In the morning, to Helen’s astonishment, Cecilia’s first words were about a dream--“Oh, my dear Helen, I have had such a dream! I do not usually mind dreams in the least, but I must own to you that this has made an impression! My dear, I can hardly tell it; I can scarcely bear to think of it. I thought that Clarendon and I were sitting together, and my hand was on his shoulder; and I had worked myself up--I was just going to speak. He was winding up his watch, and I leaned forward to see his face better. He looked up-and it was not him: it was Colonel D’Aubigny come to life. The door opened, Clarendon appeared--his eyes were upon me; but I do not know what came afterwards; all was confusion and fighting. And then I was with that nurse my mother recommended, and an infant in her arms. I was going to take the child, when Clarendon snatched it, and threw it into the flames. Oh! I awoke with a scream!” “How glad you must have been,” said Helen, “to awake and find it was only a dream!” “But when I screamed,” continued Cecilia, “Clarendon started up, and asked if I was in pain. ‘Not of body,’ I said;--and then--oh, Helen! then I thought I would begin. ‘Not of body,’ I said, ‘but of mind;’ then I added, ‘I was thinking of Helen and Beauclerc,’ Clarendon said, ‘So was I; but there is no use in thinking of it; we can do no good.’--‘Then,’ I said, ‘suppose, Clarendon--only suppose that Helen, without saying any thing, were to let this matter pass off with Beauclerc?’--Clarendon answered, ‘It would not pass off with Beauclerc.’--‘But,’ said I, ‘I do not mean without any explanation at all. Only suppose that Helen did not enter into any particulars, do not you think, Clarendon, that things would go on well enough?’--‘No,’ he said decidedly, ‘no.’--‘Do you mean,’ said I, ‘that things would not go on at all?’--‘I do not say, not at all,’ he answered; ‘but _well_ they would not go on.’” “I am sure the general is right,” said Helen. “Then,” continued Lady Cecilia, “then I put the question differently. I wanted to feel my way, to try whether I could possibly venture upon my own confession. ‘Consider it this way, Clarendon,’ I said. ‘Take it for granted that Helen did somehow arrange that Beauclerc were to be satisfied without any formal explanation.’--‘Formal!’ said he,--‘I will not say formal,’ said I; ‘but without a _full_ explanation: in short, suppose that from mere timidity, Helen could not, did not, exactly tell him the whole before marriage--put it off till afterwards--then told him all candidly; do you think, Clarendon, that if you were in Beauclerc’s place (I quite stammered when I came to this)--do you think you could pardon, or forgive, or esteem, or love,’ I intended to end with, but he interrupted me with--‘I do not know,’ very shortly; and added, ‘I hope this is not what Miss Stanley intends to do?’” “Oh! what did you answer?” cried Helen.