And with her coldest manner she turned to the housekeeper.
“Tell Mr. Harford that my mother hath had a disturbed night and that I cannot leave her room.”
“My dear!” remonstrated Mrs. Unett, “you had best go down and thank Mr. Harford for his courteous inquiries.”
“Pray, ma’am, send your thanks by Durdle,” said Hilary, holding her head high. “I prefer not to leave you.”
So poor old Durdle had no choice but to go down again to the visitor, and not being blessed with tact she could not even soften his disappointment.
“’Tis sorry I am, sir,” she said, smoothing her apron, “but Mistress Hilary will not leave her mother’s room.”
“Is Mistress Unett worse?” asked Gabriel, anxiously.
“Oh, no, sir. Maybe she did not sleep as well as usual, but she tried hard to persuade Mistress Hilary to see you and thank you for your kind inquiries. But, lor’, sir, you must remember well enough that when once she was angered by aught, she was ever an ill-relished maid. Don’t you take it to heart, sir,” said the good woman, grieved to see the look cf pain in his eyes, “maybe some other day she will see you.”
He went away in very low spirits; for though it had been hard enough to live through the long months of absence, there was a keener torture in being so near to the woman he loved, yet, alas! so far removed from her heart.
He took the old housekeeper’s advice and called to inquire again later in the week, only to meet with a similar rebuff. Nor could he bring himself to speak at home of the purgatory he was passing through. His mother hoped from his silence that he had outgrown his love to Hilary. His father guessed something of the true state of the case, but feared that words, however well meant, might only increase his suffering.