Your feet—then lift the goblet dry for evermore!”
Anonymous.
One afternoon, Mr. Duncan and two of his daughters had gone over to Primrose Bank, Hilary being left with only Nest as her companion. The child had been reading to her sister until she was tired, and then leaving her to reflection and silence on the green bank of the terrace, she strayed away to the garden-gate. She looked across the green, with no very particular expectation of seeing any object worth her attention, but with a vague childish curiosity, which was always prepared for a marvel or a pleasure. She saw some one approaching; a gentleman, a tall man; perhaps it was Mr. Huyton, perhaps Mr. Paine, or may be, thought she, it is Maurice: she was too young to consider probabilities, or understand the troublesome restraints of propriety and decorum; and too well known, and too much petted generally in the parish, to have any fear of a repulse, or dread of a rebuff. The gate was unlatched; out she ran, and skipped across the turf to meet the individual in question. After advancing a hundred yards, however, she saw that she was mistaken; Maurice it was not: no, nor Mr. Huyton—it was a fuller figure, a firmer step; she slackened her pace one minute, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked at him attentively. It was!—yes—it was one of whom her sister had
spoken much! one to whom her father had told her she owed her life; one whose name had been joined with those of her own family in her prayers for blessings on his head. It was Captain Hepburn himself! She rushed on joyfully; and breathless with her race, eager, excited, with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks, she reached him, caught his outstretched hand in her little fat fingers, and covered it with grateful kisses.
“Dear Nest!” said he, raising the child in his arms, and looking at her glittering eyes, “how are you? how are your sisters—all?”
“Oh! Captain Hepburn, I am so glad to see you; now I can thank you,” was her only reply: and she threw her arms round his neck and laid her cheek close to his.
“For what, dear child?” said he. His thoughts were of Hilary, and he hardly remembered that Nest had any thing to be grateful for.
“For picking me out of that horrid black water,” said she, in a whisper. “I have so wanted to see you since; but you know you went away without saying good-by to me or Hilary.”
“Do you remember that day, Nest?” said he, walking slowly on, with her in his arms.
“Oh, yes! so well; my slipping down, and the bubbling water, and the cold, and the choking feeling here in my throat and head, and such a pain, oh, dear! I dream sometimes now, at night, of the bank, and the gurgle of the waves, and wake with such a start. I did not like to wash my face for some days afterward. But is it not odd, Captain Hepburn?—I can remember nothing about you taking me out. I should not have known you did, if they had not told me so!”