Helen was on the brink of saying that Cecilia had told her it was like the writing of Carlos. Now this cover had not, to the general’s knowledge, been seen by Cecilia, and that one answer might have betrayed all that she was to conceal, for he would instantly have asked how and when did Cecilia see it, and the cause of her fainting would have been then understood by him. Such hazards in every, even the first, least, step in falsehood; such hazard in this first moment! But she escaped this peril, and Helen answered: “It is something like the writing of the page Carlos, but I do not think all that direction is his. There seem to be two different hands. I do not know, indeed, how it is?” “Some time or other it will come out,” said the general. “I will keep this cover, it will lead to the direction of that boy, or of whoever it was that employed him.” To give her further time the general went on looking at the miniature, which he held in his hand. “This is a beautiful likeness,” said he, “and not ill painted--by Cecilia, was not it?” Helen looked at it, and answered, “Yes, by Cecilia.” “I am glad it is safe,” said the general, “restored--Cecilia told me the history. I know that it was stolen, not given by you.” “Given!” said Helen. “Oh no! stolen.” “Base!” said the general. “He was base,” answered Helen. General Clarendon held in his hand, along with the picture, one letter separated from the rest, open; he looked at it as if embarrassed, while Helen spoke the last words, and he repeated, “Base! yes, he certainly was, or he would have destroyed these letters.” Again Helen was on the point of saying that Colonel D’Aubigny had told Cecilia he had done so, but fortunately her agitation, in default of presence of mind, kept her silent. “This is the first letter I opened,” said the general, “before I was aware that they were not what I should read. I saw only the first words, I thought then that I had a right to read them. When these letters met my eyes, I conceived them to have been written by my wife. I had a right to satisfy myself respecting the nature of the correspondence; that done, I looked no farther. I bore my suspense--I waited till she awoke.” “So she told me, Cecilia has told me all; but even if she had not, in any circumstances who could doubt your honour, General Clarendon?” “Then trust to it, Miss Stanley, for the past, for the future, trust to it! You gratify me more than I can express--you do me justice. I wished to return these letters to you with, my own hand,” continued he, “to satisfy myself, in the first place, that there was no mistake. Of that your present candour, indeed, the first look of that ingenuous countenance, was sufficient.” Helen felt that she blushed all over.