Helen 
 
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 Helen, 
 
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HELEN 
 
^^'q^ ' ''''*V^ 
 
 She turned away, to raise ike hranches of some shrub, which were droopingfro^n 
 the weight of their Jlowers.—V . 49. 
 
HELEN 
 
 MARIA EDGEWORTH 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY CHRIS HAMMOND 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 ANNE THACKERAY RITCHIE 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO, Ltd. 
 
 NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN CO. 
 1896 
 
 All rights reserzied 
 
 CO 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Helen — a story which Mrs. Gaskell used to say she 
 thought one of the best of all English novels — is remark- 
 able as a piece of admirable writing. There is an extra- 
 ordinary grip of life in its pages, a brilliant description of 
 some of the best society in England, a deliberate vivacity ; 
 if one may so speak, age had not dimmed the author's 
 brightness of intellect nor divided her from the interests 
 of the generations which had followed upon her own. 
 When Miss Edgeworth was getting to be quite an old 
 woman, long after her father's death, after ten years 
 of silence she once more began to write a novel. It was 
 partly to distract herself from another sorrow, the death 
 of her brother William, a charming and promising young 
 man who was a victim to consumption, as so many of his 
 family had been before him. 
 
 William died in 1829. ' I would have written to prepare 
 you for the shock,' says Miss Edgeworth in a touching 
 letter to her kind friend, Mr. Strutt — 'a shock I know it 
 was to your kind heart, which has loved father and son 
 and all his family many a long and many a happy year; 
 but years must grow sad even to the most cheerful tempers 
 as friends drop off. What is there left in this world.? I 
 was going to say that had we had any warning ourselves 
 you should have heard from me, but it was so sudden, 
 
 vii 
 
HELEN 
 
 and we were so deceived by hope. He came home to us 
 from the county of Armagh the 7th of last month : he had 
 then the appearance of a cold and cough, but not more 
 violent nor so violent as he had often had, and been 
 apparently cured of in a few days. He augured ill of 
 himself He said to Mrs. Edgeworth : " It was on the 7th 
 of April that my sister Charlotte died ; don't be surprised 
 if I am dead on the 7th of May." His cough increased and 
 an inflammation of the lungs set in. We had all that 
 medical skill could do for him, and we alternately hoped 
 and feared, but could not believe that he whom we saw 
 so full of life and genius and high thought and noble 
 purpose was so soon, so dreadfully soon, to be no more. 
 After violent fever his strength most rapidly, in the course 
 of a few hours, sank. Early in the morning of the 7 th of 
 May he expired in the arms of his mother-in-law, who, as 
 he most justly said in his will, was to him from the time 
 he could first remember the best of mothers. He preserved 
 his faculties to the last, perfectly clear and calm. He was 
 so happy to be at home with his friends.' Kind Mr. 
 Strutt tried to comfort and to distract. He seems to have 
 sent the mourners a clock, for which Miss Edgeworth 
 writes to thank him. ' Every way interesting it will be to 
 me,' she says, ' as yours, as a subject on which Dr. Darwin 
 and my own dear father's minds have been intent, and as one 
 on which dear William had thought also ' ; she promises to 
 make herself mistress not only of the body but of the soul 
 of the gift. Her father's clocks, she says, require very 
 particular winding ; she thinks of describing one in a Paper 
 for the Royal Society. There is another touching mention 
 of William, and of the feeling of aifection he had inspired in 
 the minds of all those who knew him. ' This is better than 
 fame or wealth,' Maria says. 
 
 viii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 We read that the grief for her young brother's loss told 
 upon her own health. She was often confined to the sofa, 
 and forbidden to use her pen ; her idle fancy began once 
 more to weave romances, and so it was that she planned 
 the story of Helen and made her notes for it. The work 
 progressed slowly. As she herself recovered she was 
 absorbed in other work and daily preoccupation. There 
 were difficulties in Ireland then as now. Rents, repairs, 
 and tenants to be attended to. We are told that she 
 herself looked after all these : ' the letting of the village 
 houses, the drains, gutters, and pathways, the employment 
 of the poor ; in short, all the hundred and one duties that 
 devolve upon the steward of landed property.' She went 
 straight from the rent-book to her little desk and to the 
 MS. of Helen. ' And yet,' says her stepmother, ' she never 
 wrote fiction with more life and spirit than when she had 
 been for some time with the hard realities of life,' com- 
 bining, as she says herself, with all these practical and 
 necessary occupations, 'thinking three hours a day of 
 Helen to what purpose I dare not say.' One of her 
 sisters, Mrs. Butler, specially encouraged her to go on at 
 a time when she had nearly thrust the work aside in 
 despair. ' I am afraid you will be tired of Helen before 
 you become acquainted with her,' she writes. 
 
 In 1832 Miss Edgeworth was still at work upon the 
 book which was at last approaching completion ; her only 
 complaint was that she could never do in any day as much 
 as she intended. It had taken her four years to finish the 
 story. Miss Edgeworth had so long accustomed herself to 
 depend on her father's judgment that she dreaded the 
 attempt, which she was urged by her friends to make. 
 ' The doubts with which she wrote had given her less desire 
 to concentrate her energy,' says her stepmother. There is 
 
HELEN 
 
 an affecting account, not quoted by Mr. Hare, of the family 
 once more assembled in the library at Edgeworthstown to 
 listen to the reading of Helen, just as on that sad occasion 
 when Ormond was read so shortly before Mr. Edgeworth's 
 death. 
 
 The many gaps in the circle, the diffidence of the author, 
 the anxiety of those warmly-attached brothers and sisters as 
 to her success, must have made the meeting a trying one 
 at first, but the brightness and brilliance of the story itself 
 soon cheered them all up ; and certainly, with the exception 
 perhaps of the Absentee and Castle Rackrent, not one of 
 her many books flows on with more life and spirit. It was 
 a feat indeed at her age to be writing, better than ever, and 
 with more point and more grip of her materials. She had 
 been at work for forty years, but the flame was burning 
 still. Her favourite Lady Davenant, moralising upon the 
 characteristic faults of youth and age, exclaims upon the 
 too much of the one and the too little of the other. In 
 youth, the too much of confidence in others, and in them- 
 selves : the too much of enthusiasm, too much of benevo- 
 lence ; in age, alas ! too little. But to Maria herself Lady 
 Davenant's stricture certainly did not apply. 
 
 The old woman, with all her family round about her, 
 sat there, animated and animating, once more holding 
 them all enthralled as she span out the web of her fancy. 
 ' Oddly enough,' as one of her biographers remarks, ' Helen 
 is the first of Miss Edgeworth's books in which anything 
 to be called love-making really exists.' Until now she had 
 almost entirely denied the existence of romantic love, and 
 used to quote her father's definition : ' Propinquity, pro- 
 pinquity ' ; ' and he was married five times, and twice to 
 heiresses.' But in Helen the characters fall in love because 
 they cannot help it, and feel and speak for themselves, and 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 not altogether by rote; absence does not divide their 
 constant hearts. How pretty are the opening lines of the 
 book, and how well this overture suggests the story that 
 is to come. 
 
 " ' There is Helen in the Lime Walk,' said Mrs. Colling- 
 wood 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 remember how gay she was when first 
 we came to Cecilhurst ? ' " 
 
 A kindly critic, who has inherited from her mother a 
 love for Miss Edgeworth's writings, asserts that she knows 
 a case in which a conscientious young reader of Helen 
 followed this heroine's example, and refused a young man 
 before he had actually proposed to her. 
 
 Mrs. S. C. Hall's description of Miss Edgeworth in the 
 latter years of her life is so vivid and characteristic that I can- 
 not do better than quote it here, as, not without some regret, 
 I draw to the close of my little series of introductions : — 
 
 In person she was very small, — smaller than Hannah More, 
 and with more than Hannah Mora's vivacity of manners ; 
 her face was pale and thin, her features irregular, they may 
 have been considered plain even in youth, but her expression 
 was so benevolent, her manners so entirely well bred, partaking 
 of English dignity and Irish frankness, that you never thought 
 of her in reference either to plainness or beauty — she was all in 
 all ; she occupied, without fatiguing, the attention, charmed by 
 
 xi 
 
HELEN 
 
 her pleasant voice, while the earnestness and truth that beamed 
 in her bright blue — very blue — eyes made of value every word 
 she uttered. Her words were always well chosen, her manner 
 of expression was graceful and natural, her sentences were 
 frequently epigrammatical. — Extract from the Art Journal. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 un- 
 happy ! ' 
 
 ' 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 affiiirs are left, and that there is no provision for 
 her.' 
 
 ' Not yet, my dear,' said Mrs. Colhngwood : ' I don't mean 
 about there being no provision for herself, that would not 
 B I % 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 know- 
 ing 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 diffi- 
 culties, 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 speculat'ons : 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 
 
 2 
 
HELEN 
 
 affections centred, 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 con- 
 science 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 in- 
 creasing ; he was harassed with doubts as to the monied value 
 of his last-chosen chef-d'osuvres ; 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. CoUingwood. 
 
 It was found that the Dean, instead of leaving a large for- 
 tune, 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. CoUingwood 
 feared to reveal, and which Mr. CoUingwood 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. CoUingwood 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. Everybody loved her that knew her, 
 
 3 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 accomplish- 
 ment, used to every fashionable refinement, she was not spoiled 
 — she was not in the least selfish. Indeed, her uncle's indul- 
 gence, 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 intelli- 
 gence 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 convic- 
 tion 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 imme- 
 diately 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 
 
 4 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. CoUingwood ; consider 
 him as your guardian.' 
 
 Mr. CoUingwood 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 extra- 
 vagance, 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 under- 
 stand 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 
 
 S 
 
' Take it, my dear Mr. Coiling^uood, fake it, and pay all the debts be/ore any one 
 can complain.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 re- 
 proach me with my folly before the end of the year — before 
 six months were over.' 
 
 ' Never, never,' said Helen. 
 
 Mrs. CoUingwood 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. 
 CoUingwood that she should still have what had been her 
 mother's fortune. Before Helen had well got out the words, 
 Mrs. CoUingwood 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 willy 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. CoUingwood 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. CoUingwood 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. CoUingwood, ' 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. 
 
 7 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' No, no, no,' cried she ; ' of that there is not the shghtest 
 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 condo- 
 lence 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 dis- 
 turbed 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 signifi- 
 cantly 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 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 everybody 
 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. CoUingwood, 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. CoUingwood ; 
 ' 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 CoUingwoods, 
 who had come to Cecilhurst during the Dean's absence abroad. 
 
 'And here is Mrs. Wilmot too,' continued Mrs. CoUing- 
 wood, ' 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. CoUingwood. ' 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, 
 
 9 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 break- 
 fast-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 1 6th instant, General Clarendon to Lady CeciUa 
 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. Ambassa- 
 dor'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 fashion- 
 ables 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 CeciUa, ' the fair bride,' had been Helen's most in- 
 timate 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 
 
 lo 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Ceciha 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 pro- 
 longed 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 especi- 
 ally — 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 ? ' 
 
HELEN 
 
 '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. Colling- 
 wood, 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 enthu- 
 siasm.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' You^did not feel afraid of her, then ? ' 
 
 ' I do not say that,' rephed- 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, missent 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 Petersburg, 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. Col- 
 lingwood's hand, and eagerly opened Lady Cecilia's. 
 
 13 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' So like herself ! so like Cecilia,' cried she. Mrs. CoUing- 
 wood 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,' etc. etc. 
 
 ' 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 accept- 
 ance, 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 betise : c'est 
 d'oudlier la chose essentiellc) — 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 
 
 14 
 
I ' E J " II iS 
 
 ll'llir w "'■ ■'! "i 
 
 ■^ 
 
 ^^r 
 
 j-^(7^ the hoy.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. CoUingwood, 
 ' 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 suscepti- 
 bility, 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 prepara- 
 tions, she repeated, ' It will only be a visit at Clarendon Park. 
 I will return to you ; I shall write to you, my dear Mrs. CoUing- 
 wood, at all events, constantly.' 
 
 When Mr. CoUingwood gave her his parting blessing he 
 reminded her of his warning about her fortune. Mrs. CoUing- 
 wood 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, aristocrp,tic 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. 
 
 i6 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 con- 
 sequence — 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 
 
 C 17 
 
HELEN 
 
 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-posses- 
 sion, 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, maybe — 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 1 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 commence- 
 ment of bridal visits, and an expected succession of troops of 
 
 i8 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. CoUing- 
 wood ; 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. 
 
 19 
 
HELEN 
 
 'Am I to understand that your doubt lies between the 
 Collingwoods and my daughter ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; Ceciha most kindly invited me, but 1 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 grati- 
 fying 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 dear^rf child, — must not, because as I well remember 
 once — little creature as you were then — you whispered to me, 
 " Never call me dear^j/," — 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. Mapletoffi, 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 
 
 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, how- 
 ever 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 
 
 21 
 
HELEN 
 
 arranged according to their dates, in Lady Davenant's own 
 writing — preserved with those of persons of illustrious reputa- 
 tion ! 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 tinkle 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 commence- 
 ment 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 
 
 22 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 CeciHa'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 some- 
 thing 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'Aubigny 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 
 
 23 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 1 was wrong,' said Lady Davenant : ' 1 had thought 
 Colonel D'Aubigny's ecstasy about that miniature of you was only 
 a feint ; but 1 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 discrimi- 
 native 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, 
 1 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 dear 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 vnth 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 novif : 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. 
 
 24 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 unim- 
 peachable 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 — for- 
 give 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 dis- 
 tinguished 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 ; 
 
 25 
 
HELEN 
 
 she gave one look at him. He passed on ; she stopped me to 
 examine the picture which he had been admiring. 
 
 ' Every Enghsh 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 
 manceuvrer 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 
 is 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 last- 
 ing 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 
 
 26 
 
' As we approaclwd, he turned and gave one look at Cecilia; 
 she gave one look at him,.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 com- 
 panions, 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, hum- 
 ming an opera air between times, with the least concerned 
 look conceivable. But her imagination was caught, and 
 thenceforward through everything that everybody 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 
 
 28 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 quick-sighted 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, how- 
 ever, 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 dare not 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 
 vnth 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. 
 29 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' I mean,' continued Lady Davenant, ' that General Claren- 
 don 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 litera- 
 ture, 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 
 
 3° 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 nor 
 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 
 
 31 
 
HELEN 
 
 never before lived with any one about whose hking 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 ? ' 
 
 ' Disttnguez,' said Lady Davenant ; ' distinguons, as the old 
 French metaphysicians used to say, disiinguons, 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 in- 
 telligible, I trust, he:ivi&&!\ jalousie par amour 3mA jalousie par 
 amitid. Now, to apply ; when I told you that our General 
 was not subject to jealousy, I should have distinguished, and 
 said, jalousie par amoiir — jealousy in love, but I will not 
 ensure him against jalousie par amitie — ^jealousy in friendship 
 — of friends and relations, I mean. Methinks 1 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 
 
 32 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Dave- 
 nant 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 mak- 
 ing 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 nor 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. Colling- 
 wood.' 
 
 At the close of these last incoherent sentences, Helen was 
 awestruck 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 
 
 D 33 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ; ' 1 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.' 
 
 34 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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, ' 1 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 Dave- 
 
 35 
 
HELEN 
 
 nant had excited, she met him with new-born courage ; and 
 Lady CeciUa, not that she suspected it was necessary, but 
 merely by way of prevention, threw in httle douceurs of flat- 
 tery, 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 vMtd.' 
 
 Lady Cecilia, blushing slightly, poured out rapid protesta- 
 tions 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 
 
 36 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 some- 
 thing 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 gfuardsman in a con- 
 versation 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 con- 
 fusion 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 
 
 37 
 
HELEN 
 
 that she need not be afraid, that ZeUca 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 continu- 
 ally 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 defer- 
 ence 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 oppor- 
 tunity of showing his sense of Mr. CoUingwood'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 
 
 38 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. 
 CoUingwood 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 Colling- 
 woods. 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 arrange- 
 
 39 
 
HELEN 
 
 ments, 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 anything 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 1 ' 
 
 ' No, Lady Davenant did ; and since I heard it I never 
 could be happy — I never can be iiappy 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 Ceciha 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 frank- 
 ness 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 reappearing 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 upstairs 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 re- 
 peating it aloud — she wept like a child. Lady Cecilia soon 
 came flying in, all delight and affection, reproaches and wonder 
 
 40 
 

 f\ -^ I 
 
 ' You know Cecilia has always considered you as her sisier^allow me to do the 
 savie : consider 7ne as a brother* 
 
HELEN 
 
 alternately, in the quickest conceivable succession. ' De- 
 lighted 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 / — 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 ex- 
 pected : a cloud come over her brow, something painful re- 
 garding her daughter seemed to strike her, for her eyes fixed 
 on Cecilia, and her emotion was visible in her countenance ; 
 but pleasure unmixed appeared 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 
 
 42 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 anything 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 ? ' 
 
 43 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 pohtical 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 hfe, 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-speecfi 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 Aveighing 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 under- 
 
 44 
 
HELEN 
 
 standing, quite different from that irresolution of character 
 which is caused by infirinity 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 everything she said : ' Tuesday let it be.' 
 Following him to the door, Lady Ceciha 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 
 
 45 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 
 46 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ever- 
 greens ; 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 unhke 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 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 anything 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.' 
 
 47 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 after- 
 wards 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 — mats, vraimcnt 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 
 48 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 everything 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 anything,' 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 I 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 con- 
 scious of having been interested by those letters of Mr. Beau- 
 clerc'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 
 
 E 49 
 
HELEN 
 
 had heard all that Cecilia had said about Miss Clarendon ; it 
 appeared as if she was actually doomed to get into some diffi- 
 culty 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. 
 
 ' Oh, 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 con\ersation it 
 could be called, was a perpetual rebating and regrating, espe- 
 cially 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 
 
 5° 
 
HELEN 
 
 first day ended with Helen's thinking her really the most dis- 
 agreeable, intolerable person she had ever seen. 
 
 And the second day went on a little worse. Helen thought 
 Ceciha 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 ? — 
 I don't like this— how I regret the Old English garden, and 
 the high beech hedges. Everything 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, 
 
 .■51 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. 
 
 52 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 the 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 fi-om 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 ? any- 
 body 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 
 
 S3 
 
HELEN 
 
 away, saying, ' I can't talk, I can't hear, I can't understand 
 with a screen before me. What did you say, Lady Ceciha, 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 tlie 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 conse- 
 quence 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.' 
 
 54 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 d3.y 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 ' iao iaie,' the shameful brand of procras- 
 tination, 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, 
 Ceciha.' 
 
 55 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 maUcious 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 
 folHes, 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 ; 
 
 56 
 
HELEN 
 
 she was ashamed, vexed with Ceciha, yet pleased by her kind- 
 ness, 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 imme- 
 diately 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, ceitainly premature, 
 therefore unbecoming.' 
 
 Helen shrank 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 
 au longf 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 57 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' If you have said nothing to her, Cecilia, I acknowledge 1 
 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 disti7ictly 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 CeciUa 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 
 
 58 
 
HELEN 
 
 impression which her mother's signet-ring had left in the palm 
 of her hand. It was at that moment a disagreeable recollec- 
 tion 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 disagree- 
 ment. O 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 
 sank 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 
 
 Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, 
 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. 
 
 59 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 
 60 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pain- 
 ful to you though, my dear Lady Davenant.' 
 
 6i 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 L Much depends upon 
 the way in which it is offered. General maxims, dra\vn 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 speak- 
 ing 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 hfe 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. 
 
 62 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 — other- 
 wise, 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 nowadays — 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 past 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 
 
 63 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 past, 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 \'oice 
 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 
 
 64 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, rapt 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 abase- 
 ment 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 insensibihty. 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 upstairs : 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 
 F 65 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 1 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 
 
 66 
 
/ released him from all engagement to me. 
 
HELEN 
 
 satisfied in having released each other from our mutual engage- 
 ment. 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 com- 
 pression — 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 
 sank — sank 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." 
 
 68 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' I tried to call religion to my aid ; but my religious senti- 
 ments 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 Ratnbler, 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, aweary of the world, who took to the peaceful her- 
 mitage. 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 
 
 69 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. Auto- 
 matically 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 1 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 
 
 70 
 
HELEN 
 
 • — 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 estabUshment was on the 
 most humble scale. 
 
