Tales and Novels, vol 10 | Page 8

letter

from her, and pushing aside the sofa-table, came forward to receive her
with open arms.
All was in an instant happy in Helen's heart; but there was the man of
the letter-box; he must be attended to. "Beg your pardon, Helen, my
dear--one moment. Letters of consequence--must not be delayed."
By the time the letters were finished, before they were gone, Lady
Cecilia came in. The same as ever, with affectionate delight in her
eyes--her beautiful eyes. The same, yes, the same Cecilia as ever; yet
different: less of a girl, less lively, but more happy. The moment she
had embraced her, Lady Cecilia turned quick to present General
Clarendon, thinking he had followed, but he had stopped in the hall.
"Send off the letters," were the first words of his which Helen heard.
The tone commanding, the voice remarkably gentlemanlike. An instant
afterwards he came in. A fine figure, a handsome man; in the prime of
life; with a high-born, high-bred military air. English
decidedly--proudly English. Something of the old school--composed
self-possession, with voluntary deference to others--rather distant.
Helen felt that his manner of welcoming her to Clarendon Park was
perfectly polite, yet she would have liked it better had it been less
polite--more cordial. Lady Cecilia, whose eyes were anxiously upon
her, drew her arm within hers, and hurried her out of the room. She
stopped at the foot of the stairs, gathered up the folds of her
riding-dress, and turning suddenly to Helen, said,--
"Helen, my dear, you must not think that"----
"Think what?" said Helen.
"Think that--for which you are now blushing. Oh, you know what I
mean! Helen, your thoughts are just as legible in your face, as they
always were to me. His manner is reserved--cold, may be--but not his
heart. Understand this, pray--once for all. Do you? will you, dearest
Helen?"
"I do, I will," cried Helen; and every minute she felt that she better

understood and was more perfectly pleased with her friend. Lady
Cecilia showed her through the apartment destined for her, which she
had taken the greatest pleasure in arranging; everything there was not
only most comfortable, but particularly to her taste; and some little
delicate proofs of affection, recollections of childhood, were
there;--keepsakes, early drawings, nonsensical things, not worth
preserving, but still preserved.
"Look how near we are together," said Cecilia, opening a door into her
own dressing-room. "You may shut this up whenever you please, but I
hope you will never please to do so. You see how I leave you your own
free will, as friends usually do, with a proviso, a hope at least, that you
are never to use it on any account--like the child's half guinea
pocket-money, never to be changed." Her playful tone relieved, as she
intended it should, Helen's too keen emotion; and this too was felt with
the quickness with which every touch of kindness ever was felt by her.
Helen pressed her friend's hand, and smiled without speaking.
They were to be some time alone before the commencement of bridal
visits, and an expected succession of troops of friends. This was a time
of peculiar enjoyment to Helen: she had leisure to grow happy in the
feeling of reviving hopes from old associations.
She did not forget her promise to write to Mrs. Collingwood; nor
afterwards (to her credit be it here marked)--even when the house was
full of company, and when, by amusement or by feeling, she was most
pressed for time--did she ever omit to write to those excellent friends.
Those who best know the difficulty will best appreciate this proof of
the reality of her gratitude.
As Lady Cecilia was a great deal with her husband riding or walking,
Helen had opportunities of being much alone with Lady Davenant, who
now gave her a privilege that she had enjoyed in former times at
Cecilhurst, that of entering her apartment in the morning at all hours
without fear of being considered an intruder.
The first morning, however, on seeing her ladyship immersed in papers
with a brow of care, deeply intent, Helen paused on the threshold, "I am

afraid I interrupt--I am afraid I disturb you."
"Come in, Helen, come in," cried Lady Davenant, looking up, and the
face of care was cleared, and there was a radiance of
pleasure--"Interrupt--yes: disturb--no. Often in your little life, Helen,
you have interrupted--never disturbed me. From the time you were a
child till this moment, never did I see you come into my room without
pleasure."
Then sweeping away heaps of papers, she made room for Helen on the
sofa beside her.
"Now tell me how things are with you--somewhat I have heard reported
of my friend the dean's affairs--tell me all."
Helen told all as briefly as possible; she hurried on through