post-boy waits."

And before she had written many lines the Cross-post boy sent up word that
he could wait no longer.

Helen wrote she scarcely knew what, but in short an acceptance, signed,
sealed, delivered, and then she took breath. Off cantered the boy with the
letters bagged, and scarcely was he out of sight, when Helen saw under the
table the cover of the packet, in which were some lines that had not yet
been read. They were in Lady Cecilia's handwriting--a postscript.

"I forgot, dear Helen, the thing that is most essential, (you remember
our friend Dumont's definition of _une betise: c'est d'oublier la chose
essentielle;_) I forgot to tell you that the general declares he will not
hear of a mere _visit_ from you. He bids me tell you that it must be 'till
death or marriage.' So, my dear friend, you must make up your mind in short
to live with us till you find a General Clarendon of your own. To this
postscript no reply--silence gives consent."

"If I had seen this!" said Helen, as she laid it before Mr. and Mrs.
Collingwood, "I ought to have answered, but, indeed, I never saw it;"
she sprang forward instantly to ring the bell, exclaiming, "It is time
yet--stop the boy--'silence gives consent.' I must write. I cannot leave
you, my dear friends, in this way. I did not see that postscript, believe
me I did not."

They believed her, they thanked her, but they would not let her ring the
bell; they said she had better not bind herself in any way either to
themselves or to Lady Cecilia. Accept of the present invitation she
must--she must go to see her friend on her marriage; she must take leave of