 ' I look back to this period of my hfe with the greatest 
 satisfaction. I had exquisite pleasure, like all young people of 
 sanguine temperament and generous disposition, in the con- 
 sciousness of the capabihty 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 home-bred 
 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 
 
 71 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 circum- 
 stances produced upon my mind, and you shall, as far as 1 
 know it myself I fancied that it ^^'Ould 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 com- 
 mand abroad. His connections, though of very high rank, 
 were not now in power. He had failed in some military 
 exploit which had formerly been entrusted 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 
 
 1- 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pubhc 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 everybody should set him down 
 as a commonplace 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 pecuUar 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,' 
 
 73 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 Stael's book, Sur la Revolution Frangaise, 
 came out, it made an extraordinary impression upon me. I 
 turned, in the first place, as everybody 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 Vancien regime, 
 was obtained in France by what they would call their femtnes 
 marquantes, such as Madame de Tencin, Madame du Deffand, 
 Mademoiselle de I'Espinasse. This remark stung me to the 
 quick, for my country and for myself, and raised in me a 
 foolish, vainglorious 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 mis- 
 chievous effect those few passages produced on my mind. In 
 
 74 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 succh.'' 
 
 ' 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 think- 
 ing. "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 
 
 75 
 
HELEN 
 
 rendered the possessor invisible, and enabled him to hear 
 everything 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 1 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 1, 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 
 76 
 
HELEN 
 
 my husband's intervention obtained a favour of some import- 
 ance, the thing done, though actually obtained by private 
 favour, was in a public point of vievif vi^ell 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 bom 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 honours and pleasures of patron- 
 age, 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 firotegh, 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, 
 
 ' By flatterers besieged, 
 
 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 weak- 
 ness ; and, putting his hand upon the curly-pated little fellow's 
 head, he said, " This boy rules Greece, I see." The child was 
 
 77 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 everything. 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 happi- 
 ness — 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 V said I. " Not for any- 
 body," 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 posses- 
 sion bestows. I thought he meant to point out to me that, 
 although he would not do it, I might get it done. And, speak- 
 ing 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 seniir dc pareih moyens, 
 dest difficile de ^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, 
 
 78 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Sevres 
 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 under- 
 stand 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 dis- 
 dained 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 influ- 
 
 79 
 
HELEN 
 
 ence 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 difiicult, 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 ofi^ 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. 
 
 ' 1 took his hand, and, hesitating, was again my better 
 self; but 1 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." 
 
 80 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' " 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. 
 
 ' O 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 dis- 
 missed me from his heart. 
 
 ' " Call me Anne ! Oh, 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, 
 
 G 8i 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' " 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 sank to meanness ; never, never, however 
 tempted, however provoked, never do as 1 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 sank down, or threw myself at his feet, I know 
 not ; but when 1 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 morn- 
 ing ; 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 
 
 82 
 
I felt his hand holding mine ; I pressed it, and said, ' Forget.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 sick- 
 ness 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 gener- 
 osity. 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 con- 
 vincing 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 as 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 Dave- 
 nant's resignation was sent in and accepted, and in retire- 
 ment 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 
 
 84 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 happinesSj this was the happiest time of 
 my life. As if my eyes had been rubbed by your favourite 
 dervise in the Arabian tales with his 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 anything, because she could not find anybody 
 
 8S 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 assist- 
 ance 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 assist- 
 ance — 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 after- 
 wards 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 
 
 86 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 hfe, 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 suflSciently 
 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 
 Ceciha 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 ! 
 
 87 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 stair- 
 case, 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 dravnng-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 
 
Just at the turn she met a gentleman^ a strcmgct. 
 
HELEN 
 
 perhaps people were really hungry, or perhaps Mr. Beauclerc 
 had not yet satisfied the General and Lady Davenant : how- 
 ever, 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 aide-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 anything 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 
 90 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 farthest 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 con- 
 versation 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 gu'd 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 
 
 91 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 ' 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 ! ' 
 
 ' 111 ! ' 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 further 
 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 1, 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 fiancee — they have for some 
 
 92 
 
HELEN 
 
 reason agreed to be separated for some time — I do not know 
 exactly, but surely everybody may choose their own oppor- 
 tunity 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 anybody living but yourself; and 
 to you, after all I said about him, I felt it was necessary — I 
 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 possibiUty, 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 
 
 93 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 faUing 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 far 
 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 appear- 
 ance, 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 
 
 94 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 impos- 
 sible ! ' 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 
 
 95 
 
HELEN 
 
 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.' 
 96 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 aide-de-camp. 
 
 ' And if he were, that would not prevent my being his 
 friend, sir,' said Beauclerc. 
 
 ' Of course,' said the aide-de-camp, ' 1 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's enemies.' 
 
 ' Enemies of Lord Beltravers ! ' exclaimed Lady Davenant. 
 ' What right has he to enemies as if he were a great man ? 
 — a person of whom nobody ever heard, setting up to have 
 
 H 97 
 
HELEN 
 
 enemies ! But nowadays, 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 honour 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 1 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,' rephed 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 
 
 98 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 aide-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 p/'oteg^, whose great 
 ambition I am sure it is to make a noise in the world. How- 
 ever, 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 
 
 99 
 
HELEN 
 
 might have thought something of him. But this cowardly, 
 negative sin, not honouring his father and mother ! so common- 
 place, 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, ex- 
 claiming, ' 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 vvfas, 
 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 ; ' v-'hen Beauclerc goes to metaphysics I gi^e 
 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 lady- 
 ship's good opinion, for he had nothing dehghtfully 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 
 
 100 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 oneself 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 cPMgme 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. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 without 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 aide-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 reappeared, — ' 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 
 
 103 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 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 ofif 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 differ- 
 ence 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, 
 
 103 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 speak- 
 ing 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 souTjenez vous que c'est Marcchal Turenne qui vous 
 ta dit." ' 
 
 While the General searched for that Enghsh memento, six- 
 pence, Lady Cecilia repeated, ' Marshal Turenne ! I do not 
 understand.' 
 
 ' Yes, if you recollect,' said Helen, ' you do.' 
 
 ' I daresay I know, but I don't remember,' said Cecilia. 
 
 ' It was only,' said Helen, ' that the same thing had hap- 
 pened 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.' 
 
 104 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 serv,es 
 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, re- 
 member 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 prim- 
 roses 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 overarches 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 chi- 
 mera villa destroys the idea of repose ; but nature, uninter- 
 rupted, 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 practi- 
 cally 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 Eng- 
 land " are the best homes upon earth.' 
 
 ' The most candid and sensible of all modern French tra- 
 vellers,' said Beauclerc, 'was particularly struck with the 
 superiority of our English country residences, and the comfort 
 of our homes.' 
 
 'You mean M. de Stael.?' said the General; 'true English 
 sense in that book, I allow.' 
 
 When the General and Beauclerc did agree in opinion about 
 
 105 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Stael'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 anywhere,' 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 pros- 
 perity, 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 bom in England, 
 even in the lowest station, may have of rising by his own 
 merits to the highest eminence, forms the great spring of in- 
 dustry 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, educa- 
 tion 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. 
 
 1 06 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 in- 
 numerable 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 re- 
 solved 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 
 
 107 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 re- 
 verted 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, ob- 
 served 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 com- 
 passionately upon her, that she God-blessed him, and thought 
 
 io8 
 
HELEN 
 
 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,' con- 
 tinued Beauclerc. 
 
 ' I might, had he done anything 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. 
 109 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 know- 
 ledge ? 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, ray happiness does not 
 depend, never can depend, upon money ; as my friend, there- 
 fore, 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 ? 1 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.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 
 meantime 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, with- 
 out 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, ac- 
 cording 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 Beltravers, 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.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 
 
HELEN 
 
 any consequence I ever made you — say yes.' Beauclerc 
 trembled with impatience. 
 
 ' No,' said the General, ' I have said it — No.' 
 
 The gallery rang 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 anything 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 feehng 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. 
 
 I 113 
 
HELEN 
 
 Unnoticing, not hearing the crash, the General stood leaning 
 his elbow on the mantelpiece, 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 Beau- 
 clerc ! ' 
 
 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 astonish- 
 ment, ' 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.' 
 
 114 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 Jhight 
 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 vnll — should be again accumu- 
 lated from his income. It was merely a sacrifice of his own 
 vanity, and perhaps a httle of his own comfort, he said, to save 
 a friend, a human being, from destruction. 
 
 IIS 
 

 
 S/ie saw Seaucierc leaning upon an old irolcen stone lion^ and Lady Cecilia 
 standing beside him. 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 everything 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 
 
 117 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 scat- 
 tered 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 inter- 
 ference. This was agreed to the more readily by the General, 
 as his thoughts and feelings were then more agreeably engrossed, 
 
 ii8 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Beau- 
 clerc 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. 
 
 119 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ' Schwdr- 
 merey,' — 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 anything 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 counte- 
 nance, except by a quick twinkling motion of the eyelashes, 
 not noticed by unsuspicious Helen. 
 
 Everything now went on as happily as Cecilia could have 
 desired ; every morning they rode or boated 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 
 Ceciha 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 
 
 120 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 circum- 
 stances, 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 and 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 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 appro- 
 priated 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 CoUingwoods 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 Psyche 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 per- 
 fect confiding simplicity of Helen's mind, so unlike what he 
 had seen in others — so real. The hope of that pure friend- 
 ship 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 friend- 
 ship ; a very easy convenient way. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pursued with an eagerness 
 and abandoned with a facihty which sorely tried the General's 
 equanimity. 
 
 One day, after having ridden to Old Forest, General Cla- 
 rendon 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 re- 
 collection of the last alteration not having been made yesterday 
 in drawing the working plan, and she hastened to look for it 
 
 123 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 tennemi dii bzen.' 
 
 ' 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 anything useful,' said the General. 
 
 ' Cest 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. Cer- 
 tainly 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 Brooks'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 
 meantime, 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, Avho 
 
 124 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. Sexttis 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 Destiity.'' 
 
 ' 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 in- 
 consistency of human wishes." 
 
 ' " Kitchen 23 ft. by 2i. 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 yd. 
 
 ' " 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 com7nit the crime f 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 repre- 
 sentation 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 
 
 125 
 
HELEN 
 
 Zemire et Azore, the audience might be made to understand the 
 main point, that GOOD resulted from Targuin's BAD choice. 
 Brutus, Liberty, Rotne'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 dififerent 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, quHl faudrait plus dun C(xur pour 
 aimer tant de choses d, 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 
 
 126 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 anything belonging to him valuable to collectors, who pre- 
 serve 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 indis- 
 criminately 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 beheve, the most approved in philosophy, and in practice is 
 the great secret of happiness in this world.' 
 
 127 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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. Everybody 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 
 
 128 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 anybody 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 like 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 noi 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 
 
 K 129 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Beau- 
 clerc ; ' 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 indiffer- 
 ence ? Indifferent to him whose name I cannot pronounce 
 without emotion ! 1 alone, of all the world, indifferent to that 
 genius, pre-eminent and unrivalled, who has so long com- 
 manded 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 everyday 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 Ceciha. 
 ' 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 suf- 
 fering, 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 
 morahty is not in purple patches, ostentatiously obtrusive, 
 but woven in through the very texture of the stuff. He paints 
 
 130 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Chan- 
 trey'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 con- 
 versing 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 some- 
 thing 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 Gran- 
 ville confess honestly he would give the world to have seen 
 him.' 
 
 'Do, Lady Davenant,' said Helen, who saw, or thought 
 
 131 
 
HELEN 
 
 she saw, a singular emotion in Beauclerc's countenance, and 
 fancied he was upon the point of yielding ; but Lady Dave- 
 nant, 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 affecta- 
 tion — twice, when I was no more affected than you are.' 
 
 132 
 
Mr. Beauclen stood pausing oti the threshold. 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 any one in the world 
 might think you affected at this moment. Yet 1, 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. 1 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. Everybody is disappointed the first time 
 they see Hamlet, or FalstafT, 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 
 
 134 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, 
 1 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 raisonrU 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 hospitaUty — to 
 welcome the coming and speed the parting guest.' 
 
 135 
 
HELEN 
 
 The first party who arrived were of Lady Davenant's par- 
 ticular 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. 
 Ceciha'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 re- 
 cognised, 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 nowadays. 
 
 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 
 136 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 agree- 
 ment 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 
 
 137 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ecartd, 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 
 
 138 
 
She threw herself into an ar»i-ehmr in Helen's room, 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 n young 
 lady. I acquit him of all peculiar rudeness to me, for I am 
 sure Mr. Churchill really could not talk for only one in- 
 significant 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 
 140 
 
HELEN 
 
 out of the window at the departing guests, and, as each drove 
 off, he gave to each his coup de patie. 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, bhnd to fate, they laughed, applauded, and hcked 
 the hand just raised to strike themselves. Of the first who 
 went — ' Most respectable people,' said Lady Cecilia ; ' a bonne 
 mire de famille.' 
 
 ' Most respectable people ! ' repeated Horace — ' most 
 respectable people, old coach and all.' And then, as another 
 party drove off — ' No fear of anything 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 Men coiffee.' 
 
 •■Poissarde! of one of the best-born, best-bred women in 
 England ! ' cried Lady Cecilia ; ' bien coiffde I allow.' 
 
 ' Lady Cecilia is si coiffde 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 m 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? IntacteP repeated he, as she 
 drove off, 'intacte/— a. well-chosen epithet, I flatter myself!' 
 'Yes, z«/arf«— 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 ' 
 
 141 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 bye, 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 
 
 142 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 httle popgun pellets 
 of wits — but now were brought out reason and philosophy. In 
 a higher tone he now reviewed the literary, philosophical, and 
 political world, with touches of La Bruy^re and Rochefoucauld 
 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 whatever, 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 everybody must 
 be sensible is nothing,' said Churchill, with a polite bow — ' ab- 
 solutely nothing. I shall never be able to make anything of it.' 
 
 143 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Try — try, my dear friend,' answered Lord Davenant. 
 ' Try, don't be modest.' 
 
 ' That would be difficult when so distinguished,' said Beau- 
 clerc, 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.' 
 
 ' Oh, Lady Davenant ! — male gossip — what an expression ! ' 
 
 ' What a reality ! ' 
 
 'Male gossip! — ^^ Toinbe sur moi le del/"' 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 conscious- 
 ness 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 philo- 
 , sophical 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 Dave- 
 nant shall not be by, nor Lord Davenant either.' 
 
 Lady Cecilia sat down to write a note, and Mr. Churchill 
 144 
 
HELEN 
 
 walked round the room in a course of critical observation on 
 the pictures, of which, as of everything 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 everywhere now — those doves 1 ' 
 
 ' 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 for- 
 gotten 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 1 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 soupqon 
 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 per- 
 fectly sincere, true in him, whatever it be.' 
 
 Beauderc 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 I How 1 do love that freshness of 
 mind ! ' 
 
 ' Impertinent fellow ! I could knock him down,' felt Beau- 
 derc. 
 
 ' And you think all Doctor V 's humility true ? ' said 
 
 Churchill. 
 
 ' Yes, perfectly ! ' said Helen ; ' but 1 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 
 
 L 145 
 
HELEN 
 
 V . should be surprised by his great humihty,' 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?' 
 
 ' Maiivais 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 naivete?' 
 said Churchill. 
 
 'He does not want credit for it,' said Helen, 'he really has it.' 
 
 ' I wish 1 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 1 can't, I own — ' then abruptly resuming, 
 '■ Naiiicte 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 
 naivete at past fifty, verging to sixty, is quite another thing, 
 really rather too much for me. 1 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.' 
 
 146 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 be!' 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, think- 
 ing, 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 Enghsh, 
 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, some- 
 thing 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. 
 'Lesrevenansa.l-wa.ys 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, 
 
 147 
 
■O 
 
 ' PFkai surprises you all so, my good friends f ' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 be ? ' 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 naturae, a friend perfectly sincere.' 
 
 ' How 1 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 sus- 
 ceptibility, 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 tHoquence de billet. He stopped, and, leaning over 
 
 149 
 
HELEN 
 
 the back of the sofa on which she rechned, repeated an Italian 
 line in which was the word ' pavoneggiarsi.' 
 
 ' My dear Lady Cecilia, you, who understand and feel Ita- 
 lian so well, how expressive are some of their words ! Pavoneg- 
 giarsi ! — 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 natu- 
 ralised, because, in fact, we have not the feeling. An English- 
 man is too proud to boast — too bashfal 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 observa- 
 tion 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 cceur : 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, 
 
 15° 
 
HELEN 
 
 he took it for granted these were Beauclerc'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 philo- 
 sophical 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 sohd work ! ' 
 
 'Sohd in your opinion,' said Churchill, with a smile defe- 
 rential, 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 inven- 
 tion, 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 philo- 
 sophical 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 
 
 151 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ; ' 1 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 h,i\e 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 dis- 
 
 152 
 
HELEN 
 
 dainfully 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 anything except a 
 clever article or two in a review, or an epigram, attributed to 
 
 153 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 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 1, 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 — 1 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 cF 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. 
 
 '54 
 
HELEN 
 
 Churchill, " De t esprit on ne pent pas plus mime d. 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, oppor- 
 tunities 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 ; — -joumalier (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. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 racehorse, 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 
 
 156 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 morn- 
 ing 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 Cambac^rfes, and a 
 hot blackbird and white feet, but unluckily a country gentle- 
 man 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 
 
 157 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 com- 
 fortable, in the full English spirit of the word, and according 
 to the French explanation of comfortable, given to us by the 
 Duchess d'Abrantes, convcnablement bon j 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 fault- 
 finder ; 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 fashion- 
 able 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 
 
 iS8 
 
'%•^^^ 
 
 Sleeky-hollow ! 
 
HELEN 
 
 the honours and pleasures of the sitting in this chair for the 
 rest of the night. 
 
 Her eyes, and all eyes, turned upon JMr. 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 f 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 re- 
 collection ; 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 for- 
 
 i6o 
 
HELEN 
 
 gotten 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 com- 
 parisons, the feelings perpetually tricking themselves out, and 
 strutting about, calling themselves judgments, like the servants 
 in Gil Bias 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, be- 
 cause, 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.' 
 M i6i 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Bow, Miss Stanley,' said Lady Cecilia ; ' that pretty com- 
 pliment 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 CeciUa, ' 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 canvas 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,' con- 
 tinued Cecilia, turning to her mother, who was also at her em- 
 broidering 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 1,' 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 ennuy^s 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 
 
 162 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 re- 
 collected, 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 fashion- 
 able, 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 
 
 J 63 
 
UjJiM 
 
 s 
 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 imagina- 
 tion with what Lady Cecilia had told her of his secret engage- 
 ment. 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 farther 
 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. re- 
 semblance 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.' 
 
 165 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 
 i66 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 hfe, 
 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 Napoleoris 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 
 
 167 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 — 
 
 'AA/ le pauvre ho mine / cotmne il se batte les fiancs cPun 
 enthoudasme 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 im- 
 pression 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 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 
 
 i68 
 
HELEN 
 
 to Helen those which he knew she Hked 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 dis- 
 covered 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, a 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 Bemer'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, hstened with tolerably 
 169 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 deUcate 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 pri- 
 vately to be parted with by the present possessor. 
 
 At the very moment when Beauclerc was signing and seal- 
 ing at one end of the room, at the other Horace Churchill, to 
 whom something of the same plan had occurred, was charm- 
 ing Lady Cecilia Clarendon by hinting to her his scheme — 
 anticipating the honour of seeing one of his hawks borne upon 
 her dehcate 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 
 170 
 
HELEN 
 
 prepared to go quite so far. He was not quite so young as 
 Granville ; he, unfortunately, had arrived at years of discre- 
 tion — 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 crea- 
 ture which looks before it leaps. Even though this might save 
 him from the fate of the man who was in Sicily, still he con- 
 sidered 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 look- 
 ing 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 wait- 
 ing 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 hbrary, 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 forbore philo- 
 sophically — 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 
 
 171 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, for- 
 warded, 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 His- 
 tory of Falconry, with all its episodes, from the olden time of 
 the Boke of St. Alban's down to the last number of the Sport- 
 ing 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 Siguier's library. 
 
