Helen earnestly confirmed this from her own observations, and from the expressions which had burst forth in the fulness of Cecilia’s heart and strength of her conviction, when she told her all that had passed in her mind.
“That is well!” pursued Lady Davenant; “but principles cannot be depended upon till confirmed by habit; and Cecilia’s nature is so variable—impressions on her are easily, even deeply made, but all in sand; they may shift with the next tide—may be blown away by the next wind.”
“Oh no,” exclaimed Helen, “there is no danger of that. I see the impression deepening every hour, from your kindness and—” Helen hesitated, “And besides—”
“Besides,” said Lady Davenant, “usually comes as the arrière-ban of weak reasons: you mean to say that the sight of my sufferings must strengthen, must confirm all her principles—her taste for truth. Yes,” continued she, in her most firm tone, “Cecilia’s being with me during my remaining days will be painful but salutary to her. She sees, as you do, that all the falsehood meant to save me has been in vain; that at last the shock has only hastened my end: it must be so, Helen. Look at it steadily, in the best point of view—the evil you cannot avert; take the good and be thankful for it.”
And Cecilia—how did she feel? Wretched she was, but still in her wretchedness there was within her a relieved conscience and the sustaining power of truth; and she had now the support of her mother’s affection, and the consolation of feeling that she had at last done Helen justice! To her really generous, affectionate disposition, there was in the return of her feelings to their natural course, an indescribable sense of relief. Broken, crushed, as were all her own hopes, her sympathy, even in the depths of her misery, now went pure, free from any windings of deceit, direct to Helen’s happy prospects, in which she shared with all the eagerness of her warm heart.
Beauclerc arrived, found the general at home expecting him, and in his guardian’s countenance and voice he saw and heard only what was natural to the man. The general was prepared, and Beauclerc was himself in too great impatience to hear the facts, to attend much to the manner in which things were told.
“Lady Davenant has returned ill; her daughter is with her, and Helen——”
“And Helen——”
“And you may be happy, Beauclerc, if there be truth in woman,” said the general. “Go to her—you will find I can do justice. Go, and return when you can tell me that your wedding-day is fixed. And, Beauclerc,” he called after him, “let it be as soon as possible.”
“The only unnecessary advice my dear guardian has ever given me,” Beauclerc, laughing, replied.