phaeton, and spoke of Granville +Beauclerc, and of his and Helen’s prospects of happiness. + +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, + +“Well! certainly, you are an excessively pretty creature!” + +“Bearers of good news always look well, I believe,” said she, smiling; +“so there is now some goodness in my face.” + +“That there certainly is,” said her mother, fondly. + +“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.” + +“But how do you know, Cecilia?” + +“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--” + +“You are right, Cecilia,” interrupted the general. “I see a caleche on +that road.--It is he.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +“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--” + +“No, no, my dear, do not urge me to stay,” said Lady Davenant; “I +cannot--your father expects me to-morrow.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Cecilia! What’s the matter, my dear? are you worse?” + +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.” + +“And how are you now? What can I do for you?” + +“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.” + +“Sit down, then, my dear Cecilia, sit down here beside me.” + +“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.” + +“Quite well! indeed you are not. I feel you all trembling. You must sit +down, indeed, my dear,” said Helen, pressing her. + +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.” + +“What is the matter, my dear Cecilia? Only tell me what I can do for +you.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Yes, I will, to be sure. But why should he give it to me, and not to +yourself?” + +“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. + +“Stay, stay! Cecilia,” cried Helen, stopping her; “stay!--you must, +indeed, explain it all to me now--you must indeed!” + +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?” + +“Oh yes, I was dreaming of it just now when you came in,” said Helen. +“Well, what of that?” + +“Nothing, only you must have been surprised to hear so soon afterwards +that I had fainted.” + +“Yes,” Helen said, she had been very much surprised and alarmed; and +again Lady Cecilia paused. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Carlos!” cried Helen: “well!” + +“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.” + +Helen did not think so, but she remained silent. + +“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--” + +“I know,” said Helen, and in a low voice she added, “you mean about +Colonel D’Aubigny.” + +“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.” + +“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--” + +“Told her!” interrupted Cecilia; “told my mother!--oh no, Helen!” + +Helen sighed, and feebly said, “Go on.” + +“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.” + +“But Lady Davenant and the general forbade me to go to you.” + +“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 _that_ +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. + +“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--” + +Helen looked at her with astonishment, and was silent. + +“Oh speak to me!” said Lady Cecilia, “what do you say, Helen?” + +“I say that I cannot imagine why you are so much alarmed about this +packet.” + +“Because I am a fool, I believe,” said Lady Cecilia, trying to laugh. “I +am so afraid of his opening it.” + +“But why?” said Helen, “what do you think there is in it?” + +“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!” + +“He was a very bad man--I always thought so,” said Helen; “but, Cecilia, +I never knew that he had any letters of yours.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Yes, and about the verses; surely you recollect my showing you another +letter of mine, Helen!” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“But it is not so long ago, Cecilia,--only two years?” + +“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--” + +A gleam of joy came across Helen’s face. + +“Never, never,” repeated Lady Cecilia. + +“Oh, I am happy still,” cried Helen. “I told your mother I was sure of +this.” + +“Good heavens!--Does she know about this packet?” + +“No, no!--how could she? But what frightens you, my dear Cecilia? you +say there is nothing wrong in the letters?” + +“Nothing--nothing.” + +“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.” + +“My mother!” cried Cecilia: “Good heavens!--so she does suspect?--tell +me, Helen, tell me what she suspects.” + +“That you did not at first--before you were married, tell the general +the whole truth about Colonel D’Aubigny.” + +Cecilia was silent. + +“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.” + +“Look at them! Impossible! Impossible!” said Lady Cecilia. “Bid me die +rather.” + +She turned quite away. + +“Listen to me, Cecilia;” she held her fast. “You must do it, Cecilia.” + +“Helen, I cannot.” + +“You can, indeed you can,” said Helen; “only have courage _now_, and you +will be happier all your life afterwards.” + +“Do not ask it--do not ask it--it is all in vain, you are wasting time.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“If the man were alive,” said Helen, “but since he is dead--” + +“But Clarendon would never forgive me for having loved another--” + +“You said you did not love him.” + +“Nor did I ever _really_ 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.” + +“Oh, Cecilia, how could you say so, when you knew he never cared for me +in the least?” + +“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.” + +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---- + +“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.” + +Helen became excessively agitated. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Oh thank you! bless you!” cried Lady Cecilia in an ecstasy--“you will +take the letters?” + +“Yes,” Helen feebly said; “yes, since it must be so.” + +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.” + +And Helen looked at her, and Helen believed her. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +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. + +“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 _can_ 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 _say_ 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 _can_ 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. + +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. + +“It is a sad thing for you, ma’am, Lady Davenant’s going away,” said her +maid. + +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. + +“Very true, but there is somebody coming along the gallery now, see if +that is Lady Cecilia.” + +“No, ma’am, Mademoiselle Felicie.” + +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. + +“Bon Dieu! C’est Monsieur le Général!” exclaimed Felicie. + +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. + +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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Then do, my dear Cecilia--all--pray do! and exactly--oh, Cecilia, tell +me all.” + +“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!” + +“Never mind,” said Helen; “but how burning hot your hand is!” + +“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?’ + +“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?’ + +“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?’ + +“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.’ + +“‘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.’” + +“I!” + +“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. + +“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.’ + +“‘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 _me_, must have +been fatal--forgive me, Helen!” + +“Tell me what you did,” said Helen. + +“Cannot you guess?” + +“You told him positively that I wrote the letters?” + +“No, not so bad, I never said that downright falsehood--no, I could not; +but I did almost as bad.” + +“Pray tell me at once, my dear Cecilia.” + +“Then, in the first place, I stretched out my hand for the whole packet +of letters which lay on the table untouched.” + +“Well?” + +“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.’” + +“Well,” said Helen; “and what did you do?” + +“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 _he_ 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!’ + +“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. + +“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.’ + +“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!” + +“No, no, not quite unworthy,” said Helen; “my poor dear Cecilia, what +you must have felt!” + +“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!” + +“Oh that you had! my dear Cecilia, I would give anything upon earth for +your sake, that you had.” + +“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?” + +“Yes, yes, depend upon me, my dearest Cecilia,” said Helen; “now let me +go.” + +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.” + +“Afraid for myself?” said Helen; “oh no--rest, dear Cecilia, and let me +go.” + +“Go then, go,” cried Cecilia; “but for you what would become of my +mother!