Pandanus; so that they might now expect his removal any day. But however excited or restless, anxious or happy, such a prospect might make him, his sister saw clearly this was not all; and earnestly hoping that a confidence she had so long enjoyed would not now be withdrawn, she watched him with affectionate attention and silent pity.
It was not till the day following, that she received from him an explanation, which told her how truly he deserved the pity she had already bestowed, and how much real, though unacknowledged, sympathy there was between them.
They were sitting together on Tuesday afternoon, just arranging about an expedition to be undertaken by Mr. Duncan, his son, and Gwyneth, when the Drewhurst carriage drove up to the door. At the first glimpse of the liveries in the distance, Maurice had started up; but when the carriage passed the window, he sat down again quietly, and whispered to his sister, there was only Miss Barham in it.
Isabel entered alone. She came to inquire after Hilary; it appeared that she and her father had driven over to “the Ferns,” expecting to find the Duncans still there; and that on discovering the mistake, Mr. Barham had decided to remain with Mr. Huyton, having some magistrates’ matters to talk over, while his daughter proceeded to the Vicarage. Isabel said that Mr. Huyton had offered to accompany them; but her father thought that such an incursion in the Vicarage drawing-room would be overpowering, so after luncheon she had come alone. She would not, therefore, remain very long, as papa would be expecting her back to pick him up; but she was delighted to see how well Hilary was looking, quite like herself again! getting home must have done her a world of good. When questioned about her sister, she answered that Dora was not well; she thought the hot weather disagreed with her; she complained of head-ache; could not eat, and was very pale; a common effect of heat on her constitution. Papa talked of sending her to some friends in the north, for change of air. He meant to remain at the Abbey himself, for the present, and of course
Isabel must be with him; he could not spare her; but Lady Margaret would take Dora to Scotland, or Scarborough, or Germany; it was not quite settled which; and she believed they would go very soon.
“Now I must go,” exclaimed Isabel, starting up, “or papa will not trust me alone again. Oh, by-the-by, Mr. Maurice Duncan, I thought you were gone to sea. Surely Mr. Huyton told us you were appointed to some ship.”
“Perhaps I maybe,” said Maurice, trying to speak carelessly, then remembering that what he said might be repeated to Dora, he added, “I expect it any day: I heard it was to come, and of course, it will be soon.”
“Well then I wish you bon voyage,” replied Isabel, lightly; “I am so very glad to have seen you once more before you go, to say so. Good-by, Hilary, dear! mind and get well. Do you know, papa wants Mr. Huyton to stand for the county, and I dare say he will; and with papa’s interest, I have no doubt he will succeed. He ought to be an M.P. Papa says, few people know how really clever he is, he is so quiet and modest. But we want such men for the country. So papa says. Good-by.”
Hilary watched the carriage drive away, and as Isabel’s pink and white feathers disappeared in the distance, she sighed to think what would she not give to be able to hope that Mr. Huyton would really transfer to the heiress of Drewhurst Abbey the affection which he had hitherto wasted on herself.
It was with the utmost difficulty that poor Maurice was able to command his attention and spirits sufficiently to be the usual cheerful companion to his father. But on his return he hurried into the garden, and there, when Hilary was able to seek him, she discovered him stretched on the sloping bank of the terrace, with his face covered by his arms. She sat down beside him, and gently passing her hands through his curly hair, she whispered,