“He put me gently away, and leaned against the chimney-piece in silence. Then turning to me, in a low suppressed voice, he said,-- “‘I have loved you--love you as much as man can love woman, there is nothing I would not sacrifice for you except--’ “‘No exceptions!’ cried I, in an affected tone of gaiety. “‘Except honour,’ he repeated firmly.--Helen, my dear, you are of a generous nature, so am I, but the demon of pride was within me, it made me long to try the extent of my power. Disappointed, I sunk to meanness; never, never, however tempted, however provoked, never do as I did, never reproach a friend with any sacrifice you have made for them; this is a meanness which your friend may forgive, but which you can never forgive yourself. “I reproached him with the sacrifice of my feelings, which I had made in marrying him! His answer was, ‘I feel that what you say is true, I am now convinced you are incapable of loving me; and since I cannot make you happy, we had better--part.’ “These were the last words I heard. The blow was wholly unexpected. “Whether I sunk down, or threw myself at his feet, I know not; but when I came to myself he was standing beside me. There were other faces, but my eyes saw only his: I felt his hand holding mine, I pressed it, and said, ‘Forget.’ He stooped down and whispered, ‘It is forgotten.’ “I believe there is nothing can touch a generous mind so much as the being treated with perfect generosity--nothing makes us so deeply feel our own fault.” Lady Davenant was here so much moved that she could say no more. By an involuntary motion, she checked the reins, and the horses stopped, and she continued quite silent for a few minutes: at length two or three deeply drawn sighs seemed to relieve her; she looked up, and her attention seemed to be caught by a bird that was singing sweetly on a branch over their heads. She asked what bird it was? Helen showed it to her where it sat: she looked up and smiled, touched the horses with her whip, and went on where she had left off.--“The next thing was the meeting my mother in the morning; I prepared myself for it, and thought I was now armed so strong in honesty that I could go through with it well: my morality, however, was a little nervous, was fluttered by the knock at the door, and, when I heard her voice as she came towards my room, asking eagerly if I was alone, I felt a sickness at the certainty that I must at once crush her hopes. But I stood resolved; my eyes fixed on the door through which she was to enter. She came in, to my astonishment, with a face radiant with joy, and hastening to me she embraced me with the warmest expression of fondness and gratitude.--I stood petrified as I heard her talk of my kindness--my generosity. I asked what she could mean, said there must be some mistake. But holding before my eyes a note, ‘Can there be any mistake in this?’ said she. That note, for I can never forget it, I will repeat to you.