When Nest came back from the garden, and the clergyman and his daughter from Primrose Bank, they interrupted a very happy conversation; one full of all the sweetness which confidence and affection, hope and gratitude, can inspire.
It may be easily believed that after this explanation Hilary recovered both strength and spirits with a rapidity which surprised and delighted her sisters and friends: it may be readily imagined, that young ladies of Sybil’s and Gwyneth’s ages entertained
their own theories, and formed their own opinions, when they found Captain Hepburn once more at the Vicarage; opinions and guesses which proved to have been surprisingly near the truth, when we consider their age and education. Mr. Huyton’s acquaintance had existed so long, and his friendship had been so diffused in the family, that they had never thought of him as a suitor to their sister; but, from the first, they had settled between themselves, that Captain Hepburn must fall in love with her. There was every thing to recommend such an arrangement in their eyes. He was grave and quiet, the nearest approach they could hope for to a mysterious and suspicious character; while, on the contrary, Charles was so lively and talkative, that they could imagine neither concealment nor reserve in his case. Then, too, their favorite hero was comparatively poor, and had a profession which would be attended by possible danger as well as renown, would certainly occasion long absences, and might give rise to romantic incidents, doubts, distresses, and heroic difficulties. All this was a charming contrast with Charles Huyton’s fortune and station in life; who besides, as they thought, not caring for Hilary, could only, had he wished to marry her, have offered her a matter-of-fact, readymade, and every-day sort of home; it would have been an engagement, presenting no difficulties except that of getting her wedding-clothes properly made, and offering no romance, except their first meeting, now nearly forgotten.
Not that the girls wished their sister any harm, or had the slightest dislike to seeing her happy; but at their age the quiet monotony of a prosperous life seems dull in prospect, and they had no idea that misery and misfortune, anxiety, suspense, and sorrow were not the most pleasant accompaniments of life, when occasioned by sufficiently romantic and poetic causes. They did not know how reality strips suffering of romance, not only to the individual who grieves, but to the spectators who witness it: and that mourners who go about the daily affairs of life, hiding a broken heart under an outward calmness, may be extremely interesting to read of, but hardly excite so much actual
sympathy and compassion, as one who has to walk through the world with a wooden leg.
But all this these two girls had yet to learn; and in the mean time they were greatly rejoiced when they understood how rightly they had guessed, and learned that the evident and marked devotion with which Captain Hepburn had listened to Hilary, watched her footsteps, conversed with her, and finally saved her life (for they always gave him the whole credit of that adventure, and were, perhaps, for his sake, a little unjust to Charles), when they learned that this was finally to be rewarded with her love and faith. In short, the engagement gave them perfect satisfaction.
Mr. Duncan was very well pleased; yet he certainly would have preferred the richer parti: he liked Charles, perhaps, a little better than he did the other; and there could be no doubt as to which, in common language, was the best match. If Hilary was happy, there was nothing more to be required; but he would certainly have wished either that Captain Hepburn had been in Charles Huyton’s place as regarded position, or that Charles Huyton had been the accepted suitor.
But if Hilary was happy, that was enough. And she was happy, exquisitely happy; for the five days that her lover was able to remain, she was as joyful and blithe as a bird. She recovered her health, of course; she went about her daily tasks singing and smiling, making every body near her partakers in her gayety. She felt she had one to trust to now, on whom she should have a claim; she looked forward with pleasure, and saw the future very bright. In the happy hours they spent together, she found one to whom she could express her past difficulties, her bygone sorrows and trials, one whose firmness strengthened, and whose tenderness comforted her. Oh! what delightful seasons of confidence these were; dearly prized at the time—more dearly still in memory.
Maurice had told his friend his troubles and sorrows; so Hilary could discuss his prospects with her lover; and though perhaps a little shocked at the depreciating view he took of
Dora’s conduct, the earnestness with which he hoped that Maurice would recover from his attachment, and the certainty with which he predicted that the lady would probably forsake him, she would not have been a true woman had she not speedily adopted his opinions, and become a convert to his views even before she had quite done combatting them. One subject there was on which they did not touch; one topic on which Hilary, supposing him to be ignorant, herself preserved silence, and on which he, aware of her reserve, respected her feelings of delicacy too much to intrude.