“But it is not yet too late,” said Helen, earnestly; “you can set it all right now—this is the moment, my dearest Cecilia. Do, do,” cried Helen, “do tell him all—bid him look at the letters.”
“Look at them! Impossible! Impossible!” said Lady Cecilia. “Bid me die rather.”
She turned quite away.
“Listen to me, Cecilia;” she held her fast. “You must do it, Cecilia.”
“Helen, I cannot.”
“You can, indeed you can,” said Helen; “only have courage now, and you will be happier all your life afterwards.”
“Do not ask it—do not ask it—it is all in vain, you are wasting time.”
“No, no—not wasting time; and in short, Cecilia, you must do what I ask of you, for it is right; and I will not do what you ask of me, for it is wrong.”
“You will not!—You will not!” cried Lady Cecilia, breathless. “After all! You will not receive the packet for me! you will not let the general believe the letters to be yours! Then I am undone! You will not do it!—Then do not talk to me—do not talk to me—you do not know General Clarendon. If his jealousy were once roused, you have no idea what it would be.”
“If the man were alive,” said Helen, “but since he is dead—”