before Carlos; she was afraid, even at this moment, to irritate her by giving utterance to her doubts; she determined, therefore, to keep them to herself till she had some positive grounds for her suspicions. She resolved to watch the boy very carefully. Presently, having finished her letters, Lady Davenant rang for him. Helen’s eyes were upon Carlos the moment he entered, and her thoughts did not escape observation. “You are wrong, Helen,” said Lady Davenant, as she lighted the taper to seal her letters. “If I am not right,” said Helen, keeping her eyes upon the boy’s changing countenance, “I am too suspicious--but observe, am I not right, at this instant, in thinking that his countenance is _bad?_” Lady Davenant could not but see that countenance change in an extraordinary manner, in spite of his efforts to keep it steady. “You cause that of which you complain,” said she, going on sealing her letters deliberately. “In courts of public justice, and in private equity,” the word _equity_ she pronounced with an austere emphasis, “how often is the change of countenance misinterpreted. The sensibility of innocence, that cannot bear to be suspected, is often mistaken for the confusion worse confounded of guilt.” Helen observed, that, as Lady Davenant spoke, and spoke in his favour, the boy’s countenance cleared up; that vacillating expression of fear, and consciousness of having something within him unwhipt of justice, completely disappeared, and his whole air was now bold and open--towards Helen, almost an air of defiance. “What do you think is the cause of this change in his countenance--you observe it, do you not?” asked Helen. “Yes, and the cause is as plain as the change. He sees I do not suspect him, though you do; and seeing, Helen, that he has at least one friend in the world, who will do him justice, the orphan boy takes courage.” “I wish I could be as good as you are, my dearest Lady Davenant,” said Helen; “but I cannot help still feeling, and saying,--I doubt. Now observe him, while I speak; I will turn my eyes away, that my terrible looks may not confound him. You say he knows that you do not suspect him, and that I do. How does he know it?” “How!” said Lady Davenant. “By the universal language of the eyes.” “Not only by that universal language, I think,” said Helen; “but I suspect he understands every word we say.” Helen, without ever looking up from a bunch of seals which she was rubbing bright, slowly and very distinctly added, “I think that he can speak, read, and write English.” A change in the countenance of Carlos appeared, notwithstanding all his efforts to hold his features in the same position; instead of placid composure there was now grim rigidity.