 Beauclerc had such extraordinary dependence upon the 
 sympathy of his friends, that, when he was reading anything 
 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, interrupt- 
 ing her in Scott's Lives of the Novelists, on which she was 
 
 172 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 punish- 
 ment 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 hfe she never could listen to anything 
 that began ^I'l'Ca. first and secondly — reasons especially. 
 
 Horace, meanwhile, looked superior down, and thought 
 with ineffable contempt of Beauclerc's htde 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 some others 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 
 
 173 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 could 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 fete, 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, 
 
 174 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 dis- 
 tinguish themselves by giving a flte 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 gentle- 
 manlike 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, hopirig 
 to strike out the truth, laut, 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 fHe, and Beauclerc, as one of the guests, attended 
 and enjoyed it without the least appearance even of disappoint- 
 ment ; 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 dis- 
 played 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. 
 
 175 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 casts 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, 
 should never swear, and only say, ' Dieii soil loue,' 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 
 
 176 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 
 farther still, till she and all the rest were fairly out of sight 
 
 lost, lost, lost ! 
 
 ' And as fine a cast 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 sportsman- 
 ship ! 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 — chanceUr. Now ! now look ! canceleer- 
 ing gloriously ! ' 
 
 But Helen at this instant recollected what Captain Warmsley 
 had said of the fresh-killed pigeon, which the falconer in the 
 N 177 
 
HELEN 
 
 nick of time is to lay upon the heron's back ; and now, even 
 as the canceleering was going on — three times most beauti- 
 fully, 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 gentle- 
 man 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 dark- 
 ness 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 gray 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. 
 
 178 
 
HELEN 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ' 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 everything, 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 
 
 179 
 
HELEN 
 
 moment prevented the possibility of his affording this poor 
 count assistance for numbers of his suffering fellow-country- 
 men who had been banished along with him, and who were 
 now in London in the utmost distress. Lady Davenant re- 
 membered 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 Gran- 
 ville'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 
 
W^as offered to her and accented. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 com- 
 pliment, 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 con- 
 solatory 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. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ex- 
 tinguished " ; ' and Lady Davenant concluded with a com- 
 pliment 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 oneself when one can do it without 
 exposing oneself 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 everything is too stimulating 
 
 over-exciting. If there are great advantages to men of 
 
 science and literature in museums and public libraries, the 
 
 183 
 
HELEN 
 
 more than Avicenna advantages of having books come at will, 
 and ministering spirits in waiting on all your pursuits — there 
 is too much of everything 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 con- 
 versation 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 Parlia- 
 ment, 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. \Vhat 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 
 
 184 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 con- 
 tracted 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 teUing it so 
 candidly.' 
 
 i8S 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Everything 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 everything 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 the idea of a man who is 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 re- 
 collecting 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.' 
 
 i86 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 incom- 
 patible 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 lan- 
 guage, 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 ; 
 187 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 con- 
 versation. 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 suc- 
 cessful piracies he was always haunted by the fear of discovery, 
 and he especially dreaded the acute perception of Lady Dave- 
 nant ; 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 
 
HELEN 
 
 by my dependence on the truth — the character for truth — of 
 the narrator.' 
 
 Not only Horace Churchill, but almost everybody 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 far- 
 ther 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 Mimoires 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 de- 
 scribes. 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 hi? 
 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 
 
 189 
 
HELEN 
 
 Mirabeauder was no easy task ; it was a certain road to noto- 
 riety, 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 kind- 
 ness. 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 protegee's poetry. Helen defended her admira- 
 tion, 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 con- 
 cealing 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 j 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.' 
 
 igo 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 blind- 
 ness 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 proiegie 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 XIX 
 
 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 disappoint- 
 ment 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 
 
 191 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 beau- 
 tiful. 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 rosewood table beside her, and a manuscript poem, 
 a great secret, ' Love's Last Sigh,' in her bag with her smell- 
 ing-bottle and embroidered handkerchief ; and on that beautiful 
 arm she leaned so gracefully, with her soft languishing ex- 
 pression ; 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 
 
 192 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Castle- 
 fort obtained the fair hand, the very fair hand, of Lady Louisa 
 Hawksby, plus belle que fee ! 
 
 Still Helen could not believe that Louisa had married him 
 voluntarily ; but Lady Ceciha 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 present 
 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, 1 did not do it ; but so many do, and 
 I have seen it so often, that I cannot wonder with such a fool- 
 ish 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 know- 
 ingly, willingly, giving themselves to the most profligate of the 
 profligate. In short, the market is so overstocked with accom- 
 plished young ladies on the one hand, and on the other men 
 find wives and establishments so expensive, clubs so cheap and 
 
 193 
 
HELEN 
 
 so much more luxurious than any home, hberty 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 in- 
 terests 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 1 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. 1 do not think 1 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 regime,' continued Lady Davenant, 'the 
 young women were at least married safely out of their con- 
 vents ; 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 agree- 
 
 194 
 
HELEN 
 
 ment, 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, sang 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 search- 
 ing for some masterpiece. 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 
 to-night. 
 
 '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 ! ' 
 
 195 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Tout voir, tout e^itendre, 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 sang. 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 
 
 ig6 
 
HELEN 
 
 might be heard to the farthest 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 noite.' 
 
 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 
 
 197 
 
HELEN 
 
 writhed in all the combined miseries of jealousy and depend- 
 ence, 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 im- 
 patience 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 amuse- 
 ment 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 ; 
 
 198 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 in- 
 comprehensible, 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 approach- 
 ing fite. 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 ' ; there- 
 fore, to save trouble, I always count two for Ceciha — 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 ' 
 
 199 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 jus- 
 tice 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 anybody. 
 
 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 1 must confess, I can't 
 
 help thinking that, what with its being unfeminine, and alto- 
 gether so incompatible with what in general is thought ami- 
 able — I cannot but consider wit in a woman as a real misfor- 
 tune. 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 
 fem7ne d' esprit, answered, with his ambiguous smile, ' that no 
 doubt it was a great misfortune to have ^^ plus d'esprit qu'on ne 
 suit inener." ' 
 
 ' 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 con- 
 sequence 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. Mapletofift, the secretary, entered with 
 200 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 obhged to set off for town 
 immediately. In the midst of her hurried preparations Lady 
 Davenant found a moment to comfort Helen with the assur- 
 ance 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 XX 
 
 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 under- 
 stand 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 
 
 20I 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 202 
 
It was a surprise— a- erea-t surprise— U Mr. CImrchill. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 con- 
 science 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 desire. 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 necessaiy 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 dis- 
 guise his satisfaction. 
 
 He was all life and love, and would then certainly have de- 
 clared his passion, but for an extraordinary change which now 
 appeared in Helen's manner towards him. It seemed unac- 
 countable ; 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 per- 
 ceived his attachment ; and was determined against him. 
 Not having the slightest idea that she considered him as a 
 
 204 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 senti- 
 ments, — was first excited by the death of her dove — Beau- 
 clerc'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 scoflSngly said, and before every- 
 body, before Beauclerc, worse than all, her ladyship repre- 
 sented 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 Beauclerc 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 
 iVamitii ? ' said her ladyship ; and she walked up and down 
 the room, humming the air of an old French song ; interrupt- 
 ing herself now and then to ask her sister if she could recol- 
 lect the words. ' The refrain, if I remember right, is some- 
 thing like this — 
 
 Sous le nom d'amitie — sous le nom d'amitie, 
 La moitie du monde trompe I'autre moitie, 
 Sous le nom, sous le nom, sous le nom d'amitie. 
 
 And it ends with 
 
 Sous le nom d'amitie, Damon, je vous adore, 
 Sous le nom, sous le nom d'amitie. 
 205 
 
HELEN 
 
 Miss Stanley, do you know that song ? ' concluded her ma- 
 licious ladyship. 
 
 No — Miss Stanley had never heard it before ; but the 
 marked emphasis with which Lady Katrine sang and looked 
 made Helen clear that she meant to apply the words taunt- 
 ingly to her and Beauclerc, — but which of them her ladyship 
 suspected was cheating, or cheated, ' sous le nam d'amitie,' 
 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 everybody, 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 horse- 
 back, 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 1 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 
 
 206 
 
HELEN 
 
 there was something ridiculous in it which prevented people 
 from caring about it. 
 
 With such nice casuistry she went on pretty well ; and be- 
 sides, 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 differ- 
 ence. Her heart never bounded on the General's appearance, 
 let him appear ever so suddenly, as it did one day when Beau- 
 clerc returned unexpectedly from Old Forest. Her whole ex- 
 istence seemed so altered by his approach, his presence, or his 
 absence. Why was this ? Was there anything 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 Beauderc'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, to- 
 wards Beauclerc ; she was certain he meant nothing but friend- 
 ship. 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 Beauderc's looks of astonish- 
 ment — 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 un- 
 happy, 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 
 
 207 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 bye, may be always known by their invari- 
 able 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 seem- 
 208 
 
HELEN 
 
 ing 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 
 bom 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 checkmated, rose hastily, threw the men to- 
 gether 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. Beau- 
 clerc, 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 
 p 209 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 slack- 
 ened 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. 
 
 ' Oh 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. 
 
 2IO 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 circum- 
 stances — 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 misinter- 
 pret 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 her- 
 self to be composed, telling herself she ought to see farther 
 and at least to be certain before she condemned him — con- 
 
 211 
 
HELEN 
 
 demned 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 
 sank. 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 under- 
 stand 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 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 t — 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 weU, 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 ? ' 
 213 
 

 . '^^ 
 
 ^,»^'( 
 <i^ii ? 
 
 ' Ifyoti say to 77ie, Go ! I ojn gone /or ever ! 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Certainly,' said she. It never entered into her mind to 
 doubt the truth of what Lady CeciHa had told her, and she had 
 at first been so much embarrassed by the fear of betraying what 
 she feh 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 XXI 
 
 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 Beau- 
 
 2IS 
 
HELEN 
 
 clerc 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 stupefied 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 Ceciha. ' I see how it is ; I 
 understand it all ; and, miserable and amazed as you look at 
 this moment, 1 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, 1 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.' 
 
 216 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Ceciha 
 had told her not only what was not true, but what she at the 
 time of telling knew to be false. 
 
 ' For what purpose, O 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. B^uclerc, 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 
 
 217 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, afld 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 meantime, tell me, my dear Clarendon, 
 do you know whether Lord Beltravers's 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 reputa- 
 
 218 
 
HELEN 
 
 tion, 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 under- 
 standing 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 1 ' the General said ; ' it is a question 
 of right, not of expediency.' 
 
 ' Right, but there is nothing really wrong, surely ; I beheve 
 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 dis- 
 covery had just been made. Lord Beltravers had brought his 
 sister to Old Forest to hide 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 
 219 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 dis- 
 approbation ; 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 ofifended Beauclerc past en- 
 durance — 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 CeciUa ; ' 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 
 iDefore 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.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 rogties 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 head- 
 ache ! 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 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 straightforward 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 ? ' 
 
 ' O 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, no- 
 body 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 I — absolutely gone ! 
 
 222 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 de- 
 serve !' 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 everything which she had attempted failed, but a conse- 
 quence 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 corre- 
 spondence 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 re- 
 turned 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. 
 
 223 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 straight 
 forward.' 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 XXII 
 
 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 unex- 
 plained, 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 con- 
 tinued to be as attentive and kind to her as usual, yet that 
 there was something more careful and reserved in his manner 
 
 224 
 
HELEN 
 
 than formerly, less of spontaneous regard, and cordial con- 
 fidence. 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 rail- 
 lery : conscious that she had been the cause of all this annoy- 
 ance 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 con- 
 tinually 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 her- 
 self 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 
 Q 225 
 
HELEN 
 
 their cordial thanks, Lady Katrine whispered, ' Our musician 
 had 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 ladylike 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 mourn- 
 ings are, to be sure, just according to fashion, or feehng, 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 anything Lady Katrine could say, 
 as she so little understood her real feelings ; and at the mo- 
 ment 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 
 
 226 
 
HELEN 
 
 Katrine's cruel remarks, Cecilia begged that Helen would 
 oblige her by laying aside black. ' Let it be on my birth- 
 day.' Lady Cecilia's birthday was to be celebrated the en- 
 suing 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 everything 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 birthday 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 — 'What- 
 ever 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 ? Yes- 
 terday, 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 
 
 227 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pre- 
 vailed 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 mate- 
 rials of dress absolutely for nothing — the fashion — the making- 
 up is all, as 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 cir- 
 
 228 
 
HELEN 
 
 cumstances — to what was quite contrary to her better judg- 
 ment. 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 re- 
 probated as quite vulgar ; but now, even persons of birth and 
 fashion are guilty of this want of taste and sense. They dis- 
 play 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 Bauble- 
 shire.' 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 3.fHe champHre, or a boat-race. 
 
 Once, after a riding-party, at a picnic 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 dis- 
 appoint 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 
 
 229 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 230 
 
HELEN 
 
 dear ! ' replied Lady Cecilia. ' And if people ask whether 
 they are real, what would 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 orna- 
 ments, 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 fHe^ the peai-1 
 bracelets were on her dressing-table. They were from the 
 General, and could not be refused. CeciUa 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 under- 
 stand a lady well bom 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 h. ravir with her lady's dress, which, 
 
 231 
 
HELEN 
 
 indeed, without it, would have no effect ; would be quite 
 mesquine and manqu^e. 
 
 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 fore- 
 saw, 'a young lady so well bom 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 
 
 232 
 
HELEN 
 
 despatched it. And when it was gone she told Ceciha 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 XXIII 
 
 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 use- 
 less 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 evei-ybody 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 
 
 233 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 rer ived what her ladyship had 
 ordered. Lady Katrine sufifered 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 satis- 
 fied, though their ornaments were not exactly ahke, 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 arm's 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 ; 
 
 234 
 
HELEN 
 
 her figure has been before my eyes ever since, hung round with 
 jewellery, and with that aureole a foot and a half high on her 
 head : like the Russian bride's head-gear, 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 heirloom, 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 con- 
 ditions, 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, in- 
 terrupting 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,' con- 
 tinued 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 
 
 235 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 recol- 
 lected 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 unlocked 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 stupefied, 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,' 
 236 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 nie 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 woebegone, 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 
 
 237 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, "_/s veux &tre Penfajit prodigue, je veux eire 
 renfant perdu." L'enfant prodigue, well and good, but why 
 V 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 1 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. ' 
 
 238 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 in- 
 tentions 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 meantime ? ' 
 
 ' 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 im- 
 provident, 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 danping with last night ? ' 
 
 ' I danced with several ; which do you mean ? ' 
 
 239 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 merite." ' 
 
 ' Did she ? I do not remember. He made no impression 
 on me, nor on you, I daresay.' 
 
 ' 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 
 
 240 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 upstairs 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 for- 
 gave Lady Cecilia, and would forget, as she desired, all the 
 R 241 
 

 
 SAe ran for ilie bracelets and brooch, and eagerly put them into Lady Davefi ant's hafui. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. ' Gene- 
 rous, 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's 
 account, yet she dreaded that, when it came to speaking, her 
 mother's penetration would discover that something extraordi- 
 nary 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. 
 
 243 
 
HELEN 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 There is no better test of the strength of affection than the 
 ready turning of the mind to the Httle 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 embarrass- 
 ments 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 adminis- 
 tration 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 some- 
 times 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 siiuation j for, though she 
 feels the necessity of concihating, 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 
 
 244 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 thundef, but we shall see the lightning 
 all the more dangerous. We shadl 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 
 
 ' Coup d'etat ? 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'itat. I will have next week a three- 
 days' congress, anti-poUtical, at Clarendon Park, where not a 
 word of politics shall be heard, nor anything but nonsense if I 
 
 245 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 influ- 
 ential 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 persua- 
 sive words and more persuasive looks to accomplish this pre- 
 liminary, 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 
 
 246 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 con- 
 ventional 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 as- 
 sembled 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, 
 iDut the physiognomy of a snuff-box Helen could not interpret, 
 though Lavater asserts that everything in nature, even a cup 
 of tea, has a physiognomy. 
 
 Dinner was announced, and the company paired off, seem- 
 ingly not standing on the order of their going ; yet all, especi- 
 ally 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 hkely 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 con- 
 versation, 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 
 
 247 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 under- 
 took 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 in- 
 vincible. Helen could scarcely believe, when she tried after- 
 wards 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 ques- 
 tions 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 iMarblemore — 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 anything for her eyes ? ' — ' Gone to 
 Brighton, I beheve.' ' Has anything been heard of the North 
 Pole expedition ?' — ' Not a word.' ' Crockly has got a capital 
 cook, and Enghsh 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 Abbe Gregoire's 
 reproach. The abbe has said that England would be the 
 finest country in the world, but that it wants two essentials, 
 smtshine and cooks. 'Good ! Good ! Very!' voices from differ- 
 ent sides of the table pronounced ; and there was silence again. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 charge-d' affaires ; 
 not certain that he was an attache 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 
 
 249 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 XXV 
 
 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 formid- 
 able 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 Da\-enant, was to a foreign lady who was 
 present matter of inexpressible surprise. She could not un- 
 derstand 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, 
 
 250 
 
HELEN 
 
 attracted and repelled, or mutually influential, is to those who 
 have not seen and studied the planisphere absolutely incom- 
 prehensible. 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 xxp 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 pur- 
 posely 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 
 
 251 
 
HELEN 
 
 her here — 'quite a treat.' Such characters are indeed seldom 
 met with at a certain height in the atmosphere of society, and 
 such were pecuHarly 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 — fortu- 
 nately 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 mal-apropoisms. 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 
 
 252 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 exclama- 
 tions as she could of ' Really ! ' ' Indeed ! ' ' How extraordi- 
 nary ! ' ' 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 degantes, and, with all Lady 
 Masham's plausibility of persiflage, she never obtained her end, 
 and never elicited anything really absurd by all attempts to 
 
 253 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 anybody 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, d, 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 
 
 2S4 
 
' Out she pulled it, begging- my pardon: 
 
HELEIJ 
 
 diving into dark dens in search of run goods, charming things 
 — French warranted — that could be had for next to nothing, 
 and, in exemphfication, showed the fineness of her em- 
 broidered cambric handkerchiefs, and told their price to a 
 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 confidant 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 attache, she settled 
 
 256 
 
HELEN 
 
 at icarti 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 pianoforte, 
 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. When- 
 ever 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, pecuhar to good- 
 natured genius — the art of drawing something good out of 
 everybody ; 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 de- 
 scription 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 
 viath shouldered carbines, marching to buttery and hall, each 
 and every officer of the household making reverential obeisance 
 as they passed to the Nef—ihB. 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 should the hull of a ship be appropriated 
 S 257 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 irre- 
 levant, 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 pre- 
 serving 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 con- 
 sulted, 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 
 faindans 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 
 
 258 
 
HELEN 
 
 talents, but far more on the good breeding and temper of those 
 who spoke and those who Ustened. 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 punctu- 
 ality 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 ovra 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 begin- 
 ing to think of bed-chamber candles, Lady Cecilia looked at 
 the dcarU table, and said to her mother, ' How happy they are, 
 and how comfortable we are ! A card table is really a ne- 
 cessary 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 modem 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 
 
 2S9 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pro- 
 perly civil, 'gratified by Lady Bearcroft's good opinion — 
 happy to be of any service,' — etc. 
 
 ' 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 can never talk of business stand- 
 ing. Now I just want you, my dear Miss Hanley, to do a 
 little job for me with Lady Davenant, who, with half an eye 
 I can see, is a great friend of yours. — Arn'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 com- 
 pliment that I want to make, and nothing in the world ex- 
 pected 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 
 
 260 
 
HELEN 
 
 plain as possible — Countess Davenant, surely that is right 
 enough ? ' Then opening a red morocco case she showed a 
 magnificent diamond Sdvignd. ' 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 some- 
 thing ingenious and scientific, and Lady Davenant being re- 
 ported 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 
 fives — 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.' 
 
 261 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' What sense ? ' said Helen. 
 
 'Not in any particular sense,' replied Lady Bearcroft. 
 ' But let me go on, or we shall never come to an understand- 
 ing ; 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 /a/ — 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 Sdvigne 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 re- 
 spectable, 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 viritten 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.' 
 