--of me!--you save us all.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Or me,” said Helen. + +“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?” + +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?” + +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?” + +“Some time or other it will come out,” said the general. + +“I will keep this cover, it will lead to the direction of that boy, or +of whoever it was that employed him.” + +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?” + +Helen looked at it, and answered, “Yes, by Cecilia.” + +“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.” + +“Given!” said Helen. “Oh no! stolen.” + +“Base!” said the general. + +“He was base,” answered Helen. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Helen felt that she blushed all over. + +“Pardon me for distressing you, my dear Helen. It was a matter in which +a man MUST be selfish,_ must_ in point of honour, _must_ 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.” + +Helen sat as if she had been transfixed. + +“I owe to you,” continued he, “the happiness of my whole future life.” + +“Then I am happy,” cried Helen, “happy in this, at all events, whatever +may become of me.” + +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.” + +“To sink! You do not: your candour, your truth raises you----” + +“Oh! do not say that----” + +“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.” + +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.” + +She sat down again immediately. “Oh! as many as you please.” + +“I believe I may say I am not of a jealous temper.” + +“I am sure you are not,” said Helen. + +“I thank you,” said the general. “May I ask on what your opinion is +founded?” + +“On what has now passed, and on all that I have heard from Lady +Davenant.” + +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?” + +Helen said she had. + +“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?” + +Helen was breathless at hearing all this repeated. + +“Were you informed of these particulars?” said the general. + +“Yes,” said Helen, faintly. + +“I am not asking, Miss Stanley, whether you approved of my resolution; +simply whether you heard of it?” + +“Yes--certainly.” + +“That’s well. It was on an understanding between Cecilia and myself on +this point, that I married. Did you know this?” + +“Yes,” said Helen. + +“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. + +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.” + +“Oh that Cecilia had but told him!” thought Helen. + +“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.” + +She was shocked at the idea of allowances, yet thanked him for his +indulgence, and she could hardly refrain from again bursting into tears. + +“Still by your agitation I see you are afraid of me,” said he, smiling. + +“No indeed; not afraid of you, but shocked at what you must think of +me.” + +“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 _was_ severe; but when I thought I had been +deceived, duped, can you wonder?” + +Helen turned her eyes away. + +“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----” + +Beauclerc’s voice was at this instant heard in the hall. + +“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, + +“Remember, whatever may be your hurry, lock this up first.” + +“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. + +“All is over,” said Helen, “all is well. I have the letters locked up; I +cannot stay.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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--” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“My dear child,” said Lady Davenant; “you do not know what you are +saying or doing yourself this morning.” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +“Are you?” said Helen. + +“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?” + +“The letters,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I believe it was right; the general advised me to lock, them up,” said +Helen, “but then--” + +“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.” + +“Oh yes, and thank you, thank you for that--” + +“Then now, Cecilia--your promise.” + +“My promise!” Lady Cecilia’s eyes opened in unfeigned astonishment. +“What promise?--Oh, I recollect, I promised--did I?” + +“My dear Cecilia, surely you cannot have forgotten.” + +“How was it?” + +“You know the reason I consented was to prevent the danger of any shock +to Lady Davenant.” + +“Well, I know, but what did I promise?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Do not put it off, dearest Cecilia. It must be done--let it be done +to-day.” + +“To-day!” Lady Cecilia almost screamed. + +“I will tell you why,” said Helen. + +“To-day!” repeated Lady Cecilia. + +“If we let the present _now_ pass,” continued Helen, “we shall lose both +the power and the opportunity, believe me.” + +“I have not the power, Helen, and I do not know what you mean by the +opportunity,” said Cecilia. + +“We have a reason now to give General Clarendon--a true good reason, for +what we have done.” + +“Reason!” cried Lady Cecilia, “what can you mean?” + +“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.” + +“That is true; but I cannot--wait till to-morrow, at least.” + +“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. + +“Conspiracy! Oh, Helen, do not use such a shocking word, when it is +really nothing at all.” + +“Then why not tell it?” urged Helen. + +“Because, though it is nothing at all in reality, yet Clarendon would +think it dreadful--though I have done nothing really wrong.” + +“So I say--so I know,” cried Helen; “therefore----” + +“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.” + +Helen was much moved, but answered as steadily as she could. “It seems +cruel, but indeed I am not cruel.” + +“When you had raised me up,” continued Cecilia, “to dash me down again, +and leave me worse than ever!” + +“Not worse--no, surely not worse, when your mother is safe.” + +“Yes, safe, thank you--but oh, Helen, have you no feeling for your own +Cecilia?” + +“The greatest,” answered Helen; and her tears said the rest. + +“You, Helen! I never could have thought you would have urged me so!” + +“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, + +“O that I had but known this at the time, and I _would_ have told him.” + +“It is still time,” said Helen. + +“Time now?--impossible. His look this morning. Oh! that look!” + +“But what is one look, my dear Cecilia, compared with a whole life of +confidence and happiness?” + +“A life of happiness! never, never for me; in that way at least, never.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“This instant--I wish he was here,” cried Helen. + +“Good Heavens! do you?” cried Lady Cecilia, looking at the door with +terror--she thought she heard his step. + +“Yes, if you would but tell him--O let me call him!” + +“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.” + +“May I tell him?” said Helen, eagerly. + +“No, no--that would be worse; if anybody tells him it must be myself.” + +“Then you will now--when he comes in?” + +“He is coming!” cried Cecilia. + +General Clarendon came to the door--it was bolted. + +“In a few minutes,” said Helen. Lady Cecilia did not speak, but +listened, as in agony, to his receding footsteps. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“I will, I will indeed, when I can--but now I am quite exhausted.” + +“You are indeed,” said Helen, “how cruel I have been!--how pale you +are!” + +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. + +“Thank you, thank you, dear, kind Helen; tell him I am going to sleep, +and I am sure I hope I shall.” + +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!” + +END OF VOLUME THE SECOND + + + +VOLUME THE THIRD. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +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. + +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. + +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 _she_ could _not_ 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. + +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. + +“It is all settled,” whispered Beauclerc to him; “and you are to give +her away.” + +“With pleasure,” said the general. + +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.” + +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. + +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--_the_ 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. + +Beauclerc, holding the picture to the light, repeated, “Beautiful! who +did it? whom is it for? General, look! do you know it?” + +“Yes, to be sure,” replied the general; “Miss Stanley.” + +“You have seen it before?” + +“Yes,” said the general, coldly. “It is very like. Who did it?” + +“I did it,” cried Lady Cecilia, who now recovered her voice. + +“You, my dear Lady Cecilia! Whom for? for me? is it for me?” + +“For you? It may be, hereafter, perhaps.” + +“Oh thank you, my dear Lady Cecilia!” cried Beauclerc. + +“If you behave well, perhaps,” added she. + +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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“What are you about, my dear Cecilia?