The number of the days of quarantine were gone over every morning at breakfast by Lady Cecilia and the general; they looked in the papers carefully for the arrivals at the hotel which Beauclerc usually frequented. This morning, in reading the list aloud, the general came to the name of Sir Thomas D’Aubigny, brother to the colonel. The paragraph stated that Colonel D’Aubigny had left some manuscripts to his brother, which would soon be published, and then followed some puff in the usual style, which the general did not think it necessary to read. But one of the officers, who knew some of the D’Aubignys, went on talking of the colonel, and relating various anecdotes to prove that his souvenirs would be amusing. Helen, who was conscious that she always blushed when Colonel D’Aubigny’s name was mentioned, and that the general had observed it, was glad that he never looked up from what he was reading, and when she had courage to turn towards her, she admired Cecilia’s perfect self-possession. Beauclerc’s name was not among the arrivals, and it was settled consequently that they should not see him this day. Some time after they had left the breakfast-room, Helen found Lady Davenant in her own apartment, sitting, as it was very unusual with her, perfectly unemployed--her head leaning on her hand, and an expression of pain in her countenance. “Are not you well, my dear Lady Davenant?” Helen asked. “My mind is not well,” she replied, “and that always affects my body, and I suppose my looks.” After a moment’s silence she fixed her eyes on Helen, and said, “You tell me that Colonel D’Aubigny never was a lover--never was an admirer of yours?” “Never!” said Helen, low, but very decidedly. Lady Davenant sighed, but did not speak. After a longer continuance of silence than had almost ever occurred when they two were alone together, Lady Davenant looked up, and said, “I hope in God that I am mistaken. I pray that I may never live to see it!” “To see what?” cried Helen. “To see that one little black spot, invisible to you, Helen, the speck of evil in that heart--my daughter’s heart--spread and taint, and destroy all that is good. It must be cut out--at any pain it must be cut away; if any part be unsound, the corruption will spread.” “Corruption in Cecilia!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh! I know her--I know her from dear childhood! there is nothing corrupt in her, no, not a thought!” “My dear Helen, you see her as she has been--as she is. I see her as she may become--very--frightfully different. Helen! if truth fail, if the principle of truth fail in her character, all will fail! All that charming nature, all that fair semblance, all that fair reality, all this bright summer’s dream of happiness, even love--the supreme felicity of her warm heart--even love will fail her. Cecilia will lose her husband’s affections!” Helen uttered a faint cry.