 262 
 
HELEN 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ' My dear Helen, there is an end of everything ! ' 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 everybody in good - humour with them- 
 selves — 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, be- 
 tween 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 anything. Oh that I had never 
 brought together these unsuitabilities, these incompatibilities ! 
 O Helen ! what shall I do ? ' 
 
 Quite pale, Lady Cecilia stood, really in despair ; and 
 Helen did not know what to advise. 
 
 ' Do you know anything 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.' 
 
 263 
 
HELEN 
 
 'Certainly not,' said Lady Cecilia; 'but what is the 
 matter ? I am sorry anything 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 Sevignd 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 
 
 264 
 
HELEN 
 
 that sort with your Lady Davenant, but I am entirely con- 
 vinced 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,' con- 
 tinued 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 recol- 
 lection 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 him- 
 self, 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 anything else.' 
 
 It was not long before Cecilia returned, proclaiming ' Peace, 
 265 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 in- 
 dignation upon such a person. The result was, that she com- 
 missioned Helen to release Lady Bearcroft as soon as con- 
 venient, 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 
 litde 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.' 
 
 266 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 vidtier' 
 
 ' 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 affecta- 
 tion 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 everybody to care for one really ; at least I know I 
 cannot like all my acquaintances 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 M , 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 bum me, and 
 
 267 
 
HELEN 
 
 I at the stake, I hardly know ten persons of my acquaintance 
 who would refuse to throw on a faggot." ' 
 
 ' O mamma ! — -O 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, everybody 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 ambassa- 
 dress, 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 
 I'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, 
 
 268 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 Ceciha 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 neigh- 
 bourhood 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 moraUty. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 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 
 
 269 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 with- 
 out good manners is but a blundering ally, dangerous to its 
 best friend. 
 
 This evening. Lady Cecilia felt that every one was uncom- 
 fortable, 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, 
 Whene'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 
 
 270 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 in- 
 vincible 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 Ceciha,' 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 over- 
 whelming 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 pohtics 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 gentle- 
 men, from the black /^/o/ow in which they gathered, back to 
 their proper positions round Vs\^fauteuils of the fair ladies. 
 
 271 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 trans- 
 forms 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 Ceciha, 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 be- 
 comingly, decorously, put on now and then the mitre of an 
 archbishop. ' If good people,' said Archbishop Usher, ' would 
 
 272 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 under- 
 stood, and mirth admitted of her crew all who smiled, and 
 party-spirit fled. But there were foreigners present. For- 
 eigners cannot well understand our local allusions ; our Cruik- 
 shank 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 counter- 
 feit, 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, 
 
 T 273 
 
HELEN 
 
 they must be good, because their humour only can ensure 
 their permanence ; the personahty 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 re- 
 mains. 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, bom 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, more- 
 over, 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 charge-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 d, i^a ' 
 
 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 pianoforte, to the tune of 
 
 ' Here's to the maiden of blushing fifteen ' — 
 she sang — 
 
 274 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 XXVIII 
 
 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 ; alway 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 ques- 
 tioning 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 senti- 
 ments. 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, 
 
 27s 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 ' 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 abili- 
 ties, and of superior character, must elevate your mind to sym- 
 pathy 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, 
 276 
 
HELEN 
 
 and were I to begin life over again, my conduct should in 
 some respects be dififerent. 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. Ex- 
 cessively 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 par- 
 oxysm 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, 
 
 277 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, look- 
 ing 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 
 
 278 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 Uking 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 sus- 
 picions 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. 
 
 279 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 port^g^ ; 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 attach- 
 ment 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 deter- 
 mined, 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 
 \%bad?' 
 
 Lady Davenant could not but see that countenance change 
 in an extraordinary manner, in spite of his efforts to keep it 
 steady. 
 
 280 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' You cause that of which you complain,' said she, going on 
 seahng 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, notwith- 
 standing 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 the 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 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 artful- 
 ness, 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 neigh- 
 bouring 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 con- 
 tempt 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 
 hfe I have lived ; of this I am not so inconsistent as to com- 
 plain. But it is hard that my own character — the integrity of 
 a whole life — should avail me nothing ! And yet,' added she, 
 
 282 
 
'-.fn- 
 
 tielen caught his figure in a mirror, a-nd scm thai he -was making a horrible 
 grimace at her behind her back. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 bedroom, 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^er to let her 
 remain with her, and read to her. 
 
 She opened first a volume of Shakespeare, 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 look- 
 ing, 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- 
 
 284 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 bedroom door, and to shut it again 
 without letting any of the books fall, and crossed the little 
 anteroom 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 
 
 285 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ante-chamber, 
 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 stumb- 
 ling 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 
 
 286 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 un- 
 stirred. 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 evi- 
 dence 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, recover- 
 ing instantly, shot back again into the room, flung to the door, 
 and locked it. 
 
 ' Seen him ! ' cried Lady Davenant, when Helen flew to 
 287 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, com- 
 manding 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-unbumt 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 
 withinside 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, farther, 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 zs 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.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 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, in- 
 dulged 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 
 U 289 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 
 290 
 
HELEN 
 
 he was reading, and when she had courage to turn towards 
 her she admired CeciHa's perfect self-possession. Beauclerc's 
 name was not among the arrivals, and it was settled conse- 
 quently 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 counte- 
 nance. ' 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 
 p^y 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 CeciUa ! ' 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 char- 
 acter, 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 1 shall be gone,' cried 
 
 291 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Dave- 
 nant, 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 ; 
 
 292 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 com- 
 posed. 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 un- 
 done. 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 
 
 293 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 behef 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 horsewoman, 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 ? 
 294 
 
' Well, ceHainfy, you are an excessively pretty creature! ■ 
 
HELEN 
 
 '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 affec- 
 tionately, 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 XXX 
 
 ' 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, 
 
 296 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 past, a servant had twice looked in to an- 
 nounce 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 httle 
 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 sub- 
 mit 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 Ceciha 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 upstairs, 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 moon- 
 fight 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 
 
 297 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, how- 
 ever, 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 Beau- 
 clerc 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 be- 
 hind 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. 
 
 298 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 upstairs, 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. 
 
 299 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Well, I went directly from you 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 talk- 
 ing 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 perfijme, 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 
 
 300 
 
HELEN 
 
 immediately after tliat, 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 goto 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. 
 
 301 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 re- 
 collect 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 port- 
 folio.' 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 302 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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, CeciHa, 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, breath- 
 less. ' 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 
 
 303 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 any- 
 body 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 
 
 304 
 
. rA£«/««^'^'"'''*' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ! — O 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 ; be- 
 lieve 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 XXXI 
 
 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 
 
 306 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 
 307 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 indescrib- 
 able 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 anything 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 
 
 308 
 
HELEN 
 
 emotion in herself would not be observed in the hurry of de- 
 parture, 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! Oest Monsieur U General/' 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 hbrary, 
 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, 
 
 3°9 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' he has opened the packet, and you see me ahve. 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 pee, 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 to 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 — 
 
 CeciHa, 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 — 
 
 1 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, 1 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 — O 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. 
 
 310 
 
* There was Clarendon dressed— standing with his arms folded—a letter open 
 hanging /rom his hand. ' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ? " O my dear Helen ! then 
 it was that you saved me.' 
 
 'I !' 
 
 ' Yes, forgive me, Helen, I answered, " There is a hand- 
 writing 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 
 
 312 
 
HELEN 
 
 imagine. I read what, as I hope for mercy, I had no recollec- 
 tion 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 beUeved 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 ? ' 
 
 313 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 con- 
 fiding 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 ! ' 
 
 314 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 315 
 
HELEN 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 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 appear- 
 ance 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 direc- 
 tion, 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 
 
 316 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, 
 
 317 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, mtist 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 compli- 
 ment. 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 1 may say I am not of a jealous temper.' 
 318 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 Dave- 
 nant, 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 
 
 319 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ob- 
 ject 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 ; ' 1 will, I will ! ' and she 
 hastened on, and in a moment she was safe across the hall 
 
 320 
 
HELEN 
 
 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. 
 
 'AH 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 depart- 
 ure — 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.' 
 
 EUiott 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 oneself 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 ! 
 
 Y 321 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 re- 
 quest — 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 re- 
 peated 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 
 
 322 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 en- 
 tered ; she started at the sight of him : his eyes 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 ! bum ! 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 beheve it was right ; the General advised me to lock 
 them up,' said Helen, ' but then ' 
 
 323 
 
' Th; letters ! ' exclahmd Cecilia, s;pringing up. 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 325 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 326 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 in- 
 creased esteem and love, Cecilia started up from the sofa on 
 which she had thrown herself, and exclaimed, 
 
 ' Oh 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 cer- 
 tain 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 per- 
 fect openness which he was sure there would be in this case 
 between her and Beauclerc. 'You see what the General ex- 
 pects 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?" 
 
 327 
 
HELEN 
 
 — 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 anything — 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 Ceciha, looking at 
 the door with terror — she thought she heard his step. 
 
 ' Yes, if you would but tell him. Oh 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 ci-uel 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.' 
 
 3^8 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 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 
 
 329 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ac- 
 knowledged 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 sou! — 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 everything — all his faults and follies. ' Oh ! why,' 
 thought she, ' why cannot I tell him everything ? 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 hers, 
 would now, Beauclerc said, give her to him ; and would, he 
 was sure, take pleasure in thus publicly marking his approba- 
 tion 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 Beau- 
 clerc 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. 
 
 33° 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' It is all settled,' whispered Beauclerc to him ; ' and you 
 are to give her away.' 
 
 ' With pleasure,' said the General. 
 
 As Helen went upstairs, she said to herself, ' I under- 
 stand 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 think- 
 ing Cecilia quite equal to it, had engaged Mrs. Holdemesse, 
 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 ecartS 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 ex- 
 claimed, ' Beautiful ! beautiful ! and how like ! ' It was the 
 miniature of Helen, and besides the miniature, farther 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. 
 
 331 
 
' Whom is it for ^ General^ look ! do you know it ?' 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 ac- 
 quainted ? ' 
 
 ' 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 ^carU table which was 
 in her way, pressed forward to the drawer, saying something 
 about ' counters.' Her Cashmere 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 
 
 333 
 
HELEN 
 
 there, started up and snatched it from his hand. ' Oh, Gran- 
 ville ! ' 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 ^carU 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 ad- 
 
 334 
 
HELEN 
 
 vanced : 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, 'towhathaveyouexposedme?' 
 
 ' 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 be- 
 side 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 some- 
 thing to do, my love, if the people come in.' 
 
 The aide-de-camp entered. ' I thought I heard harp-strings 
 going,' said he. 
 
 335 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Several ! — yes,' said Lady Cecilia, standing full in his 
 way. 
 
 ' Inauspicious sounds for us ! bad 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 )'0U have ! ' said Helen. 
 ' How can you say so much, and think of everything ? ' 
 
 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 compli- 
 ments she fixed him to the pianoforte, 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 arrange- 
 ments usually did. Helen heard the eternal buzz of conversa- 
 tion 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 auto- 
 
 336 
 
HELEN 
 
 matically, 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 obhging, 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 draw- 
 ing-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 
 
 z 337 
 
HELEN 
 
 music-room ; he just bowed his head, and wished Lady 
 Ceciha 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 counte- 
 nance 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 XXXIV 
 
 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. 
 
 338 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 your- 
 self. 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 anything 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 for- 
 got 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. 
 
 ' O Helen ! ' cried Cecilia, ' I do not ask you to pity me. 
 
 339 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, Ceciha'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 ; 
 
 340 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 anything, 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 after- 
 wards — 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 anything 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. 
 
 341 
 
HELEN 
 
 " 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 mothei^'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. 
 
 342 
 
HELEN 
 
 '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 'i — 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 mid- 
 night 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 
 g^ve.' 
 
 ' None ! ' cried he, his tone suddenly changmg, ' no relief 
 to give ! What ! have you nothing to say ? No explanation ? 
 Why speak to me then at all ? ' 
 
 343 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 inno- 
 cent 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 i' — 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 
 
 344 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 knovc how much I ask. I 
 acknowledge a mystery, and yet I ask you to believe that I 
 am not wrong.' 
 
 ' I know,' said he ; ' 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 — some- 
 thing 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 
 
 345 
 

 He offered, a-nd she took his offered hayid. ' I tr-iist entirely' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 confi- 
 dence 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 
 
 347 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 CoUingwoods 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 
 
 348 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 XXXV 
 
 ' In my youth, and through the prime of manhood, I never entered 
 London without feehngs 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 poUtics, hterature, or science. ' 
 
 These feehngs, 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 enthu- 
 siasm, 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 feehngs 
 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 
 
 349 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Ceciha did not express 
 any regret at it, as formerly she would have done ; it seemed 
 a symptom of declining affection, of which even 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 
 JVIiss 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 
 v^Tong. 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 pro- 
 
 35° 
 
0^^ 
 
 Her experiness at general answers which give no in/onnaiion 
 completely haffled the two. 
 
HELEN 
 
 yoking wretches, with their fast bind fast find. Such an un- 
 conscionable length of time as they do take for their parchment 
 doings, heeding nought of that Uttle impatient flapper Cupid.' 
 
 Certain that Lady Cecilia was only playing with their curi- 
 osity, 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 ad- 
 vantageous 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 fttttir; 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 niHaphysique de toilette, of which she was 
 justly vain. She could talk, and as much to the purpose as 
 most people, of Ic ge7ire classiqice, 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,' 
 
 352 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 atten- 
 tion, held the Hght 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 httle 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 
 Elegante, or charmante, or intdressante, or distingude — well, 
 dat is all ver" well, and you dress to that id^e, 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 distinguee. The toilette superbe requires 
 only cost — a toilette distinguee 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 ' Prdcepte commence, exemple acheve.' 
 
 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 
 2 A 353 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 eye- 
 brows, 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 nohow." We 
 
 354 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 gentle- 
 men 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 Mte 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 farther 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 out- 
 posts 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 fire- 
 place, 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 
 
 35S 
 
HELEN 
 
 choice of three names, I'Ennuye, le Frondeur, or le Blasd. 
 L'Ennuy^ ? he shook his head ; too common ; he would have 
 none of it. Le Frondeur ? no; too much trouble ; he shrugged 
 his abhorrence. Le Blas6, 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 Ceciha ! 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's aunt.' 
 
 Lady Grace, with a haughty drawback motion, and a super- 
 cilious 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 ; 
 .^nd 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 nurtured. 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, 
 
 3S6 
 
Lady Grace, with a. haughty drawback motion, and a supercilious arching 0/ her 
 hrows, was ' ha^py to have the honour,' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 her- 
 self 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-bom, 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 con- 
 tempt 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 bom. 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 en- 
 compassed 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 otto- 
 man 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. 
 
 3S8 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 woman, 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 grace- 
 ful air — her ingenuous countenance, so expressive of the fresh- 
 ness 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 unbiassed 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 high- 
 breds, now, that's well-bred too.' In the height of the rap- 
 ture 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 
 
 359 
 
HELEN 
 
 to everybody, or to answer quick to whatever they said or 
 looked, happy always in the a propos 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 
 dulness 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 — ' / prontessi sposi 
 — look — La belle fiancee.' 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 doorway 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 fianc'ee ' ; 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 
 
 360 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 indiffer- 
 ence ; 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 tem- 
 ple of Jaggernaut — that one strange day in the year, when 
 all castes meet, when all distinction of castes and ranks is for- 
 gotten — the abomination of mixing them all together permitted, 
 for their sins no doubt — high caste and low, from the aban- 
 doned Pariah to the Brahmin prince, from their Billingsgate 
 and Farringdon Without, suppose, up to their St. James's 
 Street and Grosvenor Square, mingle, mingle, ye who mingle 
 may, white spirits and gray, 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 d. Toutrance 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 prescrip- 
 tion; 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 bom 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 conse- 
 quence of these mhalliances.' 
 
 ' True, true,' said Churchill, with a solemn, pathetic shake 
 361 
 
HELEN 
 
 of the head. ' Gentlemen and noblemen should consider be- 
 fore 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 biens^ance. Neces- 
 sity has no law, but it should have some decency. Think of 
 bringing upon a foohsh 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 me tire 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, ' 1 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 ponch,' continued he, ' you 
 know, in London now is quite & la Frangaise, and it is astonish- 
 ing to me, who am but a man, what strong punch ladies can 
 take.' 
 
 ' Only when it is iced,' said Lady Cecilia, smihng. 
 
 ' Be it so,' said he, — ' very refreshing ice, and more re- 
 freshing 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 sajzctorum, 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 fiancee' were implicated ! 
 
 ' Stop here one moment,' cried Churchill, ' one moment 
 longer. Let us see before we are seen. Look in, look in, 
 
 362 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ex- 
 claiming, " You don't say so, my dear Lady Katrine ! " Admir- 
 able 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 Sevign^'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 fiancee'' 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 
 anything 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. 
 
 363 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 preoccupied ; 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 anything dis- 
 tinctly, 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 
 
 364 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 XXXVI 
 
 ' MiLADi a une migranie affreuse this morning,' said Felicie, 
 addressing herself on the stairs to Rose. Mille amitiis de sa 
 pari 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 
 sonnd? 
 
 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 tete-a-tete 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, news- 
 papers 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 
 
 365 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, un- 
 comfortably 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 par- 
 ticularly 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 any one in my family — look to 
 it' 
 
 Cockburn bowed again respectfully, but with a look of reser- 
 vation 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 
 366 
 
HELEN 
 
 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.' 
 Cockbum 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 para- 
 graphs 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 fiancie' and ' / promesst 
 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 farthest 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. 
 
 367 
 
Slie pushed it from her ■with horror. 
 
HELEN 
 
 Whether she heard, whether she could hear him, he was not 
 certain, her head was bent down, her hands clasping her fore- 
 head. 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 anything 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 yours 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 cer- 
 tain 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 ! Oh 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 
 
 2 B 369 
 
HELEN 
 
 — 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 de- 
 tails 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 manu- 
 script 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.' 
 
 ' O 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.' 
 
 ' Oh 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. 
 
 37° 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' They are burned.' 
 
 'AH ? — one, this first letter, I saw you tear; did you bum 
 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,' con- 
 tinued 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 yours. 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 some- 
 body, 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 upstairs to CeciUa'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 gu'est ce que 
 dest ? Man Dieu, qu^est ce que c'est done ? ' 
 
 'Is Lady Cecilia's door bolted withinside?' said Helen. 
 
 ' No, only lock by me,' said Mademoiselle Fehcie. ' Mi- 
 ladi 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. 
 
 371 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 vtystire? 
 
 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 de- 
 ferred. 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 1 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 
 
 372 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 further 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 ! Sevres !— 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 I not flattered though. Do you know 
 it, Blanche — ehf 
 
 It was Beauclerc. Lady Blanche then murmured some 
 
 373 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 'An revoi'r,' 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 Jeal- 
 ousy ? 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 dis- 
 pleased 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 Ceciha ! 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. 
 
 374 
 
HELEN 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 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 license 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 ques- 
 tion, 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 fiancee ' 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 
 
 375 
 
HELEN 
 
 show. Her husband, unsuspicious man, asked no more 
 questions, and only gave her the very advice she vfished him 
 to give, that she should not get up to breakfast — that she 
 should rest as long as she could. Further, 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 un- 
 easiness, 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, unques- 
 tioning, 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 foot- 
 man believed, in her boudoir. To the boudoir Cecilia went, 
 but Lady Castlefort was not there, and Cecilia was surprised 
 
 376 
 
HELEN 
 
 to hear the sound of music in the drawing-room, Lady Castle- 
 fort'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 d clock! What could it be ? thought Lady 
 Ceciha. 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, 
 Had 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 vin- 
 dictive sort, with her there was no long-lasting d^pit 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, \aXi-nonchalant 
 
 377 
 
HELEN 
 
 air, — ' One must make something of a toilette de matin, you 
 know, when one has people to breakfast.' 
 
 ' So elegant, so neghgent ! ' continued Lady Ceciha. 
 
 ' There is the point,' said Lady Castlefort. ' I cannot 
 bear anything 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, Ceciha,' pursued Lady Castlefort, quite 
 in good humour, 'tell me, my dear, to what do I owe this 
 pleasure ? what makes you so 7natinale ? It must be some- 
 thing 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.' 
 
 378 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Is she ? ' said Lady Cecilia, quite indifferent. 
 
