CHAPTER XI.

According to the general's advice, Mrs. Pennant did not delay her journey, and Helen left London the next day with her and Miss Clarendon.

The last bulletin of Mr. Churchill had been that he was still in great danger, and a few scarce legible lines Helen had received from Cecilia, saying that the general would not allow her to agitate herself by going to take leave of her, that she was glad that Helen was to be out of town till all blew over, and that she was so much distracted by this horrible event, she scarcely knew what she wrote.

As they drove out of town, Miss Clarendon, in hopes of turning Helen's thoughts, went on talking. "Unless," said she, "we could like Madame de Genlis, 'promote the post-boys into agents of mystery and romance,' we have but little chance, I am afraid, of any adventures on our journey to Llansillen, my dear Miss Stanley."

She inveighed against the stupid safety, convenience, luxury, and expedition of travelling now-a-days all over England, even in Wales, "so that one might sleep the whole way from Hyde Park corner to Llansillen gate," said she, "and have no unconscionably long nap either. No difficulties on the road, nothing to complain of at inns, no enjoying one's dear delight in being angry, no opportunity even of showing one's charming resignation. Dreadfully bad this for the nervous and bilious, for all the real use and benefit of travelling is done away; all too easy for my taste; one might as well be a doll, or a dolt, or a parcel in the coach."

Helen would have been glad to have been considered merely as a parcel in the coach. During the whole journey, she took no notice of any thing till they came within a few miles of Llansillen; then, endeavouring to sympathise with her companions, she looked out of the carriage window at the prospect which they admired. But, however charming, Llansillen had not for Helen the chief charm of early, fond, old a.s.sociations with a happy home. To her it was to be, she doubted not, as happy as kindness could make it, but still it was new; and in that thought, that feeling, there was something inexpressibly melancholy; and the contrast, at this moment, between her sensations and those of her companions, made the pain the more poignant; they perceived this, and were silent. Helen was grateful for this consideration for her, but she could not bear to be a constraint upon them, therefore she now exerted herself, sat forward--admired and talked when she was scarcely able to speak. By the time they came to Llansillen gate, however, she could say no more; she was obliged to acknowledge that she was not well; and when the carriage at last stopped at the door, there was such a throbbing in her temples, and she was altogether so ill, that it was with the greatest difficulty she could, leaning on Miss Clarendon's arm, mount the high steps to the hall-door. She could scarcely stand when she reached the top, but, making an effort, she went on, crossed the slippery floor of that great hall, and came to the foot of the black oak staircase, of which the steps were so very low that she thought she could easily go up, but found it impossible, and she was carried directly up to Miss Clarendon's own room, no other having been yet prepared. The rosy Welsh maids looked with pity on the pale stranger. They hurried to and fro, talking Welsh to one another very fast; and Helen felt as if she were in a foreign land, and in a dream. The end of the matter was, that she had a low fever which lasted long. It was more dispiriting than dangerous--more tedious than alarming. Her illness continued for many weeks, during which time she was attended most carefully by her two new friends--by Miss Clarendon with the utmost zeal and activity--by Mrs. Pennant with the greatest solicitude and tenderness.

Her history for these weeks--indeed for some months afterwards--can be only the diary of an invalid and of a convalescent. Miss Clarendon meanwhile received from her brother, punctually, once a week, bulletins of Churchill's health; the surgical details, the fears of the formation of internal abscess, reports of continual exfoliations of bone, were judiciously suppressed, and the laconic general reported only "Much the same--not progressing--cannot be p.r.o.nounced out of danger." These bulletins were duly repeated to Helen, whenever she was able to hear them; and at last she was considered well enough to read various letters, which had arrived for her during her illness; several were from Lady Cecilia, but little in them. The first was full only of expressions of regret, and self-reproach; in the last, she said, _she hoped soon to have a right to claim Helen back again_. This underlined pa.s.sage Helen knew alluded to the promise she had once made, that at the birth of her child all should be told; but words of promise from Cecilia had lost all value--all power to excite even hope, as she said to herself as she read the words, and sighed.