--what do you want?” + +“Nothing, nothing, thank you, my dear; nothing now.” + +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. + +“Could not you ask me for it, my dear, without disturbing yourself? What +are men made for?” + +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, “_For_ +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!” + +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.” + +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 “_My dear, too dear +Henry_” 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. + +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. + +“My dearest friend,” said Lady Cecilia, “thank you! thank you!--you did +the best that was possible!” + +“O Cecilia!” exclaimed Helen, “to what have you exposed me?” + +“How did it all happen?” continued Cecilia. “Why was not that letter +burnt with the rest? How came it there? Can you tell me?” + +“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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +The aide-de-camp entered. “I thought I heard harp-strings going,” said +he. + +“Several!--yes,” said Lady Cecilia, standing full in his way. + +“Inauspicious sounds for us! had omens for my embassy.--Mrs. Holdernesse +sent me.” + +“I know,” said Lady Cecilia, “and you will have the goodness to tell her +that Miss Stanley’s harp is unstrung.” + +“Can I be of any use, Miss Stanley?” said he, moving towards the harp. + +“No, no,” cried Lady Cecilia, “you are in my service,--attend to me.” + +“Dear me, Lady Cecilia! I did not hear what you said.” + +“That is what I complain of--hear me now.” + +“I am all attention, I am sure. What are your commands?” + +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. + +“Good Heavens! I cannot remember any more,” cried the aide-de-camp. + +“Then go off, and say and do all that before you come back again,” said +Lady Cecilia. + +“What amazing presence of mind you have!” said Helen. “How can you say +so much, and think of every thing!” + +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. + +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. + +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 _betray_--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.” + +“Is it? I thought it was very late.” + +“No--and if you _can_, I hope you will return.” There was a meaning in +his eye, which she well understood. + +“Thank you,” said she; “if I can certainly----” + +“I hope you can and will.” + +“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----” + +“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. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Waiting for you at this time of night! Oh! my dear, he cannot be +standing there with his arms folded all this time.” + +Helen repeated what the general had said, and ended with, “I am +determined to return.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I do, I do,” cried Helen, “from the bottom of my heart. Only trust me, +dear Cecilia; let me go down----” + +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?” + +“No no, my dear Cecilia. Since you promise me this, I will not go now.” + +“Be satisfied then, and rest--for me there is no rest;” so saying +Cecilia slowly left the room. + +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. + +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!” + +“How glad you must have been,” said Helen, “to awake and find it was +only a dream!” + +“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 _well_ they +would not go on.’” + +“I am sure the general is right,” said Helen. + +“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 _full_ 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?’” + +“Oh! what did you answer?” cried Helen. + +“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 _supposes_, if I +had said any thing else? he must have seen the truth.” + +“And that he is not to see,” said Helen: “and how false he must think +me!” + +“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?” + +“No, indeed; I do not think you could. My dear Cecilia, I really think +you could not,” said Helen, much moved. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“I must, Cecilia. General Clarendon desired you not to interfere in the +matter.” + +“But this is not interfering, only interposing to prevent mischief.” + +“But, Cecilia,” continued Helen eagerly, “another reason has just struck +me.” + +“I wish reasons would not strike you. Let me go. Oh, Helen; it is for +you.” + +“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.” + +Cecilia stopped, and stood silent. + +“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. + +“Do you wish to speak to me, Miss Stanley!” + +“Miss Stanley!” cried Helen; “is it come to this, and without hearing +me!” + +“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?” + +“I could not.” + +“Why, why?” + +“I cannot tell you,” said she. + +“Then I can tell you, Helen.” + +“You can!” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“Hear me!--hear me!” + +“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. + +“You saw,” Helen began---- + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Answer me one question,” said he:--“that picture-did you give it to +Colonel D’Aubigny?” + +“No. That is a question I can answer. No--he stole it from Cecilia’s +portfolio. Ask me no more.” + +“One question more--” + +“No, not one more--I cannot tell you anything more.” + +She was silent for a moment, he withdrew his eyes, and she went on. + +“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.” + +“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--” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I know,” said she; “you shall see.” And both in happiness once more, +they returned to the house. + +“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. + +The general answered, “I am glad you _are_ 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?” + +“No matter what I think, Granville, the affair is yours. If you are +satisfied, that is all that is necessary.” + +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.” + +“So I apprehend,” said the general. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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!” + +The day fixed for the marriage approached; Lady Cecilia had undertaken +the superintendence of the _trousseau_, 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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 +_futur_; 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. + +In dressing Helen this night, Felicie, excited by her lady’s +exhortations, displayed her utmost skill. Mademoiselle Felicie had a +certain _petite métaphysique de toilette_, 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 _tidiness_, 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 _odd_. 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 _head_ 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.” + +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.” + +“But who are all these people? What is all this, my dear Lady Emily?” + asked Cecilia. + +“Do not you know? Louisa has trapped you into coming then, to-night +without telling you how it is?” + +“Not a word did she tell me, I expected to meet only our own world.” + +“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 _le petit +Bossu_, 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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Lady Emily Greville’s carriage!” was now called in the anteroom. + +“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, + +“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. + +In the middle of that brilliantly lighted saloon, immediately under the +centre chandelier, was ample verge and space enough reserved for the +_élite_ 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. + +Lady Cecilia Clarendon and Miss Stanley now appeared in the _offing_, +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.” + +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. + +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 _of_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Good Heavens!” cried Beauclerc, “what can----” + +“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.” + +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. + +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 _àpropos_ 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 promessi +sposi_--look--_La belle fiancée_.” 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 +“_Belle fiancée_;” 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.” + +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.” + +“Why?” said Lady Cecilia smiling. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +This took place with Horace; it put him in spirits, in train, and he +fired away at Lady Castlefort, whom he had been flattering _à loutrance_ +five minutes before. + +“I so admire that acting of sacrifice in your _belle cousine_ 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--_petit Bossus_ especially--should +have mercy for their own sakes; they should not strain their marital +power too far.” + +“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 _mésalliances_.” + +“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 +_bienséance_. Necessity has no law, but it should have some decency. +Think of, bringing upon a foolish elder brother--But we won’t be +personal.” + +“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 +‘_How-d’ye-doed_,’ and to be ‘dear sistered’ by such bodies as these in +public.” + +“Sad! sad!” said Lady Cecilia. + +“The old French nobility,” continued Churchill, “used to call these low +money-matches, ‘mettre du fumier sur nos terres.’” + +“Dirty work at best,” said Lady Cecilia. + +“But still,” said Horace, “it might be done with decency if not with +majesty.” + +“But in the midst of all this,” said Lady Cecilia, “I want some ice very +much for myself, and for Helen more.” + +“I have a notion we shall find some here,” replied he, “if you will come +on this way--in this _sanctum sanctorum_ of Lady Katrine’s.” + +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 +_à la Française_, and it is astonishing to me, who am but a man, what +strong punch ladies can take.” + +“Only when it is iced,” said Lady Cecilia, smiling. + +“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.” + +By this time they had reached the entrance to what he called Lady +Katrine’s _sanctum sanctorum_, 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 promessi Sposi_” and “_La belle fiancée_” were implicated! + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Are not you coming with us?” cried Lady Cecilia. + +“No, he thanked her, he had rather walk, and,” he added--“I shall not +see you at breakfast--I am engaged.” + +“Home!” said Lady Cecilia, drawing up the glass with a jerk. + +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.” + +“Nonsense, my dear Helen,” said Lady Cecilia; “the matter is, that he is +tired to death, as I am sure I am.” + +“There’s more than that,” said Helen, “he is angry,”--and she sighed. + +“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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +“_Miladi a une migranie affreuse_ this morning,” said Felicie, +addressing herself on the stairs to Rose. “_Mille amitiés de sa part_ +to your young lady, Miss Rose, and _miladi_ 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 _midi sonné_.” + +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 +_tête-à-tetê_ 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. + +“No public news whatever,” said the general. + +Next, she was sorry to hear that Cecilia had “such a bad headache.” + +“Tired last night,” said the general. + +“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. + +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.” + +“So I suppose,” said the general, “as he is not here.” + +“He said he was engaged to breakfast.” + +“With some of his friends, I suppose,” said the general. + +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.” + +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.” + +Cockburn bowed--“None shall, Sir, if I can prevent it; none ever did +from me, general.” + +“None must ever go from anyone in my family--look to it.” + +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.” + +“Then, Cockburn, I must find somebody who can.” + +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.” + +“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. + +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.” + +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: + +“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 ‘_La belle +Fiancée_,’ and ‘_I promessi sposi_.” + +“What!” exclaimed Helen; “the letters! published!” + +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.” + +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.” + +“In print!” cried she; “In print! published!” + +“Not published yet, that I hope to be able to prevent,” said the +general. + +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 _must_ +speak, and you _must_ hear me, Helen, for your own sake, and for +Beauclerc’s sake.” + +“Speak,” cried she, “I hear.” + +“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.” + +Helen listened with her breath suspended, not a word in reply. + +“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. + +“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 _all_ these +letters are your’s or not?” + +“No,” cried Helen, “these letters are not mine.” + +“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.” + +“I will take them to my own room, and consider and examine.” + +“Why not look at them here, Miss Stanley?” + +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----” + +“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?” + +“If I could! O if I could!” cried Helen. + +“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.” + +“Oh my dear, dear friend, how can I thank you?” Her tears gushed forth. + +“Thank me not by words, Helen, but by actions; no tears, summon your +soul--be yourself.” + +“O if I could but retrieve one false step!”--she suddenly checked +herself. + +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.” + +“Falsehood! No,” cried she, “I will not say what is false--therefore I +will not say anything.” + +“Then since you cannot speak,” continued the general, “will you trust me +with the letters themselves? Have you brought them to town with you?” + +“The original letters?” + +“Yes, those in the packet which I gave to you at Clarendon Park.” + +“They are burned.” + +“All?--one, this first letter I saw you tear; did you burn all the +rest?” + +“They are burned,” repeated she, colouring all over. She could not say +“I burned them.” + +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?” + +“One hour,” said Helen,--“only leave me for one hour, and it shall be +done.” + +“Why this cowardly delay?” + +“I ask only one hour--only leave me for one hour.” + +“I obey, Miss Stanley, since it must be so. I am gone.” + +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. + +“Bon Dieu! Miss Stanley--how pale! mais qu’est ce que c’est? Mon Dieu, +qu’est ce que c’est donc?” + +“Is Lady Cecilia’s door bolted within side?” said Helen. + +“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. _Apparemment quelque petit mystère_.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Helen was, of course, sorry that Lady Cecilia was not at home. + +“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 +_mention_--Lady Blanche Forrester.” + +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. + +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?” + +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?” + +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?” + +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 “_Au revoir_,” and exit, a graceful bend from the silent +beauty, and the vision vanished. + +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 “_au revoir_.” 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. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +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. + +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.” + +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 _la belle fiancée_ 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. + +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 _“Private--for +Lady Katherine Hawksby--to be returned before two o’clock.”_ 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-- + + “Had we never loved so kindly, + Hail we never loved so blindly, + Never met, or never parted. + We had ne’er been broken-hearted.” + +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 _dépit +amoureux_. 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!” + +“Louisa Castlefort!” cried Lady Cecilia, answering that involuntary +start of confusion with a well-acted start of admiration. “Louisa +Castlefort, _si belle, si belle_, so beautifully dressed!” + +“Beautifully dressed--nothing extraordinary!” said Lady Castlefort, +advancing with a half embarrassed, half _nonchalant_ air,--“One must +make something of a _toilette de matin_, you know, when one has people +to breakfast.” + +“So elegant, so negligent!” continued Lady Cecilia. + +“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.” + +“Angelique has the taste of an angel fresh from Paris,” cried Lady +Cecilia. + +“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 _matinale?