“I said I did not know. My dear Helen, it was the only thing I could say. What would Clarendon have thought, after all my _supposes_, if I had said any thing else? he must have seen the truth.” “And that he is not to see,” said Helen: “and how false he must think me!” “No, no; for I told him,” continued Lady Cecilia, “that I was sure you wished always to tell the whole truth about everything, but that there might be circumstances where you really could not; and where I, knowing all the circumstances, could not advise it. He said, ‘Cecilia, I desire you will not advise or interfere any farther in this matter. Promise me, Cecilia!’ He spoke sternly, and I promised as fast as I could. ‘Do nothing, say nothing more about it,’ he repeated; and now, after that, could I go on, Helen?” “No, indeed; I do not think you could. My dear Cecilia, I really think you could not,” said Helen, much moved. “And do you forgive me, my dear, good----.” But seeing Helen change colour, Lady Cecilia, following her eye, and looking out of the window, started up, exclaiming, “There is Beauclerc; I see him in my mother’s walk. I will go to him this minute; yes, I will trust him--I will tell him all instantly.” Helen caught hold of her, and stopped her. Surprised, Cecilia said, “Do not stop me. I may never have the courage again if stopped now. Do not stop me, Helen.” “I must, Cecilia. General Clarendon desired you not to interfere in the matter.” “But this is not interfering, only interposing to prevent mischief.” “But, Cecilia,” continued Helen eagerly, “another reason has just struck me.” “I wish reasons would not strike you. Let me go. Oh, Helen; it is for you.” “And it is for you I speak, Cecilia,” said Helen, as fast as she could. “If you told Beauclerc, you never could afterwards tell the general; it would be a new difficulty. You know the general could never endure your having confessed this to any man but himself--trusted Beauclerc rather than your husband.” Cecilia stopped, and stood silent. “My dear Cecilia,” continued Helen, “you must leave me to my own judgment now;” and, breaking from Cecilia, she left the room. She hurried out to meet Beauclerc. He stopped on seeing her, and then came forward with an air of evident deliberation. “Do you wish to speak to me, Miss Stanley!” “Miss Stanley!” cried Helen; “is it come to this, and without hearing me!” “Without hearing you, Helen! Was not I ready last night to hear you? Without hearing you! Have not you kept me in torture, the worst of tortures--suspense? Why did not you speak to me last night?” “I could not.” “Why, why?” “I cannot tell you,” said she. “Then I can tell you, Helen.” “You can!” “And will. Helen, you could not speak to me till you had consulted--arranged--settled what was to be said--what not to be said--what told--what left untold.”