One of her letters mentioned what she would have seen in the first newspaper she had opened, that Lady Blanche Forrester was gone with her sister, the Comtesse de St. Cymon, to Paris, to join her brother Lord Beltravers. But Lady Cecilia observed, that Helen need not be alarmed by this paragraph, which she was sure was inserted on purpose to plague her. Lady Cecilia seemed to take it for granted that her rejection of Beauclerc was only a _ruse d'amour_, and went on with her usual hopes, now vague and more vague every letter--that things would end well sometime, somehow or other.

Helen only sighed on reading these letters, and quick as she glanced her eye over them, threw them from her on the bed; and Miss Clarendon said, "Ay! you know her now, I see!"

Helen made no reply: she was careful not to make any comment which could betray how much, or what sort of reason she had to complain of Lady Cecilia; but Miss Clarendon, confident that she had guessed pretty nearly the truth, was satisfied with her own penetration, and then, after seeming to doubt for a few moments, she put another letter into Helen's hand, and with one of those looks of tender interest which sometimes softened her countenance, she left the room.

The letter was from Beauclerc; it appeared to have been written immediately after he had received Helen's letter, and was as follows:--

"Not write to you, my dearest Helen! Renounce my claim to your hand!

submit to be rejected by you, my affianced bride! No, never--never!

Doubt! suspicion!--suspicion of you!--you, angel as you are--you, who have devoted, sacrificed yourself to others. No, Helen, my admiration, my love, my trust in you, are greater than they ever were. And do _I_ dare to say these words to you? _I_, who am perhaps a murderer! I ought to imitate your generosity, I ought not to offer you a hand stained with blood:--I ought at least to leave you free till I know when I may return from banishment. I have written this at the first instant I have been able to command during my hurried journey, and as you know something of what led to this unhappy business, you shall in my next letter hear the whole; till then, adieu! GRANVILLE BEAUCLERC."

The next day, when she thought Helen sufficiently recovered from the agitation of reading Beauclerc's letter, aunt Pennant produced one letter more, which she had kept for the last, because she hoped it would give pleasure to her patient. Helen sat up in her bed eagerly, and stretched out her hand. The letter was directed by General Clarendon, but that was only the outer cover, they knew, for he had mentioned in his last dispatch to his sister, that the letter enclosed for Miss Stanley was from Lady Davenant. Helen tore off the cover, but the instant she saw the inner direction, she sank hack, turned, and hid her face on the pillow.

It was directed--"To Mrs. Granville Beauclerc."

Lady Davenant had unfortunately taken it for granted, that nothing could have prevented the marriage.

Aunt Pennant blamed herself for not having foreseen, and prevented this accident, which she saw distressed poor Helen so much. But Miss Clarendon wondered that she was so shocked, and supposed she would get over it in a few minutes, or else she must be very weak. There was nothing that tended to raise her spirits much in the letter itself, to make amends for the shock the direction had given. It contained but a few lines in Lady Davenant's own handwriting, and a postscript from Lord Davenant. She wrote only to announce their safe arrival at Petersburgh, as she was obliged to send off her letter before she had received any dispatches from England; and she concluded with, "I am sure the first will bring me the joyful news of Beauclerc's happiness and yours, my dear child."

Lord Davenant's postscript added, that in truth Lady Davenant much needed such a cordial, for that her health had suffered even more than he had feared it would. He repented that he had allowed her to accompany him to such a rigorous climate.

All that could be said to allay the apprehensions this postscript might excite, was of course said in the best way by aunt Pennant. But it was plain that Helen did not recover during the whole of this day from the shock she had felt "from that foolish direction," as Miss Clarendon said. She could not be prevailed upon to rise this day, though Miss Clarendon, after feeling her pulse, had declared that she was very well able to get up. "It was very bad for her to remain in bed." This was true, no doubt. And Miss Clarendon remarked to her aunt that she was surprised to find Miss Stanley so weak. Her aunt replied that it was not surprising that she should be rather weak at present, after such a long illness.

