“Yes,” said Lady Delacour, “but I wear myself out with these charming spirits. I am very nervous still, I assure you, and sitting up late is not good for me: so I shall wish you and all the world a good night. You see I am absolutely a reformed rake.” CHAPTER XIV. THE EXHIBITION. Two hours after her ladyship had retired to her room, as Belinda was passing by the door to go to her own bedchamber, she heard Lady Delacour call to her. “Belinda, you need not walk so softly; I am not asleep. Come in, will you, my dear? I have something of consequence to say to you. Is all the world gone?” “Yes; and I thought that you were asleep. I hope you are not in pain.” “Not just at present, thank you; but that was a terrible embrace of poor little Helena’s. You see to what accidents I should be continually exposed, if I had that child always about me; and yet she seems of such an affectionate disposition, that I wish it were possible to keep her at home. Sit down by my bedside, my dear Belinda, and I will tell you what I have resolved upon.” Belinda sat down, and Lady Delacour was silent for some minutes. “I am resolved,” said she, “to make one desperate effort for my life. New plans, new hopes of happiness, have opened to my imagination, and, with my hopes of being happy, my courage rises. I am determined to submit to the dreadful operation which alone can radically cure me--you understand me; but it must be kept a profound secret. I know of a person who could be got to perform this operation with the utmost secrecy.” “But, surely,” said Belinda, “safety must be your first object!” “No, secrecy is my first object. Nay, do not reason with me; it is a subject on which I cannot, will not, reason. Hear me--I will keep Helena with me for a few days; she was surprised by what passed in the library this evening--I must remove all suspicion from her mind.” “There is no suspicion in her mind,” said Belinda. “So much the better: she shall go immediately to school, or to Oakly-park. I will then stand my trial for life or death; and if I live I will be, what I have never yet been, a mother to Helena. If I die, you and Clarence Hervey will take care of her; I know you will. That young man is worthy of you, Belinda. If I die, I charge you to tell him that I knew his value; that I had a soul capable of being touched by the eloquence of virtue.” Lady Delacour, after a pause, said, in an altered tone, “Do you think, Belinda, that I shall survive this operation?” “The opinion of Dr. X----,” said Belinda, “must certainly be more satisfactory than mine;” and she repeated what the doctor had left with her in writing upon this subject. “You see,” said Belinda, “that Dr. X----is by no means certain that you have the complaint which you dread.”