Either the fresh air, or the warmth, or the motion, revived Hilary; she sighed, opened her eyes, looked up for a moment, in doubt where she was, and what had happened, then recollecting every thing, she started up, and cried—
“Nest—oh, Maurice, is she safe?”
“Be still, darling,” replied he, and it was echoed by the other two; but she only repeated the question in greater alarm.
“Yes, yes, she is safe; she is just on in front. Some one is carrying her to the house. Hepburn saved her.”
The look which Hilary gave the sailor at that moment, was one which he never forgot.
“I could walk, Maurice, I could walk quicker, if you would set me down,” said she, eagerly. “I am quite well, do let me try.”
“Patience, we are just there!” and he would not let her go, until they reached the door.
Several female attendants, and Sybil herself, were waiting there; they were carrying the little one up to be placed in Victoria’s own bed; and, a moment after, Miss Fielding herself joined them, having hurried on to summon a physician, who, as Isabel reminded her, was happily one of the party. Dr. Pilgrim was found, and at once took the lead in ordering and advising; gave the necessary directions for restoring animation to Nest, who still continued insensible, sent Victoria instantly to superintend the proper precautions for Hilary’s safety, and insisted on both the gentlemen retiring to procure dry clothes, declaring that they could do no good to any one, until they had first taken care of themselves.
Happily, by the time Hilary was allowed by her active and judicious attendants to be well enough to seek her sister, Nest was not only perfectly restored to consciousness, but had dropped off into a quiet sleep, and Miss Duncan, at her own urgent request, was permitted to watch by her, on condition, as Dr. Pilgrim insisted, that nothing should be allowed to disturb the little one’s slumber, on which he declared her entire recovery to depend. By this means, as he communicated to Mrs. Gainsborough, the housekeeper, they should compel Miss Duncan to keep quiet also, and he was really more alarmed on her account than her sister’s, if the evident excitement under which she was laboring was not checked by some decisive measures. She ought to have gone to bed also.
In the darkened room, reclining on an easy chair, beside the bed where the child peacefully slept, Hilary passed the rest of the afternoon, putting up mental thanksgivings for the safety of her darling, and for the preservation of her own life; grateful for the kindness and care she met with, and more grateful still that he, the one to whom her heart had turned for help in the moment of horror and alarm, had been near enough to hear her cry, and rescue her sister.