"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 gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sed while Helen was looking at the Madonna. Lady Cecilia had tried to make out the meaning of these extraordinary starings and whisperings--Lady Katrine would not tell her any thing distinctly, but said, "Strange reports--so sorry it had got into the papers, those vile libellous papers; of course she did not believe--of Miss Stanley. After all, nothing very bad--a little awkward only--might be hushed up. Better not talk of it to-night; but I will try, Cecilia, in the morning, to find those paragraphs for you." Lady Cecilia determined to go as early as possible in the morning, and make out the whole; and, had she plainly told this to Helen, it would have been better for all parties: but she continued to talk of the people they had seen, to hide her thoughts from Helen, who all the time felt as in a feverish dream, watching the lights of the carriage flit by like fiery eyes, while she thought only of the strange words she had heard and why they should have made Beauclerc angry with her.

At last they were at home. As they went in, Lady Cecilia inquired if the general had come in?--Yes, he had been at home for some time, and was in bed. This was a relief. Helen was glad not to see any one, or to be obliged to say anything more that night. Lady Cecilia bade her "be a good child, and go to sleep." How much Helen slept may be left to the judgment of those who have any imagination.

CHAPTER IV

"_Miladi a une migranie affreuse_ this morning," said Felicie, addressing herself on the stairs to Rose. "_Mille amities de sa part_ to your young lady, Miss Rose, and _miladi_ recommend to her to follow a good example, and to take her breakfast in her bed, and then to take one good sleep till you shall hear _midi sonne_."

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, newspapers hanging from his hand, his look ominously grave. After "Good mornings" had been exchanged with awful solemnity, Helen ventured to hope that there was no bad public news.

"No public news whatever," said the general.

Next, she was sorry to hear that Cecilia had "such a bad headache."

"Tired last night," said the general.

"It was, indeed, a tiresome, disagreeable party," said Helen, hoping this would lead to how so? or why? but the general drily answered, "Not the London season," and went on eating his breakfast in silence.

Such a constraint and awe came upon her, that she felt it would be taking too great a liberty, in his present mood, to put sugar and cream into his tea, as she was wont in happier times. She set sugar-bowl and cream before him, and whether he understood, or noticed not her feelings, she could not guess. He sugared, and creamed, and drank, and thought, and spoke not. Helen put out of his way a supernumerary cup, to which he had already given a push, and she said, "Mr. Beauclerc does not breakfast with us."

"So I suppose," said the general, "as he is not here."

"He said he was engaged to breakfast."

"With some of his friends, I suppose," said the general.

There the dialogue came to a full stop, and breakfast, uncomfortably on her part, and with a preoccupied air on his, went on in absolute silence. At length the general signified to the servant who was in waiting, by a nod, and a look towards the door, that his further attendance was dispensed with. At another time Helen would have felt such a dismissal as a relief, for she disliked, and recollected that her uncle particularly disliked, the fashion of having servants waiting at a family breakfast, which he justly deemed unsuited to our good old English domestic habits; but somehow it happened that at this moment she was rather sorry when the servant left the room. He returned however in a moment, with something which he fancied to be yet wanting; the general, after glancing at whatever he had brought, said, "That will do, c.o.c.kburn; we want nothing more."

c.o.c.kburn placed a screen between him and the fire; the general put it aside, and, looking at him, said sternly--"c.o.c.kburn, no intelligence must ever go from my house to any newspapers."

c.o.c.kburn bowed--"None shall, Sir, if I can prevent it; none ever did from me, general."

"None must ever go from anyone in my family--look to it."

c.o.c.kburn bowed again respectfully, but with a look of reservation of right of remonstrance, answered by a look from his master, of "No more must be said." Yet c.o.c.kburn 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, c.o.c.kburn, I must find somebody who can."

c.o.c.kburn disappeared, but after closing the door the veteran opened it again, stood, and said stoutly, though seemingly with some impediment in his throat--"General Clarendon, do me the justice to give me full powers."

"Whatever you require: say, such are your orders from me, and that you have full power to dismiss whoever disobeys." c.o.c.kburn bowed, and withdrew satisfied.

Another silence, when the general hastily finishing his breakfast, took up the newspaper, and said, "I wished to have spared you the pain of seeing these, Miss Stanley, but it must be done now. There have appeared in certain papers, paragraphs alluding to Beauclerc and to you; these scandalous papers I never allow to enter my house, but I was informed that there were such paragraphs, and I was obliged to examine into them.

I am sorry to find that they have some of them been copied into my paper to-day."

He laid the newspaper before her. The first words which struck her eye were the dreaded whispers of last night; the paragraph was as follows:

"In a few days will be published the Memoirs of the late Colonel D'----, comprising anecdotes, and original love-letters; which will explain the mysterious allusions lately made in certain papers to '_La belle Fiancee_,' and '_I promessi sposi_."

"What!" exclaimed Helen; "the letters! published!"

The general had turned from her as she read, and had gone to his writing-desk, which was at the furthest end of the room; he unlocked it, and took from it a small volume, and turning over the leaves as he slowly approached Helen, he folded down some pages, laid the volume on the table before her, and then said, "Before you look into these scandalous memoirs, Miss Stanley, let me a.s.sure you, that nothing but the necessity of being empowered by you to say what is truth and what is falsehood, could determine me to give you this shock."

She was scarcely able to put forward her hand; yet took the book, opened it, looked at it, saw letters which she knew could not be Cecilia's, but turning another leaf, she pushed it from her with horror. It was the letter--beginning with "My dear--too dear Henry."

"In print!" cried she; "In print! published!"

"Not published yet, that I hope to be able to prevent," said the general.

Whether she heard, whether she could hear him, he was not certain, her head was bent down, her hands clasping her forehead. He waited some minutes, then sitting down beside her, with a voice of gentleness and of commiseration, yet of steady determination, he went on:--"I _must_ speak, and you _must_ hear me, Helen, for your own sake, and for Beauclerc's sake."

"Speak," cried she, "I hear."

"Hear then the words of a friend, who will be true to you through life--through life and death, if you will be but true to yourself, Helen Stanley--a friend who loves you as he loves Beauclerc; but he must do more, he must esteem you as he esteems Beauclerc, incapable of any thing that is false."

Helen listened with her breath suspended, not a word in reply.

"Then I ask----" She put her hand upon his arm, as if to stop him; she had a foreboding that he was going to ask something that she could not, without betraying Cecilia, answer.

"If you are not yet sufficiently collected, I will wait; take your own time--My question is simple--I ask you to tell me whether _all_ these letters are your's or not?"

"No," cried Helen, "these letters are not mine."

"Not all," said the general: "this first one I know to be yours, because I saw it in your handwriting; but I am certain all cannot be yours: now will you show me which are and which are not."

"I will take them to my own room, and consider and examine."

"Why not look at them here, Miss Stanley?"

She wanted to see Cecilia, she knew she could never answer the question without consulting her, but that she could not say; still she had no other resource, so, conquering her trembling, she rose and said, "I would rather go to----"

"Not to Cecilia," said he; "to that I object: what can Cecilia do for you? what can she advise, but what I advise, that the plain truth should be told?"