“Deceiving! do not call it deceiving, it is only suppressing a fact that would give him pain; and when he can have no suspicion, why give him that pain? I am afraid of nothing now but this timidity of yours--this going back. Just before you came in, Clarendon was saying how much he admired your truth and candour, how much he is obliged to you for saving him from endless misery; he said so to me, that was what made me so completely happy. I saw that it was all right for you as well as me, that you had not sunk, that you had risen in his esteem.” “But I must sink, Cecilia, in his esteem, and now it hangs upon a single point--upon my doing what I cannot do.” Then she repeated what the general had said about that perfect openness which he was sure there would be in this case between her and Beauclerc. “You see what the general expects that I should do.” “Yes,” said Cecilia; and then indeed she looked much disturbed. “I am very sorry that this notion of your telling Beauclerc came into Clarendon’s head--very, very sorry, for he will not forget it. And yet, after all,” continued she, “he will never ask you point blank, ‘Have you told Beauclerc?’--and still more impossible that he should ask Beauclerc about it.” “Cecilia!” said Helen, “if it were only for myself I would say no more; there is nothing I would not endure--that I would not sacrifice--even my utmost happiness.”--She stopped, and blushed deeply. “Oh, my dearest Helen! do you think I could let you ever hazard that? If I thought there was the least chance of injuring you with Granville!--I would do any thing--I would throw myself at Clarendon’s feet this instant.” “This instant--I wish he was here,” cried Helen. “Good Heavens! do you?” cried Lady Cecilia, looking at the door with terror--she thought she heard his step. “Yes, if you would but tell him--O let me call him!” “Oh no, no! Spare me--spare me, I cannot speak now. I could not utter the words; I should not know what words to use. Tell him if you will, I cannot.” “May I tell him?” said Helen, eagerly. “No, no--that would be worse; if anybody tells him it must be myself.” “Then you will now--when he comes in?” “He is coming!” cried Cecilia. General Clarendon came to the door--it was bolted. “In a few minutes,” said Helen. Lady Cecilia did not speak, but listened, as in agony, to his receding footsteps. “In a few minutes, Helen, did you say?--then there is nothing for me now, but to die--I wish I could die--I wish I was dead.” Helen felt she was cruel, she began to doubt her own motives; she thought she had been selfish in urging Cecilia too strongly; and, going to her kindly, she said, “Take your own time, my dear Cecilia: only tell him--tell him soon.” “I will, I will indeed, when I can--but now I am quite exhausted.” “You are indeed,” said Helen, “how cruel I have been!--how pale you are!”