_ It must be something very extraordinary.” + +“Not at all, only a little matter of curiosity.” + +Then, from Lady Castlefort, who had hitherto, as if in absence of mind, +stood, there was a slight “Won’t you sit?” motion. + +“No, no, I can’t sit, can’t stay,” said Lady Cecilia. + +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. + +“But I am keeping you; have you breakfasted?” + +“Taken coffee in my own room,” said Lady Castlefort “But you have people +to breakfast; must not you go down?” + +“No, no, I shall not go down for this is Katrine’s affair, as I will +explain to you.” + +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.” + +“Stay, my dear, first I must tell you about Katrine--now +confidentially--very.” + +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. + +“You have no idea what a life I lead with Katrine--now she is grown +blue.” + +“Is she?” said Lady Cecilia, quite indifferent. + +“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 _ringing_ 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.” + +“No hope for me,” thought Lady Cecilia, throwing herself back in her +chair, submissive, but not resigned. + +“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--” + +“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.” + +“No use! that is the very thing of which I complain; the very thing +which must ever--ever make me miserable.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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----” + +“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----” + +“Than heart!” Cecilia could not forbear saying. + +“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.” + +“To a coronet,” said Lady Cecilia. + +“Absolutely dragged to the altar,” continued Lady Castlefort. + +“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?” + +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?” + +“Cannot be helped! Oh! there is the very thing I must ever, ever mourn.” + +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 “_Sels poignans d’Angleterre,_” 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!” + +“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----” + +“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----” + +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.” + +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 _promessi +sposi_ and _belle fiancée_ were so oddly repeated, as if they had been +watchwords, and asked what was meant by all those strange whisperings in +the sanctum sanctorum. + +“Katrine’s set,” observed Lady Castlefort coolly. “Just like them; just +like her!” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Nay, ask Katrine,” said Lady Castlefort. + +“No, I ask you, I would rather ask you, for you are good-natured, +Louisa--so tell me.” + +“But I dare say it is only slander,” said the good-natured Louisa. + +“Slander!” repeated Lady Cecilia, “slander did you say?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Defend her!” + +“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.” + +“Let her hate on, that will never make me love Helen the less.” + +“So I told her; and besides, Miss Stanley is going to be married.” + +“To be sure;--well?” + +“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.” + +“I don’t care, I don’t care about that--Oh pray go on to the facts about +Helen.” + +“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----” + +“It concerns my friend, and that is the same thing.” + +“So one says; but--you look really, such a colour.” + +“No matter what colour I look,” cried Cecilia; “go on.” + +“Do you never read the papers?” said Lady Castlefort. + +“Sometimes,” said Lady Cecilia; “but I have not looked at a paper these +three days; was there any thing particular? tell me.” + +“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.” + +She mentioned the names of two papers, noted for being personal, +scandalous, and scurrilous. + +“Are those the papers you mean?” cried Lady Cecilia; “the general never +lets them into the house.” + +“That is a pity--that’s hard upon you, for then you never are, as you +see, _au courant du jour_, and all your friends might be abused to death +without your knowing it, if some kind person did not tell you.” + +“Do tell me, then, the substance; I don’t want the words.” + +“But the words are all. Somehow it is nothing without the words.” + +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.” + +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 _bergère_, and again fell into +admiration of Cecilia’s state of impatience. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +The first of these paragraphs caught the eye by its title in capital +letters. + +“LA BELLE FIANCÉE. + +“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 _the +fairest of the fair_--the Lady B. F. This new _Helen_ 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 _nursery tactics_ 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 _postponement_ of this marriage for +_mysterious reasons_ has taken place. Delicacy forbids us to say more at +present.” + +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, +_Reminiscences of a Rouè_, 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 _belle fiancée_, now +residing with a noble family in Grosvenor Square.” + +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 _èbahie!_” 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.” + +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. + +“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 _bonne +bouche_ of the business.” + +“What has Katrine to do with it?--Oh, tell me, quick!” + +“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.” + +“Has Katrine the book or not?” cried Lady Cecilia. + +“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?” + +“Yes, my lady; Landrum had a parcel for Lady Katrine--it is on the +table, I believe.” + +“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!” + +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.” + +“Cecilia, Cecilia, make haste! But Katrine does not know yet--Still she +may come up.” Lady Castlefort rang and inquired,-- + +“Have they done breakfast?” + +“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 _performing_ a poem.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Whereabouts are you?” said Lady Castlefort, approaching to read along +with her. + +“Oh, do not read it,” cried Cecilia, and she hastily closed the book. + +“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.” + +“Read it!” + +“Read it! I really can read, though it seems to astonish you.” + +“But it is not published?” + +“One can read in manuscript.” + +“And did you see the manuscript?” + +“I had a glimpse. Yes--I know more than Katrine thinks I know.” + +“O tell me, Louisa; tell me all,” cried Cecilia. + +“I will, but you must never tell that I told it to you.” + +“Speak, speak,” cried Cecilia. + +“It is a long story,” said Lady Castlefort. + +“Make it short then. O tell me quick, Louisa.’” + +“There is a literary _dessous des cartes_,” said Lady Castlefort, a +little vain of knowing a literary _dessous des cartes_; “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.” + +“I am listening, indeed.” + +“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 _wonder-maker_, 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.” + +“All what?” cried Cecilia; “go on, go on to the facts.” + +“I will, if you will not hurry me so. The letters were not in Miss +Stanley’s handwriting.” + +“No! I am sure of that,” said Cecilia. + +“Copies were all that they pretended to be; so they may be forgeries +after all, you see.” + +“But how did Katrine or Mr. Churchill come by the copies?” + +“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 _sanctum sanctorum_. 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.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“I will ring and ask for some.” + +“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.” + +“None there, I know,” said Lady Castlefort without stirring. + +“In your own room then; Angelique has some.” + +“How do you know?” + +“I know! never mind how. Go, and she will give you packthread. I must +have it before Katrine comes up. So go, Louisa, go.” + +“Go,” in the imperative mood, operated, and she went; she did not know +why. + +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! + +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. + +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.” + +Arrived. “Do not give my name; only say, a lady wants to speak to Mr. +Stone.” + +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! + +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?” + +“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?” + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +He acknowledged this, and said, smiling--“Be satisfied with yourself, my +love; I acknowledge that you made there a capital _coup de main_.” + +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.” + +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. + +“You come home with me, my dear Clarendon, do not you?” said Lady +Cecilia. + +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.” + +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. + +“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. