“Yes, but these were all of no consequence; there must be more, or you could not be so much afraid, Cecilia, of the general’s seeing these, surely.” At this moment Lady Davenant’s prophecy, all she had said about her daughter, flashed across Helen’s mind, and with increasing eagerness she went on. “What is there in those letters that can alarm you so much?” “I declare I do not know,” said Cecilia, “that is the plain truth; I cannot recollect--I cannot be certain what there is in them.” “But it is not so long ago, Cecilia,--only two years?” “That is true, but so many great events have happened since, and such new feelings, all that early nonsense was swept out of my mind. I never really loved that wretch--” A gleam of joy came across Helen’s face. “Never, never,” repeated Lady Cecilia. “Oh, I am happy still,” cried Helen. “I told your mother I was sure of this.” “Good heavens!--Does she know about this packet?” “No, no!--how could she? But what frightens you, my dear Cecilia? you say there is nothing wrong in the letters?” “Nothing--nothing.” “Then make no wrong out of nothing,” cried Helen. “If you break confidence with your husband, that confidence will never, never unite again--your mother says so.” “My mother!” cried Cecilia: “Good heavens!--so she does suspect?--tell me, Helen, tell me what she suspects.” “That you did not at first--before you were married, tell the general the whole truth about Colonel D’Aubigny.” Cecilia was silent. “But it is not yet too late,” said Helen, earnestly; “you can set it all right now--this is the moment, my dearest Cecilia. Do, do,” cried Helen, “do tell him all--bid him look at the letters.” “Look at them! Impossible! Impossible!” said Lady Cecilia. “Bid me die rather.” She turned quite away. “Listen to me, Cecilia;” she held her fast. “You must do it, Cecilia.” “Helen, I cannot.” “You can, indeed you can,” said Helen; “only have courage _now_, and you will be happier all your life afterwards.” “Do not ask it--do not ask it--it is all in vain, you are wasting time.” “No, no--not wasting time; and in short, Cecilia, you must do what I ask of you, for it is right; and I will not do what you ask of me, for it is wrong.” “You will not!--You will not!” cried Lady Cecilia, breathless. “After all! You will not receive the packet for me! you will not let the general believe the letters to be yours! Then I am undone! You will not do it!--Then do not talk to me--do not talk to me--you do not know General Clarendon. If his jealousy were once roused, you have no idea what it would be.” “If the man were alive,” said Helen, “but since he is dead--” “But Clarendon would never forgive me for having loved another--” “You said you did not love him.”