 ' Deep blue ! shocking : and this is a blue breakfast, and 
 all the people at it are blue 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 CeciUa, 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 anybody — now anybody ' 
 
 'Anybody 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 ' 
 
 379 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Than heart ! ' Ceciha 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'Angkterre,' of which Felicie always 
 acknowledged the unrivalled potency, did their business effect- 
 ually. 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 constitu- 
 tional ; 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 ' 
 
 380 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 un- 
 conscious of ridicule, fed Poll from her amber bonbonniire, 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 fromessi sposi and belle fiancde 
 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 
 CeciHa, 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 daresay 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.' 
 
 381 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 other- 
 wise, 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 everybody 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 
 382 
 
HELEN 
 
 at a paper these three days ; was there anything 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 has become of newspapers — but he would inquire. 
 While he went to inquire. Lady Castlefort sank down again 
 into her bergire, and again fell into admiration of Cecilia's 
 state of impatience. 
 
 ' How curious you are ! Now I am never really curious 
 about anything 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 charac- 
 terises, 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 ; 
 
 383 
 
Cecilici could not answer- 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 XXXVIII 
 
 The first of these paragraphs caught the eye by its title in 
 capital letters. 
 
 'LA BELLE FIANCEE. 
 
 ' Though quite unknown in the London world, this young 
 lady cannot fail to excite some curiosity among our fashion- 
 ables 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 virtil more. It was reported that the niece 
 was a great heiress, but after the proposal had been made, it 
 was discovered that Virtii had made away with every shilling 
 2 C 385 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 reas07is 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 Roue, 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 
 fiancee, 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 be ! 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 stupefied, 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 3ahie ! ' 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, 
 
 386 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 anybody 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, Ceciha ; Katrine will never forgive me ! ' 
 
 But Lady Cecilia, seizing a penknife, cut the first knot. 
 ' O Ceciha, 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 
 
 387 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 circum- 
 stances 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 
 ihe room. ' Then, Cecilia, you will have time enough, for 
 when once they begin performing, as Sylvester calls it, there is 
 no end of it' 
 
 ' O Heavens ! ' cried Cecilia, as she turned over the pages, 
 ' O 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 ? ' 
 
 ' 1 had a glimpse. Yes — I know more than Katrine thinks 
 I know.' 
 
 ' Oh 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. Oh tell me quick, Louisa ! ' 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 everything 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, Ceciha, not 
 listening to me.' 
 
 ' I am listening, indeed.' 
 
 ' Then never tell how I came to know everything. Katrine's 
 maid has a lover, who is, as she phrases it, one of the gentle- 
 men 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 Ceciha ; ' 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 everything. 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 Roue," and said something about allitera- 
 tion'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.' 
 
 389 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 shop- 
 man : your hands are not made for such work.' 
 
 Anybody 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 with- 
 out 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 ! 
 
 390 
 

 As they Hazed held them down bravely. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pub- 
 lication. 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 
 courtyard, 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 
 be 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 
 
 392 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 grace- 
 fully 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 para- 
 graphs 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.' 
 
 393 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 ex- 
 pect 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 look- 
 ing 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 per- 
 fect 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. 
 
 394 
 
HELEN 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 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 con- 
 sternation, 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 indubi- 
 table, 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. 
 
 395 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 veryquickly 
 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 upstairs to prevent Cecilia's being alarmed. 
 He took the matter coolly ; he had seen many fainting young 
 ladies, he did not like them — his o\'\n 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 
 
 396 
 
HELEN 
 
 in a bad light everything that occurred ; the same appearances 
 which, in his wife, he would have attributed to the sensibiHty 
 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 sank 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 Fehcie, who had now come in, and was 
 
 397 
 
HELEN 
 
 making exclamations, and advising various remedies, all of 
 which, when offered, Helen declined. It was not merely that 
 Felicia'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 understand- 
 ing 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 bystanders. Lady 
 Cecilia understood her look, and dismissed Felicie, with all 
 her smelling-bottles. Rose, though not ordered away, judi- 
 ciously 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 agita- 
 tion obeyed. ' Oh, my dear Helen, some of these the General 
 could not think yours. Very wicked these people have been ! 
 
 398 
 
HELEN 
 
 — 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 — O Cecilia ! every word you recollect — as your con- 
 science 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 over- 
 shadowed, 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 cleariy 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 
 
 399 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 mis- 
 taken : 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. ' 
 
 400 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' Oh, 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 en- 
 treated 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 further suggested that she had better not 
 appear at dinner. 
 
 ' It will be only a family party, some of the General's re- 
 lations. 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 toothache, 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 
 2 D 401 
 
HELEN 
 
 frequently profited, could avail her further than to delay what 
 must be. Passion and character pursue their course unalter- 
 ably, 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 circum- 
 stance 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, ' Claren- 
 don, 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 ma-'fed 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 them- 
 selves prove that they were her own. The truth is not in her.' 
 
 In an agitation, which prevented all power of thought, 
 Ceciha exclaimed, ' She mistook — she mistook ; I could not, 
 I am sure, recollect ; she asked me if I remembered any.' 
 
 402 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 
 everything she does, I find.' 
 
 ' No, no, it is my fault ; everything 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 publi 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.' 
 
 403 
 
n'/f 
 
 Cecilia thought she might venture to speak. 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 XL 
 
 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 
 sgavoir 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, 
 rouk 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 illus- 
 trious 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 
 
 405 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 everything 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 him- 
 self 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, aic 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. 
 
 406 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 nowadays, 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 Httle deaf. So everybody is nowa- 
 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 bom 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.' 
 
 407 
 
HELEN 
 
 '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, 
 ti 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 admira- 
 tion — 'I thought so — Pennant. I said so to myself, for I 
 know so many Pennants — great family resemblance — Great 
 naturahst 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 tak- 
 ing 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.' 
 
 408 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, withdraw- 
 ing 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 eclat — esclandrej 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 
 Roud — friend of mine too — fine fellow as ever breathed- — 
 only a little — you understand ; Colonel D'Aubigny — Poor 
 D'Aubigny, 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 
 
 409 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 downstairs. 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 de- 
 scribed 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 ! ' 
 
 ' 1 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 anything 
 should be done, my dear.' 
 
 Miss Clarendon quite agreed with all this ; indeed she al- 
 most always agreed with this aunt of hers, who, perhaps from 
 the peculiar gentleness of her manner, joined to a simphcity and 
 
 410 
 
A 
 ITo more, thunkyou—no more at f resent, sir: we can call another day— no more.' 
 
HELEN 
 
 sincerity of character she could never doubt, had an ascendency 
 over lier, which no one, at first view, could have imagined. 
 
 They had many country commissions to execute this morn- 
 ing, 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 Stan- 
 ley, 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 anything 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 mis- 
 take 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 agree- 
 able 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 Ceciha's. I 
 will get at the truth.' 
 
 412 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pre- 
 sent occasion was, however, a little disturbed by her know- 
 ledge 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 de- 
 stroyed.' 
 
 ' 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, 
 
 413 
 
HELEN 
 
 even from one most disposed to think well of the person con- 
 cerned — 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 pro- 
 duced : calm, unalterable, looked he ; as though his face had 
 been turned to stone. Lady Cecilia struggled in vain to be 
 composed. ' 1 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.' 
 
 414 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 straightforward question ? ' 
 
 Straightforward 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 counte- 
 nance, 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 ad- 
 dressed ; 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; 
 
 415 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Claren- 
 don's silence — that grim repose, — and well she might. 
 
 ' D'Aubign^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 everything 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 
 Ceciha 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' 
 
 416 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 counte- 
 nance ; and, herself of such a different nature, could not com- 
 prehend 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 
 
 2 E 417 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 re- 
 collection, which permits not the slightest variation of state- 
 ment. Her doubts and her suspicions returned, but she was 
 silent ; and sternly silent she remained the rest of the evening. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 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 
 
 418 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 circum- 
 stances 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 
 
 419 
 
HELEN 
 
 Clarendon had ordered him to dehver into Miss Stanley's own 
 hands. The instant she saw the packet she knew that it con- 
 tained the book J 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 en- 
 closed 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 im- 
 movable 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. In- 
 credible — yet proved — there — there — before her eyes — 
 
 420 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 CoUingwoods 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 inde- 
 pendent. 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 wonder- 
 fully 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 
 
 421 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 jue, I am not 
 
 422 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 con- 
 fidence 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 — O 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 
 
 423 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 m.y 
 account with the assurance that I am sustained by the con- 
 sciousness 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 Cockbum, 
 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 prepara- 
 tion 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 eyehds, 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 past, 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, ' 1 
 cannot see you, Cecilia ! ' 
 
 A voice not Cecilia's, a voice she did not recollect, answered, 
 424 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 daresay 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 condescend- 
 ing ; 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 
 
 425 
 
' Come ! say thai you will' 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 protect- 
 ing 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 ^araitre.' 
 
 But before Helen could go to rest, she must write to Lady 
 427 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 everything 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 XLII 
 
 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. 
 
 428 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 under- 
 stand anything 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 intro- 
 ductions 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 anci subjects which were naturally in- 
 teresting 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 
 
 429 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, notwithstand- 
 ing 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 he;: 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 
 
 430 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 re- 
 quested 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 
 neckcloth with his finger, he added, ' Rascal ! as I always 
 told Beauclerc that he was, and so he will find him — too 
 late.' 
 
 431 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 dis- 
 tinctly, ' To my sister.' 
 
 ' Very well — thank you, at all events.' 
 
 Mrs. Pennant saw that, in General Clarendon's present dis- 
 position 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.' 
 
 432 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 anything 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 anybody 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 eprise, 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 preposses- 
 sion 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 
 2 F 433 
 
Hei>rotisted he knew nothing about il. 
 
HELEN 
 
 Katrine ; — mentioned that one morning, some time 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 un- 
 knowingly perpetrated by the several scandal -mongers con- 
 cerned 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 him- 
 self 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 cer- 
 tain 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 everything 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 
 
 435 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 impli- 
 cated in such a publication would avenge her rejection of him- 
 self, 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 blase, 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, 
 
 436 
 
HELEN 
 
 There was a dread interval. And it was during the re- 
 mainder 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 with- 
 out 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 vrith 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 cir- 
 cumstances. 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 XLIII 
 
 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 
 
 437 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 nowadays 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 un- 
 conscionably long nap either. No difficulties on the road, no- 
 thing 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 anything till they came within a few miles of 
 Llansillen ; then, endeavouring to sympathise with her com- 
 panions, 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 inexpress- 
 ibly 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 ac- 
 
 438 
 
HELEN 
 
 knowledge 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 difBculty 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 Claren- 
 don'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 con- 
 valescent. 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 in- 
 ternal 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 con- 
 sidered 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 u. right to claim Helen back again. This under- 
 lined 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. 
 
 439 
 
HELEN 
 
 One of her letters mentioned what she would have seen in 
 the first newspaper she had opened, that Lady Blanche For- 
 rester 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 some time, 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, ' Ah ! 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 / dare to say these words to you ? /, who am perhaps a mur- 
 derer ! I ought to imitate your generosity, I ought not to offer 
 you a hand stained with blood : — 1 ought at least to leave you 
 free till 1 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' 
 440 
 
HELEN 
 
 The next day, when she thought Helen sufificiently recovered 
 from the agitation of reading Beauclerc's letter, aunt Pennant 
 produced one letter more, which she had kept for the last, be- 
 cause 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 
 despatch 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 back, 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 Petersburg, as she was obliged to send off her 
 letter before she had received any despatches 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 post- 
 script 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.' 
 
 441 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 
 
 442 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 win- 
 dow 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 re- 
 proachful 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. 
 
 443 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 pro- 
 voking sometimes in perfect submission, because it is unanswer- 
 able. But the languor, 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 ac- 
 knowledged 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 I cannot be glad.' 
 
 General Clarendon's bulletins continued with little variation 
 for some time ; they were always to his sister — he never 
 
 444 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 soothe, 
 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 mild- 
 ness 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. 
 
 445 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 per- 
 ceived 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 
 agoing, 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 wit- 
 nessed it ; it would have done her good to the latest hour of 
 
 446 
 
Giving a shove to the work-box (?« the table. 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 overwhelmed by disappointment, so closed against hope of 
 happiness, that will not open to the touch of gratitude. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 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 ap- 
 proached, 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, 
 
 448 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' You will see, ma'am, the child will be born in good time, 
 and alive. You who have always been so niuch 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 handwriting, and it was to Helen herself, and 
 it extinguished all hope. Helen could only articulate, ' O 
 Cecilia ! ' 
 
 Her emotion, her disappointment, were visible, but un- 
 accountable : 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 further 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 
 2 G 449 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 hers to them, and it is hard work trying to make 
 objects for oneself in quite a new place, and with a preoc- 
 cupying sorrow in the mind all the time. It was not only 
 hard work to Helen, but it seemed labour in vain — bringing 
 soil by handfuls 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 
 meantime 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.' 
 
 45° 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 win try — you shall see, my dear Esther, by and by.' 
 
 ' By and by ! 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 yours, 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 
 
 451 
 
HELEN 
 
 niece in tliese points as nature and habit joined could pro- 
 duce. 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 in- 
 compatible difference between this aunt and niece, the founda- 
 tions 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 -t London life. 
 
 One day when Helen was sitting intently drawing, JMiss 
 Clarendon said ' Helen ! ' so suddenly that she started and 
 looked round ; Miss Clarendon was seated on a low stool at 
 
 452 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 unimpeach- 
 able 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 ^3.1, 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.' 
 
 453 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 banish- 
 ment immediately. 
 
 454 
 
HELEN 
 
 Quite taken up in the first tumult of her feelings at this 
 intelligence, Helen scarcely observed that she had no letter 
 from CeciUa. 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. Cockbum, 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, con- 
 taining 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 Petersburg 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. Elliott 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. 
 
 455 
 
' Front General Clarendon, ma'am. ' 
 
HELEN 
 
 There was nothing from Lady CeciHa. Cockbum 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 determina- 
 tion. 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 Cockbum 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 
 Ceciha 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 explan- 
 ation of all that had occurred in her absence. And how would 
 Lady Cecilia be able to meet her mother's penetration ? — ill 
 
 457 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 conceiv- 
 able speed. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 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 
 
 4S8 
 
HELEN 
 
 — 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. O 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 Ceciha just as she seemed to 
 have gathered power to speak, and begged that she would not 
 tell her anything 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 feehng — 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 — 
 
 ' O 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 reaHty ; my mind is more altered than my person. 
 O Helen ! if you could see into my mind at this moment, 
 
 459 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 happi- 
 ness, but still conscious of deserving both : I had both 
 at my command, and I could enjoy neither under the con- 
 sciousness, 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. 1 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 conse- 
 quences 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 counte- 
 nance 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 1 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 
 A'enomous cousin had circulated, and he only admired what 
 
 460 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 everybody 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 used 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 icarU ; 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 in- 
 dulged- — 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 
 
 461 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 un- 
 fortunate 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 
 
 462 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 tjie 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 encourage- 
 ment 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 L 
 
 ' 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 en- 
 deavouring 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 
 
 463 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 1 ; "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 counte- 
 nance, and I put up my fan as if the lights hurt me. 
 
 ' " Cecilia," said he, " take care what you are about. Re- 
 member, 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 onl)' 
 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 \vhy 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 re- 
 collect ? ' 
 
 'Perfectly,' said Helen, ' and your mother missed it.' 
 
 ' Yes,' continued Lady Cecilia. ' Oh that I had had the 
 464 
 
HELEN 
 
 sense to do nothing about it ! But I was so afraid of its 
 somehow bringing everything to hght ; 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 meantime 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 — O 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 con- 
 2 H 465 
 
' Clarendon stood opposite to me ! 
 
HELEN 
 
 versation, 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 hand, 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 horse's 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. 
 O 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, 
 
 467 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 Ceciha, 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 en- 
 durable, 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 
 pianoforte 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; '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 downstairs ; 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.' 
 
 468 
 
HELEN 
 
 Lady Davenant broke from her, and pressing forwards ex- 
 claimed, ' 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 chimneypiece, 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 sucli as I might have had, but that is my 
 own fault.' 
 
 ' O mother ! 
 
 ' I have still a daughter ! ' repeated Lady Davenant. ' There 
 469 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 approba- 
 tion 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 fixed- 
 ness of his face returning at once — 'Yes, Lady Cecilia 
 Clarendon, we separate, now and for ever.' 
 
 Then turning from her, he addressed Lady Davenant. ' 1 
 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-sup- 
 pressed passion suddenly bursting forth, he turned to Ceciha. 
 ' All 1 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. 
 
 470 
 
HELEN 
 
 Then Lady Davenant, taking her daughter in her arms, 
 said, ' My child, return to me ! ' 
 
 She sank back exhausted. Mrs. EHiott 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 XLVI 
 
 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, be- 
 fore 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, confi- 
 dence 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 Jae 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 
 
 471 
 
HELEN 
 
 publicly marked, Beauclerc to be convinced of her perfect 
 innocence ! Beauclerc, freed from all fear and danger, return- 
 ing 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 con- 
 sequences ; 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 further 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 per- 
 fect. 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 circum- 
 stance in Cecilia's confession, and showed how, in the midst 
 of the shock she had felt at the disclosure of so much false- 
 hood, 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 reforma- 
 
 472 
 
HELEN 
 
 tion ; 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 degrada- 
 tion 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 
 arriere-ban of weak reasons : you mean to say that the sight 
 of my sufferings must strengthen, must confirm, all her prin- 
 ciples — 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 CeciHa — how did she feel ? Wretched she was, but 
 still in her wretchedness there was within her a relieved con- 
 science 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 sym- 
 pathy, 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 
 
 473 
 
HELEN 
 
 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, 
 CeciUa 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 
 
 474 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 accom- 
 plished ; 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 sus- 
 pense — 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 pro- 
 nounced. 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 Beau- 
 clerc 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 chimneypiece 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 
 
 475 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 re- 
 covered 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 recol- 
 lected in time, that 
 
 ' Anger is like 
 
 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 re- 
 turned 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 atone- 
 ment 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 cele- 
 brated 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 
 
 476 
 

 ' Von see I am a marked mati ; / always ■wished to be i 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 Bel- 
 travers, 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 in- 
 comprehensible ; 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 im- 
 
 478 
 
HELEN 
 
 possible 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 " ; i 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. 
 
 ' 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 everything — 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 
 
 1 Lord Mahon. 
 
 479 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 — 
 a 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 dehghted 
 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 his 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 v,\l\ 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 thgy 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 
 
 480 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 l^lind 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 XLVII 
 
 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 
 2 I 481 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 dis- 
 covered 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 every- 
 body 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 con- 
 strained 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 her- 
 self 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. CymonAefore the sun goes down.' 
 
 482 
 
HELEN 
 
 Now Lady Davenant had Madame de St. Cymon com- 
 pletely 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, 
 teU 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 part- 
 ing 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 parapher- 
 nalia 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. 
 
 Fehcie'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 
 
 483 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 at- 
 tendance upon her mother, and thankful that she was so per- 
 mitted 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 break- 
 fast in a public company, — altogether painful as it must be, 
 yet she looked forward to it with a sort of longing ardent im- 
 patience. ' 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 
 
 484 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 1 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 con- 
 fession ? ' 
 
 ' 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, un- 
 worthily. There is, mother, as you said, as 1 feel, a sus- 
 taining, 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, 
 CeciUa. 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 ? ' 
 
 485 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' And why, my child, did I not sooner know you ? The 
 fauh 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 imagin- 
 able ' ; 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 
 
 486 
 
HELEN 
 
 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 con- 
 versation 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 concern- 
 
 487 
 
HELEN 
 
 ing 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 fwwer and threvi' 
 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 1 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 ' 
 
She joined their hands. 
 
