The general's bulletins, however, became at last more favourable: Mr.

Churchill was decidedly better; his physician hoped he might soon be p.r.o.nounced out of danger. The general said nothing of Beauclerc, but that he was, he believed, still at Paris. And from this time forward no more letters came from Beauclerc to Helen; as his hopes of Churchill's recovery increased, he expected every day to be released from his banishment, and was resolved to write no more till he could say that he was free. But Helen, though she did not allow it to herself, felt this deeply: she thought that her determined silence had at last convinced him that all pursuit of her was vain; and that he submitted to her rejection: she told herself it was what should be, and yet she felt it bitterly. Lady Cecilia's letters did not mention him, indeed they scarcely told anything; they had become short and constrained: the general, she said, advised her to go out more, and her letters often concluded in haste, with "Carriage at the door," and all the usual excuses of a London life.

One day when Helen was sitting intently drawing, Miss Clarendon said "Helen!" so suddenly that she started and looked round; Miss Clarendon was seated on a low stool at her aunt's feet, with one arm thrown over her great dog's neck; he had laid his head on her lap, and resting on him, she looked up with a steadiness, a fixity of repose, which brought to Helen's mind Raphael's beautiful figure of Fort.i.tude 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 p.r.o.nounced 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 a.s.sured, Miss Clarendon, that until I stand as I once stood, and as I deserve to stand, in the opinion of your brother; unless, above all, I can bring _proofs_ to Granville's confiding heart, that I have ever been unimpeachable of conduct and of mind, and in all but one circ.u.mstance true--true as yourself, Esther--never, never, though your brother and all the world consented, never till I myself felt that I was _proved_ to be as worthy to be his wife as I think I am, would I consent to marry him--no, not though my heart were to break."

"I believe it," said Mrs. Pennant; "and I wish--oh, how I wish--"

"That Lady Cecilia were hanged, as she deserves," said Miss Clarendon: "so do I, I am sure; but that is nothing to the present purpose."

"No, indeed," said Helen.

"Helen!" continued Esther, "remember that Lady Blanche Forrester is at Paris."

Helen shrank.

"Lady Cecilia tells you there is no danger; I say there is."

"Why should you say so, my dear Esther?" said her aunt.

"Has not this friend of yours always deceived, misled you, Helen?"

"She can have no motive for deceiving me in this," said Helen: "I believe her."

"Believe her then!" cried Miss Clarendon; "believe her, and do not believe me, and take the consequences: I have done."

Helen sighed, but though she might feel the want of the charm of Lady Cecilia's suavity of manner, of her agreeable, and her agreeing temper, yet she felt the safe solidity of principle in her present friend, and admired, esteemed, and loved, without fear of change, her unblenching truth. Pretty ornaments of gold cannot be worked out of the native ore; to fashion the rude ma.s.s 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 pa.s.sed on; week after week rolled away. At last General Clarendon announced to his sister, but without one word to Helen, that Mr.

Churchill was p.r.o.nounced out of danger. The news had been sent to his ward, the general said, and he expected Granville would return from his banishment immediately.

Quite taken up in the first tumult of her feelings at this intelligence, Helen scarcely observed that she had no letter from Cecilia. But even aunt Pennant was obliged to confess, in reply to her niece's observation, that this was "certainly very odd! but we shall soon hear some explanation, I hope."

Miss Clarendon shook her head; she said that she had always thought how matters would end; she judged from her brother's letters that he began to find out that he was not the happiest of men. Yet nothing to that effect was ever said by him; one phrase only excepted, in his letter to her on her last birth-day, which began with, "In our happy days, my dear Esther."

Miss Clarendon said nothing to Helen upon this subject; she refrained altogether from mentioning Lady Cecilia.

Two, three post-days pa.s.sed 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. c.o.c.kburn, has just this minute arrived, ma'am--from London." With a trembling hand, Helen tore the letter open: not one word from General Clarendon! It was only a cover, containing two notes; one from Lord Davenant to the general, the other from Lady Davenant to Helen.

Lord Davenant said that Lady Davenant's health had declined so alarmingly after their arrival at Petersburgh, that he had insisted upon her return to England, and that as soon as the object of his mission was completed, he should immediately follow her. A vessel, he said, containing letters from England, had been lost, so that they were in total ignorance of what had occurred at home; and, indeed, it appeared from the direction of Lady Davenant's note to Helen, written on her landing in England, that she had left Russia without knowing that the marriage had been broken off, or that Helen had quitted General Clarendon's. She wrote--"Let me see you and Granville once more before I die. Be in London, at my own house, to meet me. I shall be there as soon as I can be moved."

The initials only of her name were signed. Elliot added a postscript, saying that her lady had suffered much from an unusually long pa.s.sage, and that she was not sure what day they could be in town.

There was nothing from Lady Cecilia.--c.o.c.kburn said that her ladyship had not been at home when he set out; that his master had ordered him to travel all night, to get to Llansillen as fast as possible, and to make no delay in delivering the letter to Miss Stanley.

