Roused out of his selfish dreams, Mr. Ufford spoke what he felt at the time, and meant all that he said. Captain Hepburn could understand his words and tones to have but one meaning; his admiration for Gwyneth was sincere, and his purposes settled. If he had not the steadfast, straightforward strength of will, which the sailor possessed, he might yet have sufficient firmness of character to secure his own respectability, and Gwyneth’s happiness. One must not quarrel with a man because he is more cautious in his movements, or more slow in his decision, then one’s self. Captain Hepburn hoped the best from him, and while he trusted his warning to Hilary might not be useless, he flattered himself that his fears might be entirely unfounded.
“I shall trust implicitly to such an assurance, satisfied that they will have a friend in you. They have their brother-in-law in London, to take care of them in case of need,” continued Captain Hepburn; “I have a great respect for Mr. Farrington; from what I have heard of him, he must be a very well-judging man.”
“I must be going,” said Mr. Ufford; “if the young ladies are busy, I dare say they will not care to see me just now; pray make my excuses to them. I wish you a good journey;” and he went accordingly.
Two hours afterward, Captain Hepburn was also on his road to London, speculating a little on whether he had done more good than harm, by what he had ventured to say about Mr. Ufford. The first result of his observations was, that after a great deal of indecision, Hilary took courage to hint to Gwyneth, that
now she had really grown up, and was neither in years nor person a child, she should be careful to behave as became a young woman, and that it might be as well, perhaps, to adopt a little more reserve toward Mr. Ufford, and not spend quite so much time in his society. Gwyneth heard her quietly, took in her meaning, and secretly deduced from it the assurance, that Hilary probably thought the curate was falling in love with her, a notion which had not before crossed her mind. Hitherto her admiration had been, so far as she knew, purely of a spiritual nature; but this observation gave it another turn, and from considering Mr. Ufford in the light of a superior being, raised above human weaknesses, and only to be admired at an humble distance, she suddenly discovered that he was a gentleman, an unmarried man, and a young man, and one whose affections and future intentions might be subjects for speculation and doubt.
That he was heir-presumptive to a barony, and might look for rank and fortune in his wife, if he chose to have one, occurred to her at the same time with a sudden chill, which depressed her spirits to a painful extent; it was little likely that he would stoop to a portionless and undistinguished girl like herself, unless—and the thought gave her peculiar pleasure—he should really have fallen in love with her, as he told her Mr. Huyton had done with Hilary. The contrast between herself and the clergyman was not greater than between this other couple; and if love had been so strong in one case, why not in another?
So she reasoned with herself, and concealed her feelings, and resolved to wait and watch his conduct. Apparently, Mr. Ufford was anxious to justify his promises, and prove his friendship to the Vicar’s daughters. His visits were for the next two days quite in the usual style, quietly walking in just when it suited him. Hilary, however, was more watchful, and allowed no more of those unrestricted rambles which had latterly been so greatly extended. Gwyneth had more occupation at home, and was obliged to be quiet and useful.
The third day brought an entirely new set of ideas. A letter came from Captain Hepburn, which was of some importance to their plans. The first page of this letter, though, no doubt, gratifying to the receiver, need not be transcribed; what relates to my narrative ran as follows:
“The result of the survey is that the boilers are found in a very bad state, and need so much repair, that in the mean time the whole ship’s company are to be turned over to the Erratic, a sister-ship, just getting ready for sea. This alters my plans, and puts an end to all hopes of a few months’ rest on shore. We shall probably be off again in less than a month, and for who knows how long! no prospect of another leave long enough to reach Hurstdene; I could almost regret the change of ship, and do heartily wish she had not been in so advanced a state. However, it would be foolish, as well as wrong, to murmur at what most men would consider a singular piece of good fortune. But, my darling, shall I not see you again? can you not all come to London? We talked it all over, Sybil, Maurice, and I, yesterday, for I got your sister and her husband to come down and look at the steamer, and she is delighted at the plan. They can take you all in, she says, and she, of course, would be gratified by a visit from her father. It is almost your only chance now of seeing Maurice. Do arrange and come immediately.”
There was a letter from Sybil to the same effect, and a most pressing one from Maurice, urging the proposal most warmly.