“Worse!” continued Lady Davenant. “Worse! she will lose her own esteem, she will sink, but I shall be gone,” cried she, and pressing her hand upon her heart, she faintly repeated, “Gone!” And then abruptly added, “Call Cecilia! I must see Cecilia, I must speak to her. But first I will tell you, from a few words that dropped this morning from General Clarendon, I suspect--I fear that Cecilia has deceived him!” “Impossible!--about what--about whom?” “That Colonel D’Aubigny,” said Lady Davenant. “I know all about it, and it was all nothing but nonsense. Did you look at her when the general read that paragraph this morning--did you see that innocent countenance?” “I saw it, Helen, and thought as you did, but I have been so deceived--so lately in countenance!” “Not by hers--never.” “Not by yours, Helen, never. And yet, why should I say so? This very morning, yours, had I not known you, yours would have misled me.” “Oh, my foolish absurd habit of blushing, how I wish I could prevent it!” said Helen; “I know it will make me betray somebody some time or other.” “Betray! What have you to betray?” cried Lady Davenant, leaning forward with an eagerness of eye and voice that startled Helen from all power of immediate reply. After an instant’s pause, however, she answered firmly, “Nothing, Lady Davenant, and that there is nothing wrong to be known about Cecilia, I as firmly believe as that I stand here at this moment. Can you suspect anything really wrong?” “Suspect!--wrong!” cried Lady Davenant, starting up, with a look in her eyes which made Helen recoil. “Helen, what can you conceive that I suspect wrong?--Cecilia?--Captain D’Aubigny?--What did you mean? Wrong did you say?--of Cecilia? Could you mean--could you conceive, Helen, that I, having such a suspicion could be here--living with her--or--living anywhere--” And she sank down on the sofa again, seized with sudden spasm--in a convulsion of agonising pain. But she held Helen’s hand fast grasped, detaining her--preventing her from pulling the bell; and by degrees the pain passed off, the livid hue cleared away, the colour of life once more returned, but more tardily than before, and Helen was excessively alarmed. “Poor child! my poor, dear child, I feel--I hear your heart beating. You are a coward, Helen, but a sweet creature; and I love you--and I love my daughter. What were we saying?” “Oh, say no more! say no more now, for Heaven’s sake,” said Helen, kneeling beside her; and, yielding to that imploring look, Lady Davenant, with a fond smile, parted the hair on her forehead, kissed her, and remained perfectly quiet and silent for some time.