To set out instantly, to be in town at her house to meet Lady Davenant, was, of course, Helen's immediate determination. General Clarendon had sent his travelling carriage for her; and under the circ.u.mstances, 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 c.o.c.kburn herself; but nothing more was to be learned than what he had already told, that the packet from Lady Davenant had come by express to his master after Lady Cecilia had driven out, as it had been her custom of late, almost every day, to Kensington, to see her child. Nothing could be more natural, Mrs. Pennant thought, and she only wondered at Esther's unconvinced look of suspicion. "Nothing, surely, can be more natural, my dear Esther." To which Esther replied, "Very likely, ma'am." Helen was too much hurried and too much engrossed by the one idea of Lady Davenant to think of what they said. At parting she had scarcely time even to thank her two friends for all their kindness, but they understood her feelings, and, as Miss Clarendon said, words on that point were unnecessary. Aunt Pennant embraced her again and again, and then let her go, saying, "I must not detain you, my dear."

"But I must," said Miss Clarendon, "for one moment. There is one point on which my parting words are necessary. Helen! keep clear of Lady Cecilia's affairs, whatever they may be. Hear none of her secrets."

Helen wished she had never heard any; did not believe there were any more to hear; but she promised herself and Miss Clarendon that she would observe this excellent counsel.

And now she was in the carriage, and on her road to town. And now she had leisure to breathe, and to think, and to feel. Her thoughts and feelings, however, could be only repet.i.tions of fears and hopes about Lady Davenant, and uncertainty and dread of what would happen when she should require explanation of all that had occurred in her absence. And how would Lady Cecilia he able to meet her mother's penetration?--ill or well, Lady Davenant was so clear-sighted. "And how shall I," thought Helen, "without plunging deeper in deceit, avoid revealing the truth?

Shall I a.s.sist 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 c.o.c.kburn, according to his master's directions, got her over the ground with all conceivable speed.

CHAPTER XIII

When they were within the last stage of London, the carriage suddenly stopped, and Helen, who was sitting far back, deep in her endless reverie, started forward--c.o.c.kburn 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 c.o.c.kburn shut the door without permitting one moment's delay, and on they drove.

Lady Cecilia was excessively agitated. Helen had not power to utter a word, and was glad that Cecilia went on speaking very fast; though she spoke without appearing to know well what she was saying: of Helen's goodness in coming so quickly, of her fears that she would never have been in time--"but she was in time,--her mother had not yet arrived.

Clarendon had gone to meet her on the road, she believed--she was not quite certain."

That seemed very extraordinary to Helen. "Not quite certain?" said she.

"No, I am not," replied Cecilia, and she coloured; her very pale cheek flushed; but she explained not at all, she left that subject, and spoke of the friends Helen had left at Llansillen--then suddenly of her mother's return--her hopes--her fears--and then, without going on to the natural idea of seeing her mother, and of how soon they should see her, began to talk of Beauclerc--of Mr. Churchill's being quite out of danger--of the general's expectation of Beauclerc's immediate return.

"And then, my dearest Helen," said she, "all will be-----"

"Oh! I do not know how it will be!" cried she, her tone changing suddenly; and, from the breathless hurry in which she had been running on, sinking at once to a low broken tone, and speaking very slowly.

"I cannot tell what will become of any of us. We can never be happy again--any one of us. And it is all my doing--and I cannot die. Oh!

Helen, when I tell you-----"

She stopped, and Miss Clarendon's warning counsel, all her own past experience, were full in Helen's mind; and after a moment's silence, she stopped Cecilia just as she seemed to have gathered power to speak, and begged that she would not tell her any thing that was to be kept secret.

She could not, would not hear any secrets; she turned her head aside, and let down the gla.s.s, and looked out, as if determined not to be compelled to receive this confidence.

"Have you, then, lost all interest, all affection for me, Helen? I deserve it!--But you need not fear me now, Helen: I have done with deception, would to Heaven I had never begun with it!"

It was the tone and look of truth--she steadily fixed her eyes upon Helen--and instead of the bright beams that used to play in those eyes, there was now a dark deep-seated sorrow, almost despair. Helen was touched to the heart: it was indeed impossible for her, it would have been impossible for any one who had any feeling, to have looked upon Lady Cecilia Clarendon at that moment, and to have recollected what she had so lately been, without pity. The friend of her childhood looked upon her with all the poignant anguish of compa.s.sion--

"Oh! my dear Cecilia! how changed!"

Helen was not sensible that she uttered the words "how changed!"

"Changed! yes! I believe I am," said Lady Cecilia, in a calm voice, "very much changed in appearance, but much more in reality; my mind is more altered than my person. Oh! Helen! if you could see into my mind at this moment, and know how completely it is changed;--but it is all in vain now! You have suffered, and suffered for me! but your sufferings could not equal mine. You lost love and happiness, but still conscious of deserving both: I had both at my command, and I could enjoy neither under the consciousness, the torture of remorse."

Helen threw her arms round her, and exclaimed, "Do not think of me!--all will be well--since you have resolved on the truth, all will yet be well."

Cecilia sighed deeply and went on.--"I am sure, Helen, you were surprised that my child was born alive; at least I was. I believe its mother had not feeling enough to endanger its existence. Well, Clarendon has that comfort at all events, and, as a boy, it will never put him in mind of his mother. Well, Helen, I had hopes of myself to the last minute; I really and truly hoped, as I told you, that I should have had courage to tell him all when I put the child into his arms. But his joy!--I could not dash his joy--I could not!--and then I thought I never could. I knew you would give me up; I gave up all hope of myself. I was very unhappy, and Clarendon thought I was very ill; and I acknowledge that I was anxious about you, and let all the blame fall on you, innocent, generous creature!--I heard my husband perpetually upbraiding you when he saw me ill--all, he said, the consequences of your falsehood--and all the time I knew it was my own.