might almost have seen that he did so, had she been able to look at him.
“Hilary, I know you will be true to me, while I am at sea; I feel that I may trust you once and forever; and when I return, you will become my wife.”
“I will never leave my father, Captain Hepburn; I will form no engagement—plight no promise, which can in the least interfere with his comfort, or my attention to him. His claims first, and then yours may be considered. You think me right, do you not?” added she, anxiously, laying her hand on his arm, and looking up in his face, where she fancied she saw a shadow gather. On that question she felt all her happiness depended.
“Right, Hilary, in your estimation of your duty; only wrong in your estimation of me. Do you think I would tempt you away? or that I could look for happiness with you, if it was bought at the price of neglecting your first duty? I hoped you knew me better.”
Her answer was to lay her head upon his shoulder, and whisper gently, “Had I thought so, you would not be what you are to me, Captain Hepburn. I trust you entirely; and promise, one day, to be yours. When, we can not tell.”
“And hear me, dearest, renew the vow I once made, never to ask you to give me your hand, unless our marriage can be compatible with your father’s comfort. I will wait—I will be patient—I will consider only your happiness and your peace. Since you have condescended to promise me your faith, I feel that no sacrifice on my part can be too great to repay you. It is so good of you to love me. I have no better home, no fortune, no worldly station, or importance to offer you. I have so little to tempt you. Ardent, devoted love, and a share in an unblemished name, that is nearly all; and if you condescend to accept this, shall I not agree to your terms, and consult your pleasure? Indeed, it seems to me such a wonder that you should love me, that I feel tempted to ask again, are you sure you do? What have I done to deserve such happiness?”
“Done! if I were not afraid of spoiling you by praise,” replied Hilary, smiling, then stopping; she added, after a minute’s pause, and in a tone of emotion, “done! who saved me, by saving Nest? who dared what others hesitated to do? do I not know you brave, and prompt, and energetic?—no, do not interrupt me, many might have done as much, perhaps; but who saved Maurice? whose watchful care preserved my brother? who sat by him when others feared infection, or shrank from the terrors of delirium? You may have known me only for a fortnight, I have known and valued you, Captain Hepburn, for many, many weeks—for months, indeed.”
“It shall ever be my humble prayer, it shall be my most earnest endeavor, Hilary, not to disappoint your trusting love; and Heaven helping me, I hope to repay it in kindness, in affection, in guarding you from evil all your life long.” He spoke very gravely; he was much moved by her warmth. “Words are too poor to paint my gratitude to you for the honor you do me. And so they are to describe my implicit trust in your truth, your constancy, your prudence, and your affection. That I have to ask you to wait, that I am forced to leave you to the anxiety and trouble which I fear our separation may cause you, gives me great pain and grief for your sake; I would gladly spare you every shadow of care, I would gladly devote my life to you from this time. I grieve, but I trust you entirely. Will you believe as fully in my constancy as I do in yours, sweetest Hilary?”
“Yes.”
That single word satisfied him completely.