“All is over,” said Helen, “all is well. I have the letters locked up; I cannot stay.” Helen disengaged herself almost forcibly from Cecilia’s embrace, and she was in Lady Davenant’s room in another minute. She bade her good morning as composedly as she could, she thought quite as usual. But that was impossible: so much the better, for it would not have been natural this last morning of Lady Davenant’s stay, when nothing was as usual externally or internally. All was preparation for departure--her maids packing--Lady Davenant, making some last arrangements--in the midst of which she stopped to notice Helen--pressed her in her arms, and after looking once in her face, said, “My poor child! it must be so.” Elliott interrupted, asking some question, purposely to draw off her attention; and while she turned about to give some orders to another servant, Elliott said to Miss Stanley, “My Lady was not well last night; she must be kept from all that can agitate her, as much as possible.” Helen at that instant rejoiced that she had done what she had. She agreed with Elliott, she said, that all emotion which could be avoided should; and upon this principle busied herself, and was glad to employ herself in whatever she could to assist the preparations, avoiding all conversation with Lady Davenant. “You are right, my love--quite right,” said Lady Davenant. “The best way is always to employ one’s self always to the last. Yes, put up those drawings carefully, in this portfolio, Elliott; take silver paper, Helen.” They were Helen’s own drawings, so all went on, and all was safe--even when Cecilia was spoken of; while the silver paper went over the drawings, Helen answered that she had seen her. “She was not well, but still not seriously ill, though--” “Yes,” said Lady Davenant; “only the general is too anxious about her--very naturally. He sent me word just now,” continued she, “that he has forbidden her to get up before breakfast. I will go and see her now; dear Cecilia! I hope she will do well--every way--I feel sure of it, Helen--sure as you do yourself, my dear--But what is the matter?” “Nothing!” said Helen. That was not quite true; but she could not help it--“Nothing!” repeated she. “Only I am anxious, my dear Lady Davenant,” continued poor Helen blundering, unaccustomed to evasions--“only I am very anxious you should go soon to Cecilia; I know she is awake now, and you will be hurried after breakfast.” Elliott looked reproachfully at Miss Stanley, for she thought it much better for her lady to be engaged in more indifferent matters till after breakfast, when she would have but a few minutes to spend with her daughter; so Helen, correcting herself, added--“But, perhaps I’m wrong, so do not let me interrupt you in whatever you are doing.” “My dear child,” said Lady Davenant; “you do not know what you are saying or doing yourself this morning.”