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“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----” + +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.” + +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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +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.” + +“Oh, never, never can I forget it. You have saved me, Helen.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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--?” + +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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“O let me see them,” cried Lady Cecilia. + +“Not yet, my love,” said he; “you would know nothing more by seeing +them; they are in a feigned hand evidently.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Yes, I believe I had better rest before I see Granville,” said Helen: +“where can he have been all day?” + +“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. + +“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 _suave_ humour this +evening, as she has been under a course of the tooth-ache, and has been +all day at the dentist’s.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Cecilia!” said the general. + +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.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“Oh, but she might have forgotten, it might be accident,” cried Cecilia, +overwhelmed with confusion. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“She consulted you, then?” + +“She asked my advice,--told me that----” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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--” + +“This is fixed,” interrupted the general. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“But you would not have me give her up! I should be the basest of human +beings.” + +“I do not know what you mean, Cecilia; you have done for her all that an +honourable friend could do.” + +“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. + +“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. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +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 +_sçavoir dire_. 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, _roué_ 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 _on +dit_, 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-- + +Miss Clarendon. She was accompanied by her aunt, Mrs. Pennant. + +“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, _au courant du jour_. Whether +to pull or not to pull a tooth that had offended, was the professional +question before him. + +Miss Clarendon threw back her head, and opened her mouth. + +“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.” + +“I must have this tooth out,” said Miss Clarendon, pointing to the +offender. + +“I see; certainly, ma’am, as you say.” + +“I hope, sir, you don’t think it necessary,” said her tender-hearted +aunt: “if it could be any way avoided----” + +“By all means, madam, as you say. We must do nothing without +consideration.” + +“I have considered, my dear aunt,” said Miss Clarendon. “I have not +slept these three nights. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Mrs. Pennant looked, but did not hear, for she was a little deaf. + +“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?” + +“I beg your pardon, sir: I am a little deaf,” said Mrs. Pennant. + +“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--_mors omnibus_. 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. + +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?” + +“South, sir. Llansillen.” + +“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, _à-propos_, +was pleased to say to me once--” + +“But,” interrupted Miss Clarendon, “what do you say to my tooth?” + +“Sound as a roach, my dear ma’am; I will insure it for a thousand +pounds.” + +“But that, the tooth you touch, is not the tooth I mean: pray look at +this, sir?” + +“Excuse me, my dear madam, a little in my light,” said he to the aunt. +“May I beg the favour of your name?” + +“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-- + +“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-- + +“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. + +“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.” + +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!” + +But here Mr. St. Leger Swift, starting suddenly, withdrawing his hand +from Miss Clarendon’s mouth, exclaimed,-- + +“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----” + +Then poured out, on the encouragement of one look of curiosity from Mrs. +Pennant, all the _on dits_ 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 _sous_--and here he supplied the half-told tale by a drawn-up ugly +face and shrugging gesture. + +“Shocking! shocking! all came to an _éclat--esclandre_; 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--” + +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,-- + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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.” + +“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Miss Clarendon. + +“But even to have such things said must be so distressing to her and to +her lover, your friend Mr. Beauclerc--so very distressing!” + +“I hope they are not such fools as to be distressed about such stuff. +All this insufferable talking man’s invention, I dare say.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Certainly,” replied Miss Clarendon; “I shall learn the truth from my +brother in five minutes, if Lady Cecilia does not come between us.” + +“Nay, my dear Esther, I cannot think so ill of Lady Cecilia; I cannot +believe--” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“Yes.” + +“And you, Lady Cecilia?” + +“Yes.” + +“What have you heard?” + +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. + +“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. + +“I believe, my dear Esther,” said Lady Cecilia, “I believe we had better +say no more; you had better inquire no further.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Data! I do not know what you mean exactly, Esther,” said Lady Cecilia, +in utter confusion. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.’” + +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.” + +“Set me right where only I am wrong then,” cried she. + +He turned to stone again, and her aunt in a low voice, said, “Not now.” + +“Now or never,” said the sturdy champion; “it is for Miss Stanley’s +character. You are interested for her, are not you, aunt?” + +“Certainly, I am indeed; but we do not know all the circumstances--we +cannot--” + +“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?” + +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.” + +“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!” + +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----” + +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?” + +Lady Cecilia could not speak. + +“You need not--I am answered,” said Miss Clarendon; and returning to her +place, she remained silent for some minutes. + +The general rang, and inquired if Mr. Beauclerc had come in. + +“No.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Yes,” said the general. + +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.” + +“But shall not we see Miss Stanley?” said Mrs. Pennant. + +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. + +“Fainted,” said the general. + +“Yes, quite worn out--she was at Lady Castlefort’s last night--such a +crowd!” She went on to describe its city horrors. + +“But where is Mr. Beauclerc all this time?” said Miss Clarendon: “has he +fainted too? or is he faintish?” + +“Not likely,” said Lady Cecilia; “faint heart never won fair lady. He is +not of the faintish sort.” + +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, + +“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.” + +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.” + +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.” + +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 _taboo’d_ 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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +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. + +“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. + +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 _told_, +but she had _admitted_ a falsehood; she had _acted_ 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! + +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 _the book;_ 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. + +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--_or concerns_, +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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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, _believe me_, 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.” + +Next, she was to write to Beauclerc himself. Her letter was as +follows:-- + +“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 + +“Your affectionate HELEN STANLEY.” + +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.” + +Some one knocked at the door; she started up, and said, “I cannot see +you, Cecilia!” + +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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +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?” + +“I do.” + +“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?” + +“Yes,” said Helen. + +“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.” + +“Why not?” said Helen. + +“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.” + +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!” + +“But there you know he is wrong.” + +“It is like himself,” continued Helen; “consistent in protecting me to +the last. Oh, to lose such a friend!” + +“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.” + +She was gone, and her motto might well be, though in a different +acceptation from that of our greatest modern politician--“_Tout faire +sans paraître._” + +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.” + +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!” + +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? + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER X. + +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. + +“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 +_will_ see you to-day. Your affectionate CECILIA.” + +“I understand it too well!” thought Helen. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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, +“_You_ 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. + +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.” + +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. + +Certainly he would let her know whatever he could learn of Mr. +Churchill’s state. + +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.” + +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.” + +“We will not go to-morrow,” she replied. “We will stay another day at +least. Poor Miss Stanley will be so anxious----” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I will write.” + +“To Miss Stanley--Oh, thank you.” + +“To my sister,” he looked back to say, and repeated distinctly, “To my +sister.” + +“Very well--thank you, at all events.” + +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? + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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, _fortement +éprise_, and as Horace observed, “the secrets of scandal are common +property between lovers, much modern love being cemented by hate.” + +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 _nonchalante_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was well for poor Helen, even in the dreadful uncertainty in which +she left London, that she did not know _all_ 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. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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, _she hoped soon to +have a right to claim Helen back again_. 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. + +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 _ruse d’amour_, and went on with her usual hopes, +now vague and more vague every letter--that things would end well +sometime, somehow or other. + +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!” + +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. + +The letter was from Beauclerc; it appeared to have been written +immediately after he had received Helen’s letter, and was as follows:-- + +“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_ +dare to say these words to you? _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.” + +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. + +It was directed--“To Mrs. Granville Beauclerc.” + +Lady Davenant had unfortunately taken it for granted, that nothing could +have prevented the marriage. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Weakness of body and mind need not go together,” said Miss Clarendon. + +“Need not, perhaps,” said her aunt, “but they are apt to do so.” + +“It is to be hoped the weakness of mind will go with the weakness of +body, and soon,” said Miss Clarendon. + +“We must do what we can to strengthen and fatten her, poor thing!” said +Mrs. Pennant. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I intend that you should get up in seasonable time to-day, Helen,” said +she, as she entered her room. + +“Do you?” said Helen in a languid voice. + +“I do,” said Miss Clarendon; “and I hope you do not intend to do as you +did yesterday, to lie in bed all day.” + +Helen turned, sighed, and Mrs. Pennant said, “Yesterday is over, my dear +Esther--no use in talking of yesterday.” + +“Only to secure our doing better to-day, ma’am,” replied Miss Clarendon +with prompt ability. + +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 _dawdle_.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“Do not flutter it any more, then, Esther my dear,” said Mrs. Pennant. + +“What am I doing or saying, ma’am, that should flutter anybody that has +common sense?” + +“Some people don’t like to have their pulse felt,” said aunt Pennant. + +“Those people have not common sense,” replied the niece. + +“I believe I have not common sense,” said Helen. + +“Sense you have enough--resolution is what you want, Helen, I tell you.” + +“I know,” said Helen, “too true----” + +“True, but not too true--nothing can be too true.” + +“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. + +“Helen, you are dreadfully languid to-day.” + +“Sadly,” said Helen. + +“If you could have eaten more arrow-root before it grew cold, you would +have been better.” + +“But if she could not, my dear Esther,” said aunt Pennant. + +“_Could_ not, ma’am! As if people could not eat if they pleased.” + +“But if people have no appetite, my dear, I am afraid eating will not do +much good.” + +“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.” + +“I am quite spoiled, I believe,” said Helen; “you must unspoil me, +Esther.” + +“Not so very easy,” said Esther; “but I shall try, for I am a sincere +friend.” + +“I am sure of it,” said Helen. + +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. + +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. + +“If it had pleased Heaven, I should have been glad to die.” + +“Nonsense about dying, and worse than nonsense,” cried Miss Clarendon, +“when you see that it did not please Heaven that you should die--” + +“I am content to live,” said Helen. + +“Content! to be sure you are,” said Miss Clarendon. “Is this your +thankfulness to Providence?” + +“I am resigned--I am thankful--I will try to be more so--but cannot be +glad.” + +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.” + +Not very consolatory, Helen felt. “But while there is life, there is +hope,” as aunt Pennant observed. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“Not nigh so handsome as I could have wished it, then, for you, Miss +Helen--I ask pardon, Miss Stanley.” + +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. + +“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 _the other +creditors_ that had been _left_. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +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.” + +In due time came a note from the general. “A boy! child and mother doing +well. Give me joy.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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?” + +Helen started, and said she feared she had been sitting too long idle. + +“If you wish to know how long, I can tell you,” said Miss Clarendon; +“just one hour and thirteen minutes.” + +“By the stop watch,” said Helen, smiling. + +“By my watch,” said grave Miss Clarendon; “and in the mean time look at +the quantity of work I have done.” + +“And done so nicely!” said Helen, looking at it with admiration. + +“Oh, do not think to bribe me with admiration; I would rather see you do +something yourself than hear you praise my doings.” + +“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.” + +“By and bye! no, no--now. I cannot bear to see you any longer, in this +half-alive, half-dead state.” + +“I know,” said Helen, “that all you say is for my good. I am sure your +only object is my happiness.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“I know it,” said Helen. + +“Despondency is not penitence,” continued Esther: “reverie is not +reparation.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +“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 _proofs_ 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 _proved_ +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.” + +“I believe it,” said Mrs. Pennant; “and I wish--oh, how I wish--” + +“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.” + +“No, indeed,” said Helen. + +“Helen!” continued Esther, “remember that Lady Blanche Forrester is at +Paris.” + +Helen shrank. + +“Lady Cecilia tells you there is no danger; I say there is.” + +“Why should you say so, my dear Esther?” said her aunt. + +“Has not this friend of yours always deceived, misled you, Helen?” + +“She can have no motive for deceiving me in this,” said Helen: “I +believe her.” + +“Believe her then!” cried Miss Clarendon; “believe her, and do not +believe me, and take the consequences: I have done.