Sybil was different; she clung to Hilary, she hardly dared to be alone; but with a pallid face, and swimming eyes, and little trembling hands, she followed her sister all day long; and never wearied of talking of her mother; of her wishes, her tastes, her goodness; every action seemed referred to that object; and she spoke of her as one that was absent only for a short time, who would soon return to claim their obedience again.
Gwyneth would turn pale, shiver, and, if possible, quit the room at the slightest mention of her mother’s name; nor could Hilary’s utmost efforts win from her the feelings that oppressed her.
Of course, as time passed, it brought the usual mitigation of acute sorrow. Sybil learned to speak with dry eyes of the departed, Gwyneth taught herself to bear the thought without visible demonstration of feeling; but the effect remained upon their characters; Sybil was more soft and dependent, Gwyneth more reserved in her general demeanor, while the fire which burned below that outward crust of indifference and calmness was but the fiercer for its concealment.
CHAPTER II.
“Blowing between the stems, the forest air
Had loosened the brown curls of Vivian’s hair,
Which played o’er her flushed cheeks; and her blue eyes
Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise.”
Iseult of Brittany.
It was about two months after the death of Mrs. Duncan, when the cheering news arrived at the old Vicarage, that the ship in which Maurice Duncan was serving had reached Chatham, and was to be paid off immediately.