“I will come down by-and-by,” said Hilary, gently, “but I dare not exhaust myself before I take this little journey; and if you would be so very kind as to let me, I should like to lie down and rest now.”
Victoria really could not find in her heart to oppose Hilary’s meek petition, or to say any more at present about her own wishes; so giving her friend a kiss, she settled her comfortably on the sofa, and then left her to peace and solitude.
“Will she not come down, Victoria?” asked Charles, eagerly, as he met her on the stairs.
Victoria told him what had passed, and strongly recommended, under present circumstances, patience and caution on his part. His rival, if Captain Hepburn was his rival, was gone, and had left without an explanation; but although the field was thus open to him, it by no means followed, that he should rush forward hastily and unadvisedly. She was not in a state to bear it, and he might lose all, by hazarding too much.
It was about half an hour before luncheon, when Hilary, leaning on Victoria’s arm, eventually entered the saloon, where Mr. Huyton had been passing the morning, in an uncontrollable state of restless impatience. How he sprang forward to meet her at the door, and how carefully he provided the easiest chair in the pleasantest corner of the room for her accommodation, may be imagined. His manners seemed scarcely to allow that any other person could have the least claim upon her; and his whole wish seemed to be to engross her himself. But Hilary would sit near her father, would give her principal attention to him, and would at first, when she spoke, whisper in her soft voice, words which marked her regard and consideration for him as her principal object.
Presently, however, gathering courage and firmness, she turned to her host, and said:
“I have no doubt that my father has conveyed the thanks I sent by him, Mr. Huyton; but let me now for myself, thank you again for your share in the exertions which saved my life. I was too weak to say so yesterday. I hope you believe that I am grateful.”
“If ever an action brought its own reward,” said he, in a low voice, and placing his hand on the fingers which rested on the arm of her chair; “it was mine, when I bore you from the water, and laid you safely on the bank. I can conceive only one degree of happiness greater than that.”
“My strength was so completely exhausted,” said Hilary, drawing away her hand to pass it across her forehead, “that had I not been relieved from the weight of Nest, and released from her struggles, I must have sunk in another moment.”
“Poor little thing! she was unconscious how she increased your danger,” replied Charles; he could not bring himself to say the words of praise to his rival’s presence of mind, which were his due, and which Hilary half hoped to hear. Presently he added, looking up suddenly: