"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 cla.s.sic poet, which says 'the suspicion of ill-will never fails to produce it'--Remember this in your intercourse with General Clarendon; show no suspicion of his bearing you ill-will, and to show none, you must feel none. Put absolutely out of your head all that you may have heard or imagined about Miss Clarendon, or her brother's prejudices on her account."

"I will--I will indeed," said Helen, and so they parted. A few words have sometimes a material influence on events in human life. Perhaps even among those who hold in general that advice never does good, there is no individual who cannot recollect some few words--some conversation which has altered the future colour of their lives.

Helen's over-anxiety concerning General Clarendon's opinion of her, being now balanced by the higher interest Lady Davenant had excited, she met him with new-born courage; and Lady Cecilia, not that she suspected it was necessary, but merely by way of prevention, threw in little douceurs of flattery, on the general's part, repeated sundry pretty compliments, and really kind things which he had said to her of Helen.

These always pleased Helen at the moment, but she could never make what she was told he said of her quite agree with what he said to her: indeed, he said so very little, that no absolute discrepancy could be detected between the words spoken and the words reported to have been said; but still the looks did not agree with the opinions, or the cordiality implied.

One morning Lady Cecilia told her that the general wished that she would ride out with them, "and you must come, indeed you must, and try his pretty Zelica; he wishes it of all things, he told me so last night."

The general chancing to come in as she spoke, Lady Cecilia appealed to him with a look that almost called upon him to enforce her request; but he only said that if Miss Stanley would do him the honour, he should certainly be happy, if Zelica would not be too much for her; but he could not take it upon him to advise. Then looking for some paper of which he came in search, and pa.s.sing 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 verite._"

Lady Cecilia, blushing slightly, poured out rapid protestations that all she had ever repeated to Helen of the general's sayings was perfect truth--"I will not swear to the words--because in the first place it is not pretty to swear, and next, because I can never recollect anybody's words, or my own, five minutes after they have been said."

Partly by playfulness, and partly by protestations, Lady Cecilia half convinced Helen; but from this time she refrained from repeating compliments which, true or false, did no good, and things went on better; observing this, she left them to their natural course, upon all such occasions the best way.

And now visitors began to appear, and some officers of the general's staff arrived. Clarendon Park happened to be in the district which General Clarendon commanded, so that he was able usually to reside there. It was in what is called a good neighbourhood, and there was much visiting, and many entertainments.

One day at dinner, Helen was seated between the general and a fine young guardsman, who, as far as his deep sense of his own merit, and his fashionable indifference to young ladies would permit, had made some demonstrations of a desire to attract her notice. He was piqued when, in the midst of something he had wonderfully exerted himself to say, he observed that her attention was distracted by a gentleman opposite, who had just returned from the Continent, and who, among other pieces of news, marriages and deaths of English abroad, mentioned that "poor D'Aubigny" was at last dead.

Helen looked first at Cecilia, who, as she saw, heard what was said with perfect composure; and then at Lady Davenant, who had meantime glanced imperceptibly at her daughter, and then upon Helen, whose eyes she met--and Helen coloured merely from a.s.sociation, because she had coloured before-provoking! yet impossible to help it. All pa.s.sed 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 a.s.suredly did not know in the least what manner of taste it had. The general now exerted himself to occupy the guardsman in a conversation about promotion, and drew all observation from Helen. Yet not the slightest indication of having seen, heard, or understood, appeared in his countenance, not the least curiosity or interest about Colonel D'Aubigny. Of one point Helen was however intuitively certain, that he had noticed that confusion which he had so ably, so coolly covered. One ingenuous look from her thanked him, and his look in return was most gratifying; she could not tell how it was, but it appeared more as if he understood and liked her than any look she had ever seen from him before. They were both more at their ease. Next day, he certainly justified all Cecilia's former a.s.surances, 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, a.s.suring her that she need not be afraid, that Zelica was the gentlest creature possible, and he kept his fiery horse, Fleetfoot, to a pace that suited her during the whole time they were out. Helen took courage, and her ride did her a vast deal of good.

The rides were repeated, the general evidently became more and more interested about Miss Stanley; he appealed continually to her taste, and marked that he considered her as part of his family; but, as Helen told Lady Davenant, it was difficult, with a person of his high-bred manners and reserved temper, to ascertain what was to be attributed to general deference to her s.e.x, 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 const.i.tutional joy--but so it was; he had a tender heart, deep feelings of all kinds under an appearance of _insouciance_ which deceived the world. He was distinguished as a political leader--but, as he said of himself, he had been three times inoculated with ambition--once by his mother, once by his brother, and once by his wife; but it had never taken well; the last the best, however,--it had shown at least sufficiently to satisfy his friends, and he was happy to be no more tormented. With talents of the first order, and integrity unblenching, his character was not of that stern stuff--no, not of that corrupt stuff--of which modern ambition should be made.

He had now something to tell Helen, which he would say even before he opened his London budget of news. He told her, with a congratulatory smile, that he had had an opportunity of showing his sense of Mr.

Collingwood's merits; and as he spoke he put a letter into her hand.

The letter was from her good friend Mr. Collingwood, accepting a bishopric in the West Indies, which had been offered to him by Lord Davenant. It enclosed a letter for Helen, desiring in the most kind manner that she would let him know immediately and decidedly where and with whom she intended to live; and there was a postscript from Mrs.

Collingwood full of affection, and doubts, and hopes, and fears.

The moment Helen had finished this letter, without seeming to regard the inquiring looks of all present, and without once looking towards any one else, she walked deliberately up to General Clarendon, and begged to speak to him alone. Never was general more surprised, but of course he was too much of a general to let that appear. Without a word, he offered his arm, and led her to his study; he drew a chair towards her--

"No misfortune, I hope, Miss Stanley? If I can in any way be of service----"

"The only service, General Clarendon," said Helen, her manner becoming composed, and her voice steadying as she went on--"the only service you can do me now is to tell me the plain truth, and this will prevent what would certainly be a misfortune to me--perhaps to all of us. Will you read this letter?"

He received it with an air of great interest, and again moved the chair to her. Before she sat down, she added,--

"I am unused to the world, you see, General Clarendon. I have been accustomed to live with one who always told me his mind sincerely, so that I could judge always what I ought to do. Will you do so now? It is the greatest service, as well as favour, you can do me."

"Depend upon it, I will," said General Clarendon.

"I should not ask you to tell me in words--that might be painful to your politeness; only let me see it," said Helen, and she sat down.

The general read on without speaking, till he came to the mention of Helen's original promise of living with the Collingwoods. He did not comprehend that pa.s.sage, he said, showing it to her. He had always, on the contrary, understood that it had been a long _settled_ thing, a promise between Miss Stanley and Lady Cecilia, that Helen should live with Lady Cecilia when she married.

"No such thing!" Helen said. "No such agreement had ever been made."

So the general now perceived; but this was a mistake of his which he hoped would make no difference in her arrangements, he said: "Why should it?--unless Miss Stanley felt unhappy at Clarendon Park?"

He paused, and Helen was silent: then, taking desperate resolution, she answered,--

"I should be perfectly happy here, if I were sure of your wishes, your feelings about me--about it."

"Is it possible that there has been any thing in my manner," said he, "that could give Miss Stanley pain? What could have put a doubt into her mind?"

"There might be some other person nearer, and naturally dearer to you,"

said Helen, looking up in his face ingenuously--"one whom you might have desired to have in my place:--your sister, Miss Clarendon, in short."

"Did Cecilia tell you of this?"

"No, Lady Davenant did; and since I heard it I never could be happy--I never can be happy till I know your feeling."

His manner instantly changed.

"You shall know my feelings, then," said he. "Till I knew you, Helen, my wish was, that my sister should live with my wife; now I know you, my wish is, that you should live with us. You will suit Cecilia better than my sister could--will suit us both better, having the same truth of character, and more gentleness of manner. I have answered you with frankness equal to your own. And now," said he, taking her hand, "you know Cecilia has always considered you as her sister--allow me to do the same: consider me as a brother--such you shall find me. Thank you. This is settled for life," added he, drawing her arm through his, and taking up her letters, he led her back towards the library.

But her emotion, the stronger for being suppressed, was too great for re-appearing in company: she withdrew her arm from his when they were pa.s.sing through the hall, and turning her face away, she had just voice enough to beg he would show her letters to----

He understood. She ran up-stairs to her own room, glad to be alone; a flood of joy came over her.

"A brother in Cecilia's husband!--a brother!"

The word had a magical charm, and she could not help repeating it aloud--she wept like a child. Lady Cecilia soon came flying in, all delight and affection, reproaches and wonder alternately, in the quickest conceivable succession. "Delighted, it is settled and for ever!

my dear, dear Helen! But how could you ever think of leaving us, you wicked Helen! Well! now you see what Clarendon really is! But, my dear, I was so terrified when I heard it all. You are, and ever were, the oddest mixture of cowardice and courage. I--do you know I, brave _I_--never should have advised--never should have ventured as you have?

But he is delighted at it all, and so am I now it has all ended so charmingly, now I have you safe. I will write to the Collingwoods; you shall not have a moment's pain; I will settle it all, and invite them here before they leave England; Clarendon desired I would--oh, he is!--now you will believe me! The Collingwoods, too, will be glad to be asked here to take leave of you, and all will be right; I love, as you do, dear Helen, that everybody should be pleased when I am happy."

When Lady Davenant heard all that had pa.s.sed, she did not express that prompt unmixed delight which Helen expected; a cloud came over her brow, something painful regarding her daughter seemed to strike her, for her eyes fixed on Cecilia, and her emotion was visible in her countenance; but pleasure unmixed appealed as she turned to Helen, and to her she gave, what was unusual, unqualified approbation.

"My dear Helen, I admire your plain straightforward truth; I am satisfied with this first essay of your strength of mind and courage."

"Courage!" said Helen, smiling.

"Not such as is required to take a lion by the beard, or a bull by the horns," replied Lady Davenant; "but there are many persons in this world who, brave though they be, would rather beard a lion, sooner seize a bull by the horns, than, when they get into a dilemma, dare to ask a direct question, and tell plainly what pa.s.ses in their own minds. Moral courage is, believe me, uncommon in both s.e.xes, and yet in going through the world it is equally necessary to the virtue of both men and women."

"But do you really think," said Helen, "that strength of mind, or what you call moral courage, is as necessary to women as it is to men?"

"Certainly, show me a virtue, male or female--if virtues admit of grammatical distinctions, if virtues acknowledge the more worthy gender and the less worthy of the grammar, show me a virtue male or female that _can_ long exist without truth. Even that emphatically termed the virtue of our s.e.x, 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.