Lady Cecilia came into the drawing-room in the evening; but, after paying her compliments to the company, she gladly followed the general’s advice, and retired to the music-room: Helen went with her, and Beauclerc followed. Lady Cecilia sat down to play at ecarté with him, and Helen tuned her harp. The general came in for a few minutes, he said, to escape from two young ladies, who had talked him half dead about craniology. He stood leaning on the mantelpiece, and looking over the game. Lady Cecilia wanted counters, and she begged Beauclerc to look for some which she believed he would find in the drawer of a table that was behind him. Beauclerc opened the drawer, but no sooner had he done so, than, in admiration of something he discovered there, he exclaimed, “Beautiful! beautiful! and how like!” It was the miniature of Helen, and besides the miniature, further back in the drawer, Lady Cecilia saw--how quick is the eye of guilty fear!--could it be?--yes--one of the fatal letters--_the_ letter! Nothing but the picture had yet been seen by the general or by Beauclerc: Lady Cecilia stretched behind her husband, whose eyes were upon the miniature, and closed the drawer. It was all she could do, it was impossible for her to reach the letter. Beauclerc, holding the picture to the light, repeated, “Beautiful! who did it? whom is it for? General, look! do you know it?” “Yes, to be sure,” replied the general; “Miss Stanley.” “You have seen it before?” “Yes,” said the general, coldly. “It is very like. Who did it?” “I did it,” cried Lady Cecilia, who now recovered her voice. “You, my dear Lady Cecilia! Whom for? for me? is it for me?” “For you? It may be, hereafter, perhaps.” “Oh thank you, my dear Lady Cecilia!” cried Beauclerc. “If you behave well, perhaps,” added she. The general heard in his wife’s tremulous tone, and saw in her half confusion, half attempt at playfulness, only an amiable anxiety to save her friend, and to give her time to recover from her dismay. He at once perceived that Helen had not followed the course he had suggested; that she had not told Beauclerc, and did not intend that he should be told the whole truth. The general looked extremely grave; Beauclerc gave a glance round the room. “Here is some mystery,” said he, now first seeing Helen’s disconcerted countenance. Then he turned on the general a look of eager inquiry. “Some mystery, certainly,” said he, “with which I am not to be made acquainted?” “If there be any mystery,” said the general, “with which you are not to be made acquainted, I am neither the adviser nor abettor. Neither in jest nor earnest am I ever an adviser of mystery.”