HELEN 
 
 ' 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 ! ' 
 
 THE END 
 
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INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Abrahams (I.). . . 42 
 Abbev(£. A,j . . 15,47 
 Abbot (F. E.) . . . 42 
 Abbott (E. A.) 6, 17, 38, 39, 42 
 Acton (Lord) . . .11 
 Adams (Sir F. O.) . . 36 
 Addison . . 4, 24, 25 
 
 JEsop. ... 14, 48 
 Agassiz (L.) ... 4 
 AiNGER (Rev. A.) 5, 20, 27, 42 
 Ainslie(A. D.). . . i^ 
 Airy (Sir G. B.) . 3, 34 
 AiTKEN (Mary C.) . . 25 
 AiTKEN (Sir W.) , . 30 
 Albemarle (Earl of) . 4 
 Aldous (J. C. P.) . 40, 41 
 Aldrich{T.B.) . . 17 
 Alexander (C. F.) . 17, 25 
 Alexander (T.) . 10 
 
 Alexander (Bishop) . 4^ 
 Allbutt(T.C.) . . 28 
 Allen (G.) ... 7 
 Allingham (W.) . , 25 
 Amiel(H.F.) ... 4 
 Anderson (A.^ . , * ^7 
 Anderson (L.). . . 2 
 Anderson (Dr. McCall) . 28 
 Andrews (C. M,) . . n 
 Andrews (Dr. Thomas) . 33 
 Appleton (T. G.) . . 4"- 
 Archer-Hind (R.D.) . 4*^ 
 Arnold(M.)9, 17,24,25,38,39 
 Arnold (Dr. T. ) . .11 
 Arnold (W.T.) , .11 
 Ashley (W. J.). , 4, 35 
 Atkinson ((>. F.) • • 7 
 
 Atkinson ij. B.l 
 
 on (Rev. J. C. 
 
 Atkinson {kev. J. C.) 2, 4S 
 Attwell (H.) . . .25 
 Austen (Jane) . , . 21 
 Austin (Alfred) 10, 17, 24 
 
 AUTENRIETH (GcOtg) . O 
 
 Awdry(F.) ... 48 
 Bacon (Francis) . 4. 24, 2"; 
 Badenoch (L. N.) . 30, 50 
 Bailey (L. H.) , . 10 
 Baines (Rev. K.) . . 4a 
 Baker (Sir S.W.)4, 36, 37.47.48 
 Balch (Elizabetl ) . .14 
 Baldwin (Prof. J. M.) , 33 
 Balfour (F. M.) . . 7 
 Balfour (J. B.) . .7 
 Ball (J.) . . .47 
 
 Ball (W, Piatt) . . 7 
 Ball <W. W. R.) . 15, 28 
 Ballancb (C. A.) . . 28 
 Barker (G. F.) . . 3s 
 Barker (Lady) . 2, 9, 47i 48 
 Barlow (J.) . . i4» 48 
 Barnard (C.) . . 34 
 
 Barnard (F. A. P.). . 4 
 Barnes (R. H.) . . 5 
 Barnes (W.) ... 4 
 Barnett (E. a.) . 9, 37 
 Barry (A.) ... 42 
 Bartholomew <J. G.) 3 
 
 Bartlktt (J.) . 9. 17 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Barwell (R.) . . .28 
 Bastable (Prof. C. F.) . 35 
 Bateman (J.) ... 4 
 Bates (K. L.) . . , 24 
 Bateson (W.) . , 7 
 
 Bath (Marquis of) . . 36 
 Bather (Archdeacon) . 42 
 Baxter (L.) ... 4 
 BEESLY(Mrs.) . . 5, II 
 Behrens (H.) ... 8 
 Benedikt (R.) . . 38 
 
 Benham (R^v.W.) . 6, 2s, 4f 
 Benson (Archl^i liop) . 42 
 Benson (w. A. S.) . ^, 38 
 Bentley .... 4 
 Berg (L.) . . , ,10 
 Berlioz (H.) ... 4 
 Bernard (C. E.) . . 4 
 Bernard (J. H.) . .33 
 Bernard (H. M.) . 7,35 
 Bernard (M.) . . .15 
 BERNAF^oiX. D.) , . 42 
 
 Berners (J.) . . .14 
 BESANT{Sir W.) . , 4 
 Bettanv (G. '\ .) , .7 
 
 BlCKERTON (T. H.) . . 28 
 
 Bigelow(M. M.) . . 15 
 
 BlK^LAS (D.) . . .21 
 
 Btnnie (Rev. W.) . . 42 
 
 BlRRELL (A.) . . .15 
 
 BiKKS (T. R.) 7, 32, 39, 42 
 
 BjORNSON (B ) . . .21 
 
 Black (W.) ... 5 
 Blackburnb(E.) . 4 
 
 Blackie (J. S.) .11, 17, 24 
 
 Blake (J. F.) ... 3 
 Blake (W.) ... 4 
 Blakiston (J. R.) . . 9 
 Blanford(H. F.) . 10,34 
 Blanford (W. T.) . 11,30 
 Blennerhassett(R.) . 47 
 Blom field (R.) . . 10 
 Blyth(A.W.). . . 14 
 B6HM-BAWERK(Prof.) , 35 
 Boldrewood (Rolf). . 21 
 Bonar (J.) . . 3. 5, 35 
 Bond (Rev. J.). , . 39 
 Boole (G.) , . .32 
 Booth (C.) . , .37 
 Porgeaud(C). . . 15 
 Borrow (G.) . . .21 
 Bosanquet(B.) . 32.37 
 Bose(W. P. diO . . 43 
 
 BOOGHTON (G. H.) , . 47 
 
 BOUTMY (E.) . . .15 
 
 Bowen(H.C.). . . 31 
 
 Rower (F. O.) . . 7 
 
 Bradford (A. H.) . . 42 
 
 Bradford (G.). . • 24 
 
 Bradley (A G.) . . 4 
 
 Brett (R. B ) . . .11 
 
 Bridges (J. A.). . ■ 24 
 
 Bright fH. A.). . . 10 
 
 Bright (John) . • ' 36 
 
 Brimley(G.) . • •34 
 
 Brodie (Sir B.). . . 8 
 
 Brodribb (W. J.) . 16, 46 
 
 FAGB 
 
 Brooke (Sir J.) . . 4 
 
 Brooke (S. A.). 16,17, 26,42 
 
 Brooks (Bishop) . 42, 47 
 
 Brown (Prof. C.) . . 33 
 
 Brown (J. A.) . . . i 
 
 Brown (Dr. James) ■ . 4 
 
 Brown (T. E.) . ,17 
 
 Browne (J. H. E.) , 14 
 
 Browne (Sir T.) . . 25 
 
 Bruce (P. A.) . . 12, 35 
 BRUNTON(Dr.T.L.) 28,29,42 
 
 Bryce (James) . . 11, 36 
 
 Bochheim (C. A.) , . 25 
 
 Buckland (A.). . 6, 36 
 
 Buckley (A. B ) . . za 
 
 BucKNiLL (Dr. J. C ) .29 
 
 BucKTON (G. B.) . . 50 
 
 BUNVAN . . .4, 24, 35 
 
 BURDETT (C. W. B.). . 38 
 
 Burgon(J.W.) . . 17 
 Burke (E.) ... 36 
 Burn (R.). ... 2 
 Burnett (F. Hodgson) . 21 
 Burns ... 17, 25 
 Bury (J. B) ... 12 
 Butcher (Prof. S. H.) 
 
 16, 24, 46 
 Butler (A. J.). . 17146 
 Butler (Rev. G.) . . 4a 
 Butler fSamuel) , . 17 
 Butler (Archer) . . 4a 
 Butler (Sir W. F.) . .4 
 Buxton (Mrs. S.) , . 38 
 Byron .... 25 
 Cairnes (J. E.) . 35, 36 
 Cajori (F.) ... 28 
 Caldecott (R.) . 15, 48 
 Calderon . . .17 
 Calderwood (H.) 7, 9, 32, 33 
 Calderwood(W. L.) , 49 
 Callaway (Bishop). . 4 
 Calvert (Rev. A.) . . 39 
 Cameron (V. L.) . , 47 
 Campbell (D. H ) . . 7 
 Campbell (Sir G.) . . 4 
 Campbell (J. D.) . 4, 18 
 Campbell (J. F.) . . 47 
 Campbell (Dr. J, M.) . 42 
 Campbell (Prof. Lewis) 5, 16 
 Cantillon ... 35 
 Capes (W.W.). , . 16 
 Carles (W.R.) . . 47 
 Caelyle(T.) ... 4 
 Carmarthen (Lady) 21 
 
 Carnarvon (Earl of) . 46 
 Carnot (N. L. G.) . . 34 
 Carpenter (Bishoo) . 42 
 Carr(J.C.) . . 2, 17 
 Carroll (Lewis) . 32, 48 
 Carter (R. Brudenell) . 29 
 Cassel (Dr. D.) . . la 
 Cattel (J. McK.) . . 33 
 Cautlev(G.S.) . . 17 
 Cazenove (J.G.) . . 4a 
 Chalmers U- A.) , , n 
 Chalmers (J. B.) , , 10 
 Chalmers (M. D.) . , 36 
 
52 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGB 
 47 
 17 
 30 
 39 
 37 
 6, 17 
 
 Chanler (W. a.) . 
 Chapman (Elizabeth R.) 
 ChappelhW.). 
 Chase (.Rev. F. H.). 
 Chasserksse (Diana) 
 Chaucer . . . : 
 Cheetham (Archdeacon). 
 Cherry (R. K.) 
 Cheyne (C. H. H.) . .3 
 Cheyne (T. K.) . . 39 
 Chirol(V.) . , .36 
 Christik (W. D.) 
 Church (Rev. A. j.),4,i6,^8,46 
 Church (F. J.). . 20,46 
 Church (R. W.). 
 
 , S< 6, 12, 17, 24, 41, 42 
 
 • 35 
 . 25 
 
 • 3 
 . 37 
 
 Clare (G.) 
 Clark Q. W.) . 
 
 iO| 35 
 5 
 
 24. 31 
 
 . 49 
 
 18, 24, 25 
 
 36 
 
 Clark 
 Clark (R ) 
 
 Clark (S.) 
 Clark (T. M.). 
 Clarke (C.T^.) 
 Cleveland (Duchess) 
 Clifford (Ed.) 
 Clifford (W. K.) . 
 Clifford (Mrs. W. K ) 
 Clough (A H.) 
 COBDEN (R ) . 
 Cohen (J. B.) . 
 Cole (G. A. G.) 
 
 COLENSO(J. W.) 
 
 Coleridge (C.R.) . 
 Coleridge (S. T.) . 
 Collier (Hon. John) 
 Collins (C ) . 
 Collins ( J . Churton) 
 Colquhoun (F. S.) . 
 CoLViN (Sidney) 
 Combe fG.) 
 
 C0MEV(A. M.). 
 
 Commons (J. R.) 
 CONGREVE (Rev. J.) . 
 Conway (Hugh) 
 Cook (E. T.) 
 Cooke (A. H.) . 
 Cooke (C. Kinloch) . 
 Cooke (J- P-) • 
 Cooper (E. H.) 
 
 CORBETT (J.) 
 
 Corfield (W. H.) . 
 Cornish (F.) . 
 Corson (H ) . . 
 COSSA (L.) 
 Cotes (E.). 
 
 COTTERlLL (J. H.) . 
 
 Cotton (Bishop) 
 Cotton (C.) 
 Cotton (J. S.) . 
 COUES (E.) 
 COURTHOPE (W. J.) . 
 COWELL (G.) 
 COWPER 
 
 Cox (G. V.) 
 CRAiK(Mrs.) 18,21,24,55,47,48 
 Craik (H.) . 6, 10, 24, 36 
 Crane (Lucv) . • •47 
 Crane (Walter) . . 47 
 Craven (Mrs. D.) , . g 
 Crawford fF M 1 .14, 21, 21 
 Crawshaw (W. H.). . 24 
 Creighton (Bishop M.) 5, 17 
 
 CRICHTON-BROWNE(SirJ.) 1 
 
 Cross (J. A.) . . . 38 
 Crossket (R.) • • > 14 
 
 , 21, 4B 
 
 43 
 
 • A3 
 
 • 15 
 
 . 36 
 . . =0 
 • A, 16, 24 
 
 • 29 
 .18, 24, 25 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Crosslev (E.) ... 3 
 Crosslev (H.) . , .46 
 
 Gumming (L.) . • • 33 
 
 Cunliffe (J. W.) , . 24 
 
 Cunningham (C.) . • 36 
 Cunningham (Sir H, S.) 
 
 Cunningham (Rev. J.) . 40 
 
 CUNNINGHAM(ReV.W)40,4I,,3 
 CUNVNGHAME (Sir A. T.) 
 
 CTiRTEis(Rev. G. H.) . 
 
 CURTIN (J.) 
 
 D'Arcy(C. F.). 
 Dabbs(G. H. R.) . 
 Dahlstrom (K. p.). 
 Dahn (F.) 
 Dakvns(H. G.) , . 46 
 Dale(A.W.W.) . . 40 
 
 DALTON(Rev. J.N.) 
 Daniell (Alfred), . - 33 
 Dante . . .4, 17, 46 
 Dasent (a. I.). 
 Davidson (Bishop) . 41, 43 
 Davies (Rev. J. Ll.X 4 43 
 Davies(W.^ . . (.,4 J 
 Davis (R. H.) . . -^i 
 
 Dawkins(W.B.) . I 
 
 Dawson (G. M.) . . 11 
 Dawson (Sir J. W.) . . 11 
 Dawson (W. J.) . . 18 
 Day (L. B.) . , . 21 
 Dav(R.E.) ... 33 
 Dean (A.). , . .10 
 Dean (B.). . . .49 
 Defoe (D.) . . 5, 15 
 Degerdon (W. E.) . . 38 
 Deighton (K.). Si iQi 24, 37 
 Delamotte (P. H.). . 3 
 Delbos (L.) . . .31 
 Dell(E. C.) ... 14 
 De Morgan (M.) . 48 
 
 Deussen(P.) . . . 32 
 De Quatrffages (A.) . i 
 De Rousiers (P.) . . 35 
 De Varigny(H.) 7 
 
 De Vere(A.) . . 18, 24 
 D'ISRAELI (B.). . . 22 
 Dicey (A. V.) , . 15, 36 
 Dickens (C.) . . 21, 24 
 
 DiLKENS (M. A.) , 22, 24 
 
 DlGGLE(Rev.J. W.). . 43 
 Dilke (Ashton W.) . . 24 
 DiLKE (Sir Charles W.) 30, 36 
 Dillwvn (E. a.) . . 22 
 Dobbin (L.) ... 8 
 DoBSON (A.) . , 5. 14 
 Donaldson (J.) . . 41 
 
 DONISTHORPE (W.) . . 36 
 
 Dorr (J. C. R.) . . 47 
 
 Douglas (Theo.) . . 22 
 
 DowDEN (E.) 5, 17, 19, 26 
 
 Doyle f Sir F. H.) . . 18 
 
 Dovle h. A.) . . .12 
 
 Drage(G.) . . .37 
 
 Drake (B.) . . .46 
 
 DRUMMOND(Prof. J.) . 43 
 
 Dryden . . . . S5 
 
 Du Cane(E. F.) . . ^6 
 DuFF(Sir M. E. G.) 6, 25, 36, 47 
 
 Duncan (S. J.). . . 22 
 
 DuNSMUIR (a.). . .22 
 
 DOntzer (H.) . . . 5, 6 
 DuRAND (Sir M.) . , 22 
 Dver(L.). . . 2, 35 
 Dver(H.J. ... 37 
 Eadie(J.). . . 4, 38, 40 
 
 Earl (A.) . 
 Eastlake (Lady) . 
 Ebers(G.) 
 ECCLES (A. S.) . 
 Edgeworth (Prof. F. Y.). 
 Edgeworth (M.) , 
 Edmunds (Dr. W.) 
 
 PAGB 
 . 33 
 
 29 
 
 35 
 
 28 
 
 EDWARDs-Moss(Sir J. E.) 38 
 
 Ehlers (E. S.). . . 29 
 EiMER(G. H. T.) . , 7 
 Elderton (W. A.) . II 
 
 Ellerton (Rev. J.), . 43 
 Elliott (Hon. A.) . . 36 
 Ellis (A.). . . 20, 25 
 Ellis (T.). • . 3 
 
 Emerson (R. W.) . 4, 25 
 Emerson (O. F.) . . 31 
 Erman (A.) ... a 
 Evans (Lady) . . a 
 
 Evans (S.) ... 18 
 Everett (J. D.) . . 33 
 Falconer (Lance) . . 22 
 Farrar (Archd.) 6, 39, 43 
 
 t-'ARRER (SirT. H.) . 36 
 
 Fasnacht (G. E.) . . 25 
 Faulkner (F.). . . 8 
 Fawcett (Prof. H.) . 35, 37 
 Fawcett (Mrs. H.) . 6, 35, 77 
 Fay (Amy) . . 30 
 
 Fayrer (Sir J.). . , 14 
 Fearnley (W.) . , 34 
 Fearon (D. R.) , . 10 
 Ferrel (W.) . . .34 
 Fessenden (C.) . . 33 
 Field (Mrs. E. M.). . 22 
 Field (Rev. T.) . . 12 
 FlELDE (A M.). . . 14 
 Finck(H.T.) . . 1 
 
 Fisher (Rev. O.) . . 33 
 FisKE(J.). 7, 12, 32, 37, 43 
 Fison(L.). ... 1 
 Fitch U-G.) ... 10 
 FiTZ Gerald (Caroline) . 18 
 Fitzgerald (Edward) 18, 25 
 Fitzmaurice (Lord E ) 6 
 
 Flagg(A. T.) . 
 Fleischer (E ). 
 Fleming (G.) . 
 Florv(M. A.) , 
 Flower (Sir W.H.). 
 FlOckiger(F.A.) . 
 
 31 
 S 
 
 23 
 
 3 
 49 
 
 29 
 
 35 
 
 . 47 
 
 43 
 
 47 
 
 Fonda (A. J.) 
 Forbes (A.) . . 4 
 Forbes (Rev. G.) . 
 Forbes-Mitchell (W.) 5, 
 FoRTESCUE (Hon. J. W.).4,3o 
 Foster (Prof. M.) . 7,34,3s 
 Foster-Melliar(A.) . 10 
 
 FOTHEEGILL {Ut. J. M.) 9, 2g 
 
 FowLE (Rev. T. ^ 
 Fowler (Rev. T.) 
 Fowler (W.W.) .a, 
 Fox(T. W.) . 
 Fox (Dr. Wilson) 
 Foxell (W. J.) 
 FoxwELL (Prof. H. S) 
 Framji (D.) , 
 Francis (F.) . 
 Frankland (P. F.) . 
 Franklin (W. S.) . 
 Eraser (Mrs ) . 
 Fraser (Bishop) 
 Fraser-Tytler (C. C.) 
 Frazer (J. G.) . 
 French (G. R.) 
 
 36,43 
 
 5i 3a 
 
 25. 30 
 
 38 
 
 39 
 
 36 
 
 33 
 48 
 43 
 x8 
 z 
 17 
 
INDEX. 
 
 53 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Trbeman (Prof. E. A.) 
 
 , =1 Si 12, 37. 40 
 Friedmann (p.) . , 4 
 -Froissart . . .25 
 Frost (A. B.) ... 48 
 FroudeQ. A.), . . 4 
 
 FULLERTON (W. M.) . 47 
 
 FURNIVALL (F.J.) . . 18 
 
 Fwfe(C. A.) . . .12 
 Fvfe(H. H.) . . .1, 
 Oaironer (J.) ... 5 
 'Gaisford (H.) . , .10 
 
 •GaLT (J.) . . . .23 
 
 Galton (F.) ... 1 
 Gamgke (Arthur) . . 33 
 'Gardner (E.) . . . z 
 Gardner (Percy) . . 2 
 Garnett (R.) . . 18 
 
 -Garnett^W.) , . . 5 
 ■Gaskell (Mrb.) . . 14 
 Gaskoin (Mrs. H.) . . 38 
 Geddes(W. D.) . 17, <6 
 •Gee(H.) .... 40 
 Gee(W.W.H.) . 33 34 
 GB;iKiE(SirA.). 4,5,6,11,34 
 Gennadius (T.) , 21 
 
 Gendng (J. r.) . . 17 
 -George (H. B.) . . so 
 Gibbins(H. de B.) . .12 
 Gibbon (CHarlfs) . . 4 
 
 ■GiDDING (F. H.) . . 37 
 
 Gillies (H. C.) . . 29 
 Gilchrist (A.). , . 4 
 Giles (P.). ... 31 
 -Oilman (N. P.) . 35 37 
 GiLMOKt (Rev. J.) . . 16 
 Gladstone (Dr. J. H.) 8, 10 
 Gladstone (W. E.) . . 17 
 Glaister (E.) . . . 2, 9 
 •Glover (E.) . . . 43 
 Godfrav (H.) ... 3 
 Godkin(G. S.). . . 6 
 Goethe . 5, 14, x8, 25 
 
 "Goldie(T.) ... 37 
 Goldsmith 5. 14, 18, 25, 26 
 ■Gonner(E. C. K.) . . II 
 
 GOODFELLOW (J.) . . 14 
 
 G00DN0W(F. J.) . . I! 
 
