“To see what?” cried Helen.
“To see that one little black spot, invisible to you, Helen, the speck of evil in that heart—my daughter’s heart—spread and taint, and destroy all that is good. It must be cut out—at any pain it must be cut away; if any part be unsound, the corruption will spread.”
“Corruption in Cecilia!” exclaimed Helen. “Oh! I know her—I know her from dear childhood! there is nothing corrupt in her, no, not a thought!”
“My dear Helen, you see her as she has been—as she is. I see her as she may become—very—frightfully different. Helen! if truth fail, if the principle of truth fail in her character, all will fail! All that charming nature, all that fair semblance, all that fair reality, all this bright summer’s dream of happiness, even love—the supreme felicity of her warm heart—even love will fail her. Cecilia will lose her husband’s affections!”
Helen uttered a faint cry.
“Worse!” continued Lady Davenant. “Worse! she will lose her own esteem, she will sink, but I shall be gone,” cried she, and pressing her hand upon her heart, she faintly repeated, “Gone!” And then abruptly added, “Call Cecilia! I must see Cecilia, I must speak to her. But first I will tell you, from a few words that dropped this morning from General Clarendon, I suspect—I fear that Cecilia has deceived him!”
“Impossible!—about what—about whom?”
“That Colonel D’Aubigny,” said Lady Davenant.
“I know all about it, and it was all nothing but nonsense. Did you look at her when the general read that paragraph this morning—did you see that innocent countenance?”
“I saw it, Helen, and thought as you did, but I have been so deceived—so lately in countenance!”