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +Miss Clarendon said nothing to Helen upon this subject; she refrained +altogether from mentioning Lady Cecilia. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +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. + +“My lady, coming to meet you, Miss Stanley.” + +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. + +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.” + +That seemed very extraordinary to Helen. “Not quite certain?” said she. + +“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-----” + +“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-----” + +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. + +“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!” + +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-- + +“Oh! my dear Cecilia! how changed!” + +Helen was not sensible that she uttered the words “how changed!” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 +_truth!_’ He left the room, and there was contempt in his look. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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, + +“‘How does that woman dare to claim your notice, Lady Cecilia? I am +afraid there must have been some encouragement on your part.’ + +“‘None,’ said I, ‘nor ever shall be; you see I take no notice.’ + +“‘But you must have taken notice, or this could never be?’ + +“‘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.’ + +“‘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. + +“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?’ + +“‘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.’ + +“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?’ + +“‘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.’ + +“‘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.’ + +“‘My dear Clarendon, I have not the least wish.’ + +“‘I do not ask what your wishes may be; I require only your obedience.’ + +“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?” + +“Perfectly,” said Helen, “and your mother missed it.” + +“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. + +“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.’ + +“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. + +“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! + +“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! + +“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.” + +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. + +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? + +“To my mother’s, certainly, and as fast as you can.” + +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. + +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. + +A servant, who had been watching at the hall-door, came in--“The +carriage, my lady! Lady Davenant is coming.” + +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!” + +“You have accomplished your journey, Lady Davenant, better than you +expected,” said the general. + +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! + +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. + +“What is all this?” cried she. + +Helen threw her arms round Lady Davenant. “Let us think of you first, +and only--be calm.” + +Lady Davenant broke from her, and pressing forwards exclaimed, “I must +see my daughter--if I have still a daughter! Cecilia!” + +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!” + +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!” + +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. + +There was silence. + +“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.” + +“Oh mother!” + +“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!” + +“Never!” exclaimed the general. His countenance was rigid as iron; then +suddenly it relaxed, and going up to Helen, he said, + +“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!” + +Lady Cecilia started up: “Clarendon!” was all she could say. + +“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.” + +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----” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“As happy as she has left it in my power to make her. When I am gone, my +fortune----” + +“Name it not as happiness for my daughter,” interrupted Lady Davenant, +“or you do her injustice, General Clarendon.” + +“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. + +Then Lady Davenant, taking her daughter in her arms, said, “My child, +return to me!” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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--” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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--” + +“_Besides_,” said Lady Davenant, “usually comes as the _arrière-ban_ +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Lady Davenant has returned ill; her daughter is with her, and +Helen----” + +“And Helen----” + +“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.” + +“The only unnecessary advice my dear guardian has ever given me,” + Beauclerc, laughing, replied. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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 _arrangements_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +“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 + + ‘A full hot horse, who being allowed his way, + Self-mettle tires him.’ + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“There,” cried Beauclerc, “you see my fault was having too little, +instead of too much imagination.” + +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 ‘_too +much_’ and the ‘_too little_.’ 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.” + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“Now tell me--tell me everything about yourself.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +That he should have mentioned nothing of her conduct even to his sister, +was not surprising. “I know his generous nature,” said Cecilia. + +“But I never knew yours till this moment, Cecilia,” cried Miss +Clarendon, embracing her; “my sister, now,--separation or not.” + +“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.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +“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 _can_ act for +her. I will have that locket from Madame de St. Cymon before the sun +goes down.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Not that I hoped more, but still--still to feel it so! Oh! mother, I am +bitterly punished.” + +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?” + +“Retract! impossible!” + +“Do you repent--regret having made it, Cecilia?” + +“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.” + +Her mother threw her arms round her. + +“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!” + +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?” + +“And why, my child, did I not sooner know you? The fault was mine, the +suffering has been yours,--not yours alone, though.” + +“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,-- + +“What do you say, mother, about him? do you think I may hope?” + +“I dare not bid you hope,” replied her mother. + +“Do you bid me despair?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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---- + +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--- + +“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. + +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. + +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 “_tristeful_ visage,” + as Churchill justly called it, and more _tristeful_ it presently became. + +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 _stolen_ 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.” + +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! + +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. + +“For God’s sake!” cried he, “Lady Davenant!--I conjure you---” + +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.” + +His face was instantly covered with his hands. + +“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---” + +“I know it,” exclaimed he. + +“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---” + +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. + +“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!” + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Helen, by Maria Edgeworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELEN *** + +***** This file should be named 8531-0.txt or 8531-0.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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