 Gordon (General C. G.) . 5 
 Gordon (Lady Duff) . 47 
 •Gordon (H.) . . .33 
 GosLHEN (Rt. Hon. G. J.). 35 
 OossE (Edmund) . 5, 16 
 Gow(J.) .... 2 
 ■Gow(W.) ... 31 
 
 Gracian (Balthasat) . 25 
 Graham (D.) . . .18 
 Graham (J. W.) . . 22 
 Grand'homme (E.) . . 9 
 ■Grane (W. L.). . . 43 
 <Jrant(C.) . . .22 
 Gray (Prof. Andrew) . 34 
 Gray (Asa) . . 7,26 
 'Grat . . . 5f 18, 26 
 •Gray (J. L.) ... 26 
 •Gregory (R. A.) . 3, 33 
 Green (J. R.) 11, 12, 14. 25. 26 
 Green (Mrs. J. K.) . s, 11, 12 
 Green (W. S.) . . . 47 
 Greenhill (W. a.) . . 25 
 ■Greenwood (F.) . . 26 
 Greenwood (J. E.) . . 48 
 
 GEENFELL(MrS.) . . 9 
 
 Griffiths (W. H.) . . 29 
 ■Gkimm .... 48 
 
 PAGE 
 II, 30 
 
 33. 34 
 
 Grove (Sir G.) . 
 Guest (E.) 
 Guest (M.J.) . 
 Guillbmin (A.) 
 GuizoT (F. P. G.) . . (J 
 Gunton (G.) . - . 35 
 Gwatkin (H. M.) . . 40 
 Halle (E. von) . . 35 
 Hales (J. W.). 18,21,25,20 
 Hallwaed (R. F.l . . I 
 Hambrton (P. G.ji . 3, 15, z6 
 Hamilton (Prof. D. J .J . 29 
 Hamilton (J.). . . 43 
 Hanburv (D.) . . 7,29 
 Hannav (David) . . 4 
 Harden (A.) ... 9 
 Hardwick (Archd. C.) 40, 43 
 Hardy (A. S.) ... 22 
 Hardy (W. J.). . . 40 
 Hare (A. W.) ... 26 
 Hare (J. C.) ... 43 
 Harker (A.) ... '4 
 Harris (Rev. G. C.). . 4 1 
 Harrison (F.) . 5, 6, 12, 15, 26 
 Harrison (Miss J.) . . 2 
 Harte (Bret) . , . 22 
 Hartig (Dr. R.) . .7 
 Hartley (Prof. W.N.) . b 
 
 HaSSALL (A.) . , . T2 
 
 Hatch (F.J.) j , . 11 
 Hauser(K.) ... 5 
 Hawkins (H. P.) . . 29 
 Haves (A.) . . 18 
 
 Headlam (A. C.) . .2 
 Headley (F. W.) . 30, =0 
 Heavisidk (O.) . -4 
 
 Helm(E.). ... 35 
 Helps (Sir A.) . . .26 
 Hempel (Dr. W.) . . 8 
 Henley (W. E.) . . 15 
 Herman (H.) . . .23 
 Herodotus . • .46 
 Herrick .... 26 
 Herrmann (G.) • . 10 
 Hertel (Dr.) ... 10 
 Hertz (H.) ... 34 
 HiCKiE (W. J.). . . 39 
 Higinbotham (C. J.) . 5 
 Hill (D.J.) ... 32 
 Hill (F. Davenport) . 37 
 Hill (O.) .... 37 
 Hill(G. B.) ... 12 
 Hiorns (A. H.) . 29, 30 
 HoBART (Lord) . . 26 
 Hobday (E.) . . .10 
 Hodgson (Rev. J. T.) . 5 
 Hoffding (Prof. H.) . 33 
 Hoffman (W. J.) . .1 
 Hofmann (A. W.) . . 8 
 Hole (Rev. C.). . 9, 12 
 Holiday (Henry) . . 48 
 Holland (T. E.) . 15. 37 
 TTollway-Caltheop (H.) 48 
 Holm (A.). . . i3 
 
 Holmes (O.W.iJunr.) . is 
 Homer . . 17. 4' 
 
 Hood(T.V ... 15 
 Hooker (Sir J. D.) . 7. 47 
 HOOLB (C. H.) . . . 39 
 Hooper (G.) ... 4 
 Hooper (W.H.) . . 3 
 Hopkins (E.) ... 18 
 Hoppus (M. A. M.) . . 22 
 Horace . . 17, 25, 46 
 Hort (F. J. A.)Si 39, 40, 41, 43 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Horton (Hon. S. D.) . 35 
 HOSKEN (J- D.) . . 18 
 
 HOVENDEN (R. M.) . . 46 
 
 Howell (George) . 15, 35 
 Howes (G. B.) . . 35, 49 
 Howitt(A. W.) . . I 
 HowsoN (Very Rev. J. S.) 41 
 Hozier (Col. H. M.). . 30 
 H0BNER (Baron) . . 47 
 Hughes (T.) 
 
 4, 5, 18, 22, 26, 41, 43, 47 
 Huddilston (J. H.) . 39 
 Hull(E.) . . 2,11 
 Hullah (J.) . . 2, 25, 30 
 H u MPHRV(Prof. SirG. M. ) 35,49 
 Hunt (Rev. W.) . . « 
 Hunt(W.) ... 3 
 Hutchinson (G. W. C.) . 3 
 Hutton (K. H.) 5, 26 
 
 HUTTON (Rev. W. H.) . 5 
 Huxley (T) 
 
 5, 26, 32, 35. 34, 35, 37, 49 
 Hyde (W. de W.) . . 43 
 1 LLl ngworth (Rev. J. R.) 43 
 Impey(S. P.) ... 29 
 Ingram (T.U.) . . 13 
 Ireland (A.) . . .26 
 Irving (H ) . . .20 
 Irving (J.) . . .11 
 Irving (Washington) . is 
 Jack (A. A.) . . 17 
 
 Jackson (D. C.) . . 34 
 Jackson (F. G.) . . 47 
 Jackson (Helen) . . 22 
 Jacob (Rev. J. A.) . 43 
 
 Jacous(J.) . .14,25,47 
 James (Henry). . 5, 22, 26 
 James (Rev. H.) . . 43 
 James (Prof. W.) . . 33 
 JARDINE (Rev. R.) . . 33 
 Jeans (Rev. G E.) . 43, 46 
 jEBB(Prof. R. C.) 4,13,16,26 
 JELIETT (Rev. J. H.) . 43 
 Jenks (Prof. Ed.) . . 37 
 Jennings (A. C.) . 13,38 
 Jersey (Countess of) . 48 
 Jephson(H.) . . .37 
 Jevons (W. S.) 5, 32, 35, 36, 37 
 
 18 
 9 
 26 
 
 • 34 
 5, 16, 25 
 
 • 39 
 ■ 34 
 
 8 
 .16, 18, 26 
 
 Jewett (S.) 
 Jex-Blake (Sophia). ■ 
 Joceline (E.) . 
 Johnson (Amy) 
 Johnson (Samuel) . 
 JOLLEY (A. J.) . 
 Jones (Prof. D. E.) . 
 Jones (F.). 
 Jones (H. Arthur) 
 Jones (H. S.) . . .2 
 
 Julius (Dr. P.). . . 9 
 
 Kahlden (C.) ... 29 
 
 Kalm (P.) ... 47 
 
 Kant .... 32 
 
 Kanthack (A. A.) . . 29 
 
 Kari .... 48 
 
 KAvANAGH(Rt.Hn.A.M.) j 
 
 KAV(Rev.\V.). . . 39 
 Keaey (Annie). 13, 22, 38, 48 
 
 Kearv (Eliza) ... 48 
 Keats . . . 5, 26 
 
 Keble(J.). . . . 26 
 
 Kellner (Dr. L.) . . 31 
 
 Kellogg (Rev. S. H.) . 43 
 
 Kelly (E.) ... 43 
 
 Keltie (J. S.) . . . 38 
 Kelvin (Lord) . 11, 31, 33, 34 
 
54 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Kempe (A. B.) . . -33 
 Kennedy (Prof. A. B, W.) lo 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Kennedy (B. H.) 
 Kennedy (P.) . 
 Keynes (J. N.). 
 Kidd(B.) 
 
 KlEPERT (H.) . 
 
 Kimbek(D. C.) 
 KiNG(F. H.) . 
 King(G.). 
 
 Kingsley (Charles) 5,10,13, 14. 
 16,18,22,2^,26,27, 30| 4^>47t4^ 
 Kingsley(G.) . . - 38 
 Kingslev (Henry) 25, 47 
 
 Kipling (J. L.). . . 47 
 Kipling tRudyard) .23, 27, 
 
 32, 36 
 ■ 37 
 . II 
 • 35 
 I 
 13 
 
 KlRKPATRlCK {ftof.) 
 
 38, 
 
 41 
 
 Klein (Dr. E.). . 7, 
 
 29. 
 
 S'^ 
 
 Klein (F.) 
 
 
 26 
 
 Knight (W.) . 17, 
 
 28, 
 
 32 
 
 KUENEN (Prof. A.) . 
 
 
 38 
 
 Kvnaston (Rev. H.) 
 
 43j 
 
 46 
 
 Labberton (R. H.) . 
 
 
 3 
 
 La Faroe (J.) . 
 
 
 3 
 
 Lafargue (P.). 
 
 
 23 
 
 Lamb. . . .5 
 
 26 
 
 27 
 
 Lanciani (Prof. R.) . 
 
 
 2 
 
 Landauer (J.). 
 
 
 8 
 
 Landor . 
 
 5. 
 
 !6 
 
 Lane-Poole (S.) . 
 
 6. 
 
 i6 
 
 Lanfrev(P.) . 
 
 
 6 
 
 Lang (Andrew) 15, 
 
 26, 
 
 46 
 
 Lang (Prof. Arnold) . 
 
 
 49 
 
 Langlev (J. N.) 
 
 
 34 
 
 Langmaid (T.). 
 
 
 10 
 
 Lankester (Prof. Ray) 
 
 7. 
 
 27 
 
 LaSSAr-Cohn (Dr.). 
 
 
 8 
 
 Laslett (T.) . 
 
 , 
 
 7 
 
 Laughton (J. K.) . 
 
 , 
 
 4 
 
 Laurie (A. P.). 
 
 , 
 
 1.3 
 
 Lawrence (T. J.) . 
 
 , 
 
 15 
 
 Lawton (W. C.) . 
 
 
 27 
 
 Lea(A. S.) 
 
 
 3'' 
 
 Leaf (W.) 
 
 17 
 
 46 
 
 Leahv (Sergeant) . 
 
 
 38 
 
 LEEfM.) . 
 
 
 23 
 
 Lee(S.) . . . 
 
 25 
 
 .6 
 
 Lees (C. H.) . 
 
 
 3 ■■ 
 
 Lee- Warner (W.) . 
 
 
 13 
 
 Leeper (A.) 
 Legge (.A. 0.) . 
 
 . 
 
 f> 
 
 13 
 
 '3 
 
 Leibnitz . 
 
 
 36 
 
 Leslie (G. D.) . 
 
 
 27 
 
 Lethaby (W. R.) . 
 
 2 
 
 38 
 
 Lethbrid^.e (iir Roper) 5 
 
 >3 
 
 Lew (Amy) 
 
 
 23 
 
 Lewi (R.) 
 
 
 16 
 
 Lewkowitsch (J.) . 
 
 
 38 
 
 LiGHTFOOT (l.ishop) 
 
 
 
 5, 13, i., 40, 41 
 
 i43 
 
 i44 
 
 LiGHTWOOD (J. M.) . 
 
 
 IS 
 
 Lindsay (Dr. J. A.). 
 
 
 29 
 
 LiTTLEDALE (H.) . 
 
 
 17 
 
 Lockyer(.I N) 3,6 
 
 34 
 
 38 
 
 LODEMAN (E. G.) . 
 
 
 ID 
 
 Lodge (Prof. O.J.) 3 
 
 27 
 
 34 
 
 Lodge (R.) 
 
 
 5 
 
 Lowenson-Lkssing (F.) . 
 
 11 
 
 LOEWY (B.) 
 
 
 33 
 
 L0FTiE(Mrs.W.J.). 
 
 
 2 
 
 Longfellow (H. W.) 
 
 
 26 
 
 Lonsdale (J.) . 
 
 25 
 
 46 
 
 Lover (S.). 
 
 
 23 
 
 Lowe (W. H.) . 
 
 S" 
 
 39 
 
 Lowell (J. R.). 15 
 
 18 
 
 27 
 
 Loudon (W. J.) 
 Louis (H.) 
 
 LuJBOCK(Sir J.)7, 10, II,; 
 Lucas (F.) 
 Lucas (Joseph). 
 Lunt(J.). 
 Lupton (S.) 
 LvALL (Sir Alfred) • 
 Lyde (L. \V.) . 
 Lysaght(S. R.) 
 Lyte(H.C. M.) 
 Lvttelton (A. T.) . 
 
 LVTTELTON (E.) . 
 
 Lytton (Earl of) . 
 MacAlister (D.) . 
 Macarthur (M.) . 
 Macaulay (G. C.) .2( 
 Macaulay (Lord) , 
 Maccoll (Norman) . 
 McCurdyO- F-) . 
 M'CosH (Dr. J.) 
 Macdonald (George) 
 Macdonald (G.) 
 MackailU- W.) . 
 MacKnight(J.) 
 Maclagan (Dr.T.). 
 Maclaren (Rev. Alex.) 
 Maclaren (Archibald) 
 Maclean (G. E.) . 
 Maclean (W.C.J . 
 Maclear (Rev. Dr.) 38, 
 McLennan (J. C.) . 
 M'Lennan (J. K) 
 M'Lennan (Malcolm) 
 MACMILLAN(RtV. H.) 
 Macmillan (Michael) 
 Macmillan (M. K.) 
 Macquoid (K. S.) . 
 Madoc (F.) 
 Maguire(T.F.) 
 
 MAHAFFT(Prof. ;. P.) 
 
 2, 13, 16, J', 32, 
 
 Maitland (F. W.J - 
 Malet (L.) 
 Malory (Sir T.) 
 Malthus(T. R.) . 
 Mansfield(C.B.) . 
 
 ^L\RCOU (J.) 
 
 I.VKKHAM (C. R.) . 
 
 Marr(J. E.) . 
 
 M,^KIilOTT(r. A. R.). 
 
 Marrvat (Capt.) 
 Marshall (Prot. A ) 
 Marshall (H. K.) . 
 Martel (C.) . 
 Martin (Frances) . 
 Martin (Frederick). 
 Martin (H.N.) 
 Martineau (C. a ). 
 Martineau (H.) 
 Martineau (Dr. J.) 
 Mason (A. E. W.) , 
 Mason (O. T.). 
 Masson(D.) s, 18, 21 
 Masson (G.) . 
 Masson (R. O.) 
 Mathew(E. J.) 
 Maturin (Rev. W.), 
 Maudsley (Dr. H.) . 
 Maurice (F. D.) 
 
 10, 27, 32, 18-40. 
 Maurice (Gen.F.) 5. 
 Max MOller (F.) . 
 Mayer (A.M.). 
 Mayo-Smith (R.) . 
 
 fagb 
 
 . 33 
 
 . 38 
 
 27, <o 
 
 is 
 
 47 
 
 9 
 
 8 
 
 4 
 
 25, 46 
 
 • 27 
 
 • 17 
 
 • 44 
 32, 3 
 
 . 21 
 
 • 29 
 
 • 46 
 
 • 37 
 
 • 29 
 
 • 44 
 
 • 48 
 
 ■ 31 
 
 • 29 
 40,41 
 
 ■ 33 
 1 
 
 • 23 
 27. 44 
 
 6, ig 
 
 • 23 
 
 • 23 
 
 • 23 
 . 48 
 
 4(, 47 
 
 ■5. i" 
 
 23 
 
 25 
 
 3.'. 
 
 S 
 
 4 
 5 
 
 34 
 
 36 
 
 3' 
 
 3° 
 
 48 
 
 36 
 
 49 
 
 34 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 23 
 
 I 
 
 25.32 
 
 9. 25 
 
 • 33 
 
 41.44 
 30. 36 
 
 • 32 
 
 • 34 
 
 • 37 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Mayor (J. B.) . . . 40 
 
 Mayor (Prof. J. E. B.) . 3, & 
 
 Mazini (L.) . , .4^ 
 
 Meldola (Prof. R.). 8, 33, 34 
 
 Mendenhall (T. C ) . 34 
 
 Menger (C.) . , 36 
 
 Menschuticin (A.) . . a 
 
 Mercier (Dr. C.) . . 29. 
 
 Mercur (Prof. J.) . , 30 
 
 Mereiiith (C.). . . 18 
 
 Meredith (L. A.) . . 15 
 
 Meyer (E. von) . 8 
 
 Meyrick (E.) . . .30 
 
 Mi all (L. C.) . . 30, 50- 
 
 Michelet(M.) . . 13 
 
 MiERS (H. A.) . . .14- 
 Mill(H.R.) ... II 
 
 Miller (R.K.). . 3 
 
 Milligan (Rev. W.). 40, 44- 
 
 Milton 
 
 5, iC, 18, 25, 27 
 
 MlNTO (Prof. W.) 5, 23 
 
 Mitford (A. B.) . 10,23 
 
 Mitford (M. R.) . . 15 
 
 MlVART (St. George). - 35 
 Mixter(W.G.) 
 
 MOLESWORTH (.Mrs.) . 49. 
 
 Molloy (G.) . 33 
 
 Molyneux (\V. C. F.) . 30- 
 
 Monahan(J. II ) . . 15 
 
 Montkfioke(C G.) 38,42- 
 Montelius (O.) 
 Moore (C. H.). 
 
 MooRHousE (Bi;.hop) . 44. 
 
 MORIER (J.) . . .23 
 
 MoRisoN (J. C.) . . 5. 
 MoRLEV (John). 4, 5, 20, 27 
 Morris (E E ). 
 Morris (Mowbray) . 
 Morris (R.) 
 morshead (e. d. a.) 
 Moulton (L. C ) 
 Moulton (R. G.) . 
 Mudie (C. E.) . 
 Muir(I.). 
 Muir(M. M.P.) . 
 MOller (H.) 
 
 MULLINGER (J. B.) . 
 Mun (T.) . 
 MUNRO(J. E. C.) . 
 
 Murphy (J. J ). 
 Murray! 1>. f'.nristie) 
 Murray (G.) . 
 Myers (L.j 
 Myers (I' . W H.) . 
 Mylne (Bishop) 
 Nadal(K. S.) . 
 
 NERNST(Dr. ) . 
 
 Nettleship (H.). . 
 Newcomb (S.) . 
 Newcastle (Duke ai 
 
 Duchess) 
 Newman (G.) . 
 Newton (Sir C. T.). 
 NiCHOL (J.) 
 Nichols (E. L.) 
 NlCHOLLS (H. A. A.) 
 Nisbet(J.) 
 Noel (Lady A.) 
 Nordenskiold (.\. E. 1 
 NoRGATE (Kate) 
 
 NOEKIS (W. E.) 
 
 Norton (Charles EHot) 
 Norton (Hon. Mrs.) 
 Norway (A. H.) 
 Oliphant (T. L. K.) 
 
 5 
 4>25 
 
 25. 31 
 46 
 18 
 38. 
 i3 
 I 
 S 
 8. 
 13 
 3S 
 15 
 33.44- 
 23 
 3 
 
 18,46 
 Si 19. 27 
 4+ 
 
 27 
 
 i 
 
 iS 
 
 3 
 
 26- 
 
 29. 
 
 2 
 
 4 
 
 33 
 
 ■ 23. 
 
 • 47 
 
 • 13 
 
 . 21 
 
 4, 46 
 19. 23 
 
 • 31 
 27,31s 
 
PAGE 
 
 OupHANT(Mrs.M. O. W.) 
 
 5, I3i i6i 23, 25, 49 
 Olivke (Prof. D.) . » 
 
 Oliver (Capt. S. P.). 
 Oman (C. W.) . 
 Orr (H, B.) . 
 OSBOEN (H. F.) 
 OsTwALD (Prof.) 
 Ott* (E. C.) . 
 Page (T. E.) . 
 Palgravb (SirF.) 
 Palgrave(F.T.) 
 
 3. 19, 21, as, 26, 42, 
 Palgrave (R. H. Inglis) 
 Palgrave (W. G.) 19, 37 
 Palmer (Lady S.) 
 Parker (T.T.). 
 Parker (W. K.) 
 
 Parker (W. N.) 
 
 Parkes (Sir H.) 
 
 Parkin (G. R. ) 
 
 Parkinson (S.) 
 
 Pakkman (F.) . 
 
 Parry (G.) 
 
 Parsons (Alfred) 
 
 Pasteur (L.) . 
 
 Pater (W.) . 
 
 Paterson (A.) . 
 
 Paterson (A. B.) 
 
 Paterson (J.) . 
 
 Patmore (Coventry) 
 
 Patteson (J. C.) 
 
 Pattison (Mark) 
 
 Paulsen (F.) . 
 
 Payne (E.J.) . 
 
 Peabody (C. H.) 
 
 Peacock (T. L.) 
 
 Pearson (C. H.) 
 
 Pease (A. E.) . 
 
 Peel (E.) . 
 
 Peile(J.). 
 
 Pellissibr (E.) 
 
 Pennell(J.) . 
 
 Pennington (R.) 
 
 Penrose (F.C.) 
 
 Percival (H. M.) . 18, 19 
 
 Perkins (J. B.) . . 13 
 
 Peterson (W.) . . '^ 
 
 Pettigrew (J. B.) . 8, 35 
 
 Phillimore (J. G.) 
 
 Phillips (F. E.) 
 
 Phillips (J. A.) 
 
 Phillips (W. C.) . . 3 
 
 PicTON (J. A.) . . .27 
 
 PiFFARD (H. G.) . . 29 
 
 Pike (L. O.) . . . 13 
 Pike (W.). ... 47 
 Playfair (W. S.) . . 28 
 Plato ... 26, 46 
 Plumptre (Dean) . . 44 
 Pollard (A. W.) . 16, 17, 46 
 Pollock (Sir F., Bart.) 
 
 6, 16, 27, 36, 37 
 Pollock (Lady) . . 2 
 Poole (M. E.) . . . 27 
 Poole (R.L.) . . .13 
 Pope , . . . Si 25, 27 
 PosTE (E.) . . 34, 46 
 Potter (L.) . • .27 
 Potter (R.) , . .44 
 Potts (W.) ... 28 
 Preston (T.) ... 34 
 Prestwich (J.). . .11 
 Price (E. C.) . . . 23 
 Prick (L.L.F.R.) . .36 
 
 13 
 39 
 13 
 
 49 
 35 
 47 
 23 
 49 
 6 
 
 49 
 t 
 
 37 
 34 
 13,47 
 23 
 IS 
 
 13 
 
 x6, 23, 27 
 23 
 19 
 16 
 
 !5i 49 
 
 6 
 
 6, 44 
 
 10 
 
 i, 36 
 
 iOi 34 
 
 23 
 
 37 
 
 14 
 
 19 
 
 31 
 
 32 
 
 3 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Prickard (A. O.) . 
 Prince Albert Victor 
 Prince George 
 Procter (F.) . 
 Propert (I. L.) 
 Prowse (D. W.) 
 Purcell (E. S.) 
 Quesnay (F.) . 
 Rabbeno (U.) . 
 Rae(J.) . . 
 Ramsay (Sir A. C.) 
 Ramsay (W.) . 
 Ransome(C.) . 
 Rathbone (W.) 
 Ratzel (F.) . 
 Rawlinson (W. G.). 
 Rawnsley (H. D.) 
 Ray (P. K.) . 
 Rayleigh (Lord) 
 Reichel (Bishop) 
 Reid (J. S.) . 
 Remsen (I.) . 
 Renan (E.) . 
 Rendall (Rev. F.) 
 Reynolds (E. S.) 
 Reynolds (H. R.) 
 Reynolds (Sir J. R. 
 Reynolds fO.) 
 Rhoades (J.) . 
 Rhodes (J. F.). 
 Ricardo . 
 Richardson (B. W. 
 Rickey (A. G.). 
 Righton (E.) . 
 Ritchie (A.) , 
 Roeb(R.). 
 Robinson (Preb. H 
 Robinson (J. L.) 
 Robinson (Matthew) 
 Rockstro (W. S.) 
 Rogers (J. E. T.) 
 Romanes (G.J.) 
 RoscoE (Sir H. E.) 
 Roscoe(W. C.) 
 Rosebery (Earl of) 
 Rosenbusch (H.) 
 Rosevear (E.). 
 Ross (P.) . 
 Rossetti (C. G.) 
 Rothschild (F.) 
 Routledge (J.) 
 Rowe(F.J.) . 
 Roy (Neil) 
 ROCKER (Prof. A. W, 
 Rumford (Count) 
 Rushbrooke (W. G 
 Russell (Dean) 
 Russell (Sir Charles) 
 Russell (W. Clark) 
 Russell (T.) . 
 Rutherford (W. 
 RvlandIF.) . 
 RYLE(Prof. H. E.) 
 Sadler (H.) 
 Saintsbury (G.) 
 Salmon (Rev. G.) 
 Salt (H. S.) ^ . 
 Sandford (Bishop) 
 Sandford (M. E.) 
 Sandys (J.E.). 
 Sayce(A.H.) . 
 Scaife(W. B.). 
 
 SCARTAZZINI (G. a. 
 ScHi lEMANN (Dr.) 
 
 Schmoller (G.) 
 
 ss 
 
 g.) 
 
 page 
 
 . 28 
 
 . 46 
 
 . 46 
 
 . 41 
 
 • 3 
 
 • 13 
 
 . s 
 
 . 36 
 
 . 36 
 
 6,36 
 
 . 6 
 
 . S 
 
 . 17 
 
 . 9 
 
 . I 
 
 • 15 
 . 19 
 ■ 32 
 . 34 
 
 • 4^ 
 
 40, 44 
 - 14 
 . 44 
 ■ 29 
 . 14 
 . 23 
 • 13 
 35i 36 
 14, 29 
 . 16 
 
 .G.) 
 
 44 
 31 
 . . 6 
 . 5 
 I3i 37 
 . 7 
 .8,9 
 . 19 
 . 5 
 II 
 . 9 
 . 23 
 I9i 49 
 . 13 
 . 37 
 . 20 
 . 23 
 . 9 
 . 38 
 
 • 39 
 . 44 
 
 • 37 
 4> 23 
 
 • 3« 
 38,46 
 
 . 16 
 
 38,44 
 
 3 
 
 S, 16 
 
 : JJ 
 
 : 'I 
 • 47 
 
 . 13 
 
 . 28 
 
 . 17 
 
 . 2 
 
 ■ 35 
 
 
 fagx 
 
 Schorlbmmbr (C.) . 
 
 .8,0 
 
 Schreiber(T.). 
 
 2 
 
 SCHUCHHABDT (C.) . 
 
 3 
 
 ScHULTz(Dr. G.) . 
 
 . 9 
 
 Schuster (A.). 
 
 • 33 
 
 SCOTT(M.) . . 
 
 ■ 23 
 
 Scott (Sir W.^. . 
 
 19, 25 
 
 SCRATCHLEV (Sir Peter) . 30 
 
 SCUDDER (S. H.) . . SO 
 
 SEATON(Pr. E.G.) . . 39 
 
 Seebohm (H. E.) . . I 
 Seeley (Sir J. R.) .13.37)44 
 Seiler (Dr. Carl) . 29, 35 
 SELBORNE[Earlof)5i 25, 40, 42 
 Seligman (E.) . . .36 
 Sellers (E.) • • ■ 2 
 Service (J.) . . 41, 44 
 Sewell{E. M.) . . 13 
 Shadwell (C. L.) . . 46 
 Shairp (J. CO . ■ 4. 19 
 Shakespeare . 17, 191.25, s6 
 Shann (G.) . . 10, 34 
 Sharp (W.) ... 6 
 Shaw (Miss) . . •14 
 Sheldon (W. L.) . . 32 
 Shelley ... 19, 26 
 Shipton (Helen) . . 23 
 Shirley (W.N.) . . 44 
 Shore (L. E.) . . . 34 
 Shorthousb (J. H.) 23, 24 
 Shortland (Admiral) . 31 
 Shuckburgh (E. S.) 14, 46 
 Shufeldt (R. W.) . . 49 
 SiBSON (Dr. F.) . . 29 
 Sidgwick(A.) . . .20 
 SiDGWicK (Prof. H.) 32, 36, 37 
 
 SiME (J.) . . .II, 12 
 
 Simpson (Rev. W.) . . 40 
 Skeat (W.W.) . . 17 
 Skrine (J. H.). , 6, 19 
 Slade ( j. H.) . . , 10 
 Sleeman (L.) . . .47 
 Sloman (Rev. A.) . . 39 
 Smart (W.) ... 36 
 Smallev (G. W.) . 6,28 
 Smetham (J. and S.) . 6 
 Smith (Adam) . 3, 6, 35, 36 
 Smith (Alexander) . 17, 25 
 Smith (C. B.) ... 19 
 Smith (F. Hopkinson) . 24 
 Smith (Garnet). . . 34 
 Smith (Goldwin) 
 
 4, 6, 14, 21, 28, 37, 45) 47 
 Smith (H.) . . .19 
 Smith (J.) ... 8 
 Smith (Rev. T.) . . 44 
 Smith (W. G.) . . .8 
 Smith (L. Pearsall) . . 24 
 Sohm (R.). . . .40 
 Somerville (Prof. W.) . 7 
 Soothey . . . 6, 26 
 Spanton (J.) ... 3 
 Spender Q. K.) . . 29 
 Spenser ... 19, 25 
 Spottiswoode(W.). , 34 
 St. Asaph (Bishop of) . 40 
 St, Johnston (A.) .23, 47, 49 
 Stanley (Dean) . . 44 
 Stanley (Hon. Maude) , 37 
 Statham (R.) ... 37 
 
 STEBBINGtW.). . . 4 
 
 Steel (F. A.) . * i5) 24 
 Stephen (C. E.) . .9 
 Stephen (H.) . . .16 
 Stephen (Sir J. F.) 14, 16, 28 
 
S6 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 6 
 5 
 19 
 
 5 
 16 
 6 
 
 Stephen (J. K.) 
 Stephen (L.) 
 Stephens ( I. B.) 
 Stephens (W R. W.) 
 Stevens (C. E.) 
 Stevenson (F. S.) , 
 Stevenson 0' J'> • 
 Stewart (A.) . 
 Stewart (Bal(our) 33, 34, 
 Stokes (Sir G. G.) . 
 Story (R. H. ) . 
 Stone (W.H.). 
 Strachey (Sir E.) . 
 Strachey(J. St. L.) 
 Strachey (Gen. R.) . 
 Strangford( Viscountess) 
 Strettell (A.) 
 Stubbs (Dean) . 
 Stubbs (Bishop) 
 Sutherland (A.) . 
 Swainson (H.). 
 Swete (Prof. H. B.). 
 Swift (Dean) . 
 Symonds (J. A.) 
 SvMONDS (Mrs. J. A.) 
 Svmons (A.) 
 Taggart (W. S.) . 
 Tainsh(E.C.). 
 Tait (Archbishop) 
 Tait (C. W. a.) 
 Tait (Prof. P. G.) 
 Tanner (H.) . 
 Tarr(R. S.) . 
 Tavernier (J. B.) . 
 Taylor (E. R.). 
 Taylor (Kraniclin) 
 Taylor (Isaac). 
 Taylor (Sedley) 
 Tegetmeier (W. B.) 
 Temple (Bishop) 
 Temple (Sir R.) 
 Tennant (Dorothy). 
 Tenniel (Sir John) . 
 Tennyson (Lord) 17, 19 
 Tennyson (Fredenclc) 
 Tennyson (Lord H.) 
 Theodoli (Marchesa) 
 Thompson (D 'A. %/.) 
 Thompson (E.). 
 Thompson (H. M.) . 
 Thompson (S. P.) 
 Thomson (A. W.) . 
 Thomson (Sir C. W.) 
 Thomson (Hugh) 
 Thoreau . 
 Thorne (Dr. Thome) 
 Thornton (J.). 
 Thornton (W. T.) 32, 
 Thorpe (T. E.). 
 Thring (E.) . 
 Thrupp 0- F.) • 
 Thursfikld (J. R.) . 
 Todhunter (I.) 
 
 TORRENS (W. M.) . 
 
 Tourg^niep (L S.) . 
 Tout(T.F.) . 
 Tozer(H. F.) . . . __ 
 Traill (H. D.). . 4, 5, 36 
 
 39 
 15 
 5 
 6 
 IJ 
 38 
 17 
 45 
 14 
 33. 34, 45 
 
 34 
 
 47 
 
 3 
 
 30 
 
 32. 45 
 
 3°. 34 
 
 9 
 
 43 
 
 4 
 
 48 
 
 48 
 
 ,26 
 
 Si 49 
 24 
 
 56 
 
 34 
 
 10 
 
 50 
 
 14 
 
 28 
 
 29 
 
 7 
 
 37. 46 
 
 6,9 
 
 10, 28 
 
 33 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 5 
 
 24 
 
 14 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Trench (Capt. F.) . . 37 
 
 Trench (Archbishop) . 45 
 
 Tkkvelvan (Sir G. O.) 14,28 
 
 Trevor (G.H.) . . so 
 I'RIBE (A.). ... 8 
 
 Tristram (W. O.) . . 15 
 
 Trollope (A.) . . . s 
 
 Truman (J.) . . .20 
 
 Tucker (T.G.) . . 46 
 
 TUCKWELL (W.) . , 14 
 
 Tufts 0- H.) . . . 32 
 
 TuLLOCH (Prmcipal). 45 
 
 Turner fC. Tennysoli) . ao 
 
 Turner (G.) . . 1 
 
 Turner (H.H.) . . 34 
 
 Turner (J. M. W.) . . 15 
 
 Turpin(G S.). .9 
 
 Tylor (E. B.) . .1 
 
 Tvrwhitt (R. St. J.) 3, 20 
 
 Tyrrell (R.Y.) 16, 28 
 
 Vaughan(C. J.) 39, 40, 41, 45 
 Vaughan (Rev. D.J.J 26,28,45 
 
 VAUGHAN(Rev. E. X.) . 45 
 
 Vaughan (Rev. R.). . 45 
 
 Velev (M.) . . .24 
 
 Venn (Rev. J.). . 33,45 
 
 Vernon (Hon. W. W.) . 17 
 
 Verrall (A. W.) . 17, 46 
 
 Verrall (Mrs.) , . 2 
 
 ViCKERMAN (C.) . . 38 
 
 Victor (H.) . . .24 
 Vines (S. H.) . . .8 
 Viollet-Le-Duc (E. E.). 10 
 Wain (Louis) . . .48 
 Waldstein (C.) . . 2 
 WAiKEE(Prof. F. A.) . 36 
 Walker (Jas.) . 8 
 
 Walker (Louisa) . 38 
 
 Wallace (A. R.) .7, 30, 36 
 Wallace (Sir D. M.) . 37 
 Walpole(S.) ... 36 
 Walton (1.) , -. .15 
 Ward (A. W.) . 4, 5, 16, 2S 
 Ward (H. M.) . . . 7, 8 
 Ward(S.). ... 20 
 Wakd(T. H.) ... 21 
 WARD(Mrs. T. H.) . 24,49 
 Ward (W.) . . 6, 2!, 41 
 Ware (W. R.) . . .3 
 Waters (C. A.) . . 35 
 Waterton (Ciiarles) 30, 47 
 Watson (E.) ... 6 
 Watson (R. S.) . .47 
 Watson (W.) . . 20, 25 
 Way (A. S.) . . . 46 
 Webb (W. T.) . . 18, 20 
 Webster (Mrs. A.) . 20, 49 
 Weisbach (J.) . . 10 
 
 Welby-Gregory (Lady) . 41 
 Welldon (Rev. J. E. C.) 45,46 
 West (M.) . . .24 
 Westcott (Bp.) 38,39,40,41,45 
 Westermarck (E.). . 1 
 Wetherell (J.) . . 3a 
 Wheeler (J. T.) . . 14 
 Whewell(W.). . . 6 
 Whitcomb (L. S.) . 3,16 
 White (A.) ... 28 
 
 PAGK 
 
 IS, 3' 
 
 White (Gilbert) 
 White (Dr. W. Hale) 
 White (W.) ... 34 
 Whitney (W. D.) , .9 
 Whittier (J. G.) 20, s6, 28 
 Whittuck (C. A.) . . 45 
 WiCKHAM (Rev. E. C.) .- 45. 
 
 WiCKSTEED (P. H.) . 36, ,8 
 
 Wiedersheim (R.) . 35, 49. 
 
 WiESER (F. von) . . 36- 
 
 Wilbraham (F. M.). . 41 
 
 Wilkins (Prof. A. S.) 2,16,45 
 
 Wilkinson (S.) . . 3c- 
 Willey (a.) ... 7 
 
 Williams (C. M.) . . 327 
 
 WiLLiAi»s(C. T.) . . 29 
 
 Williams (G. H.) . . 11. 
 
 Williams (H.). . 14, 311 
 
 Williams (Montagu) 6 
 
 Williams (S. E.) . 16 
 
 Williamson (M. B.) . 45. 
 
 Willink (A.) . . .45 
 
 Willoughby (E. F.) . i<„ 
 
 Willoughby (F.) . . 49* 
 Willoughby (W. W.) . 36 
 
 Wills (W. G.) . . . 20. 
 
 Wilson (A. J.) . . . 36 
 
 Wilson (Sir C.) . . 4_ 
 
 Wilson (Sir D.) . i, 4, 17 
 
 Wilson (E. B.). . . 50 
 
 Wilson (Dr. G.) . 5, 6, 2* 
 
 Wilson (Archdeacon) . 45 
 
 Wilson (Mary). . . i6' 
 
 Winch (R. F.) . . 27 
 Winchester (Bishop oQ. fr 
 
 Windelband (W.) . . 32 
 WiNGATE (Major F. R.) . 30 
 
 Winkworth (C.) . . 6- 
 
 WiNKWORTH (S.) • . 25 
 
 Winter (W.) . . .15 
 WoLSELEY(Gen.Viscotmt) 3a 
 Wood (A. G.) 
 Wood (C. J.) 
 
 WoODfRev. E. G.) . 
 
 • 45 
 14.45 
 
 Woods (Rev. F. : 
 Woods (Miss M. A.). 
 Woodward (C. M.) . 
 WOOLNER (T.) . . . i 
 Wordsworth 4, 6, 17, ao, 2G, : 
 
 Worthey (Mrs.) 
 Wright (Rev. A.) 
 Wright (MissG.) 
 Wright (J.) . 
 Wright (L.) . 
 Wright (M. O.) 
 Wright (W. A.) 
 
 WULKER (Dr.) . 
 WuRTZ (Ad.) . 
 Wyatt (Sir M. D.) 
 
 . 24. 
 • 3» 
 . 9. 
 
 10, 2fr- 
 
 . 34- 
 28, 31 
 9,18,25,40 
 . 16 
 . 9. 
 3- 
 
 Yeo(J.) .... 34 
 YoE (Shway) . . .47- 
 YoNGE (CM.) 6, 8, 9, f2, 13, 14, 
 24, a6, 28, 32, 38, 4^ 
 Young (E.W.) . . lo 
 Younghusband(G. J. and 
 
 F. E.) . . . . 3» 
 ZiEGLER (Dr. £.) • . ag. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON. 
 
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