"Weakness of body and mind need not go together," said Miss Clarendon.

"Need not, perhaps," said her aunt, "but they are apt to do so."

"It is to be hoped the weakness of mind will go with the weakness of body, and soon," said Miss Clarendon.

"We must do what we can to strengthen and fatten her, poor thing!" said Mrs. Pennant.

"Fatten the body, rather easier than to strengthen the mind. Strength of mind cannot be thrown in, as you would throw in the bark, or the chicken broth."

"Only have patience with her," said Mrs. Pennant, "and you will find that she will have strength of mind enough when she gets quite well.

Only have patience."

During Helen's illness Miss Clarendon had been patient, but now that she was p.r.o.nounced 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 a.s.sured them that all fever was gone, and agreed with her that the patient would soon be well, if she would only think so, Miss Clarendon deemed it high time to use something more than her milder influence, to become, if not a rugged, at least a stern nurse, and she brought out some of her rigid lore.

"I intend that you should get up in seasonable time to-day, Helen," said she, as she entered her room.

"Do you?" said Helen in a languid voice.

"I do," said Miss Clarendon; "and I hope you do not intend to do as you did yesterday, to lie in bed all day."

Helen turned, sighed, and Mrs. Pennant said, "Yesterday is over, my dear Esther--no use in talking of yesterday."

"Only to secure our doing better to-day, ma'am," replied Miss Clarendon with prompt ability.

Helen was all submission, and she got up, and that was well. Miss Clarendon went in quest of arrow-root judiciously; and aunt Pennant stayed and nourished her patient meanwhile with "the fostering dew of praise;" and let her dress as slowly and move as languidly as she liked, though Miss Clarendon had admonished her "not to _dawdle_."

As soon as she was dressed, Helen went to the window and threw up the sash for the first time to enjoy the fresh air, and to see the prospect which she was told was beautiful; and she saw that it was beautiful, and, though it was still winter, she felt that the air was balmy; and the sun shone bright, and the gra.s.s began to be green, for spring approached. But how different to her from the spring-time of former years! Nature the same, but all within herself how changed! And all which used to please, and to seem to her most cheerful, now came over her spirits with a sense of sadness;--she felt as if all the life of life was gone. Tears filled her eyes, large tears rolled slowly down as she stood fixed, seeming to gaze from that window at she knew not what. Aunt Pennant unperceived stood beside her, and let the tears flow unnoticed. "They will do her good; they are a great relief sometimes."

Miss Clarendon returned, and the tears were dried, but the glaze remained, and Miss Clarendon saw it, and gave a reproachful look at her aunt, as much as to say, "Why did you let her cry?" And her aunt's look in reply was, "I could not help it, my dear."

"Eat your arrow-root," was all that transpired to Helen. And she tried to eat, but could not; and Miss Clarendon was not well pleased, for the arrow-root was good, and she had made it; she felt Miss Stanley's pulse, and said that "It was as good a pulse as could be, only low and a little fluttered."

"Do not flutter it any more, then, Esther my dear," said Mrs. Pennant.

"What am I doing or saying, ma'am, that should flutter anybody that has common sense?"

"Some people don't like to have their pulse felt," said aunt Pennant.

"Those people have not common sense," replied the niece.

"I believe I have not common sense," said Helen.

"Sense you have enough--resolution is what you want, Helen, I tell you."

"I know," said Helen, "too true----"

"True, but not too true--nothing can be too true."

"True," said Helen, with languid submission. Helen was not in a condition to chop logic, or ever much inclined to it; now less than ever, and least of all with Miss Clarendon, so able as she was. There is something very provoking sometimes in perfect submission, because it is unanswerable. But the langour, not the submission, afforded some cause for further remark and remonstrance.

"Helen, you are dreadfully languid to-day."

"Sadly," said Helen.

"If you could have eaten more arrow-root before it grew cold, you would have been better."

"But if she could not, my dear Esther," said aunt Pennant.