“My Dear Mrs. Hepburn,
“You have, no doubt, heard of the strange and unexpected calamity with which it has pleased Providence to visit my household. Great as the trial is, I am thankful to say my daughter Isabel is supported under it wonderfully, and the poor sufferer herself is making slow progress to bodily health. The inclosed
portion of a letter, I imagine, belongs to you: as there was no address, I had no idea, until perusing it, what it was; though it appeared to have much mysterious connection with the sad event I have referred to. It has, however, furnished some clew to the melancholy catastrophe; but permit a most unfortunate parent to express his regret that it should have come into her hands; and in addition to say, that though highly applauding your brother’s fine sense of honor, I must consider it most lamentable that he should have scrupled to make known his views and wishes to me, now that the result has been so disastrous; it is evident that the struggle between duty and feeling has been too much for my daughter’s tender frame; had I been aware how the case stood, or at all foreseen such a conclusion, my conduct would have been (as that indeed, of any affectionate father would be) extremely different. Trusting that you and your family are in good health, in which wishes my eldest daughter joins,
“Believe me,” etc. etc.
Hilary’s astonishment and alarm at the receipt of this letter were very great, almost overpowering her self-command. What awful event, what terrible catastrophe had occurred to Dora, so to humble Mr. Barham’s tone, so to affect his mind, as that he would have preferred encouraging Maurice’s suit could he have foreseen the result? The most fearful ideas entered her mind, and she could hardly sufficiently abstract her thoughts from this perplexing and agitating subject, to attend to the wants of her sister, whose state of weakness required the most incessant care.
Had the marriage really taken place; why was Isabel still then at the Abbey? where was Mr. Huyton or Mr. Ufford? what had Dora done? it was all perplexity, darkness, and fear. Her only resource was to answer Mr. Barham’s letter by a simple acknowledgment that she had heard nothing of the events at Drewhurst Abbey, and would be grateful for intelligence concerning her friends. “I have deeply regretted,” she
continued, “that my brother’s letter accidentally met your daughter’s sight. The difference in rank and fortune between him and a Miss Barham, in his opinion, placed an almost insuperable barrier between them; the attachment which he could not avoid feeling, he endeavored to subdue or control; and as she refused to allow him to refer the matter to you, they parted with no expectation on his side of meeting again. His own present happiness has been sacrificed to a purely unselfish desire for her best good; and if he has been mistaken, I am sure it will increase to an inexpressible amount the sorrow he has already experienced.”
So wrote Hilary, anxious to state the truth, fearful of compromising Dora, ignorant of what had happened, and thoroughly alarmed and distressed by what she dreaded to hear.
Isabel replied to her letter, and gave all the explanation in her power. Hilary knew the rest, better even than her correspondent did!
Very different, in truth, had been the scene at the Abbey, from what Gwyneth’s imagination had depicted. The ceremony had, indeed, been gone through, and Isabel herself did not seem more composed and calm than her younger sister; Dora’s pretty face was white as her vail and robe, but scarcely an eyelash quivered, and her voice, though low, was steady. Kisses and congratulations she bore with perfect self-possession, she graced the breakfast-table with her presence, and went through its ceremonies as if they concerned her not; but when the moment came for rising from the feast, she trembled visibly, uttered one piercing scream, and pressing her hand to her head, she sank down insensible. Her husband caught and supported the death-like figure, and would not resign the charge. She was carried by him to her room; no one dared to dispute a right to attend her, which he fiercely asserted; he continued by her side, and when she opened her eyes they fell immediately on his gloomy countenance. The effect was unfortunate; she was attacked at once by terrible hysterical convulsions, repulsing him with evident horror, raving at intervals, wildly and