“And what is the occasion?” cried Cecilia, again taking her hand, “pray trust me; indeed you shall not repent your confidence. Your reserve hitherto has only raised you in my esteem, but do not carry it so far as to mortify me by a total rejection of my good offices.” “Ah madam!” said the young woman, sighing, “you ought to be good, I am sure, for you will draw all out of me by such kindness as this! the occasion was a neglected wound, never properly healed.” “A wound? is he in the army?” “No,--he was shot through the side in a duel.” “In a duel?” exclaimed Cecilia, “pray what is his name?” “O that I must not tell you! his name is a great secret now, while he is in this poor place, for I know he had almost rather never see the light again than have it known.” “Surely, surely,” cried Cecilia, with much emotion, “he cannot--I hope he cannot be Mr Belfield?” “Ah Heaven!” cried the young woman, screaming, “do you then know him?” Here, in mutual astonishment, they looked at each other. “You are then,” said Cecilia, “the sister of Mr Belfield? And Mr Belfield is thus sick, his wound is not yet healed,--and he is without any help!” “And who, madam, are _you_?” cried she, “and how is it you know him?” “My name is Beverley.” “Ah!” exclaimed she again, “I fear I have done nothing but mischief! I know very well who you are now, madam, but if my brother discovers that I have betrayed him, he will take it very unkind, and perhaps never forgive me.” “Be not alarmed,” cried Cecilia; “rest assured he shall never know it. Is he not now in the country?” “No, madam, he is now in the very next room.” “But what is become of the surgeon who used to attend him, and why does he not still visit him?” “It is in vain, now, to hide any thing from you; my brother deceived him, and said he was going out of town merely to get rid of him.” “And what could induce him to act so strangely?” “A reason which you, madam, I hope, will never know, Poverty!--he would not run up a bill he could not pay.” “Good Heaven!--But what can be done for him? He must not be suffered to linger thus; we must contrive some method of relieving and assisting him, whether he will consent or not.” “I fear that will not be possible. One of his friends has already found him out, and has written him the kindest letter! but he would not answer it, and would not see him, and was only fretted and angry.” “Well,” said Cecilia, “I will not keep you longer, lest he should be alarmed by your absence. To-morrow morning, with your leave, I will call upon you again, and then, I hope, you will permit me to make some effort to assist you.” “If it only depended upon me, madam,” she answered, “now I have the honour to know who you are, I believe I should not make much scruple, for I was not brought up to notions so high as my brother. Ah! happy had it been for him, for me, for all his family, if he had not had them neither!”