“Hepburn! Hepburn! that’s a good name, an old family name, Miss Duncan, one long distinguished in Scotch history,” observed Mr. Barham. “Did we not meet somebody of that name in Scotland, Isabel? You who are such a genealogist and historian, you must remember, I am sure.”
Isabel did remember accurately the whole genealogical table of the gentleman in question; and while she was relating some interesting historical anecdotes connected with the family, Hilary’s cheeks had time to cool, and she trusted the name of her lover would not again be forced from her.
But when Isabel had finished her graceful little narrations, her father again turned to Miss Duncan with a question as to whether she knew if her brother’s captain belonged to this ancient house. It was important, perhaps, for Mr. Barham’s comfort, since he had done Captain Hepburn the honor of recollecting him, that he should be proved worthy of so great a
compliment, by possessing the lineage of a gentleman. Hilary replied briefly, that she believed so.
To her very great astonishment, Charles Huyton spoke.
“Whether Captain Hepburn can prove his descent from honorable ancestors or not by genealogical records, he certainly does by his chivalrous conduct and noble bearing, if honor and courage are the attributes of high birth. He is as brave and gallant a man as I have ever seen.”
Hilary gave one quick, grateful glance at her vis-à-vis, as he spoke these words, which was not thrown away. She knew better than any one else the effort it must cost him.
“Ah! I know to what you allude,” said Isabel, with a sweet smile; “but if I remember rightly, Captain Hepburn was not the only one who displayed courage and daring on that occasion. Even Hilary must admit that there was another strong arm and bold heart then and there. The spectators at least saw both performers, although the immediate actors in the scene were, perhaps, only conscious of a part of what passed.”
Hilary again looked up timidly at Mr. Huyton. She felt that thus appealed to, she ought to make some response; but she hardly knew what it would be safe to say. There was a shade on his brow, a sort of frown, as if Isabel’s words called up some bitter thought—as if he were struggling with painful feelings.
“You are quite right, Isabel, it was an occasion when it would be invidious to draw comparisons, or to do any thing but give equal thanks to the one who saved my sister, and to the one who saved myself.”