“I know the fault is mine when I fail; and the merit, if I ever succeed, is His from whom help cometh,” added she, a little hesitatingly, as if in deprecation of his grave looks.
“Maurice has given me leave, as far as he can, to try and fill his place,” said the young man; “and he referred me to you, as to the way in which I could be of use, and when I may come and see you.”
“Will you really?” said Hilary, showing the most innocent pleasure at the prospect; “I thought when he was gone, you would not care much for coming here as you have done.”
“Then you are mistaken. I have known no pleasanter
hours than those I have spent at the Vicarage. Besides, how could I get on with my improvements? who would plan my walks, or choose my papers, or design my greenhouses?—no, I am not such an idiot as to throw away a valuable friendship when I have once made it.”
Hilary laughed lightly, as her only reply.
“Gwyneth,” added he, pulling the child toward him as he sat on the turf, “you know very well that I could not do without you and Sybil to help me, don’t you?”
“We could not get on without you,” replied Gwyneth; “Hilary wants to go on learning German, and I am sure nobody could teach her so well; and your French and English books, and your music and paintings are much better, and nicer, and prettier than any we have of our own.”
“But then, Gwyneth,” whispered he, “you have things which I have not—much better things, things that I can not buy.”
“I thought you had money enough to buy every thing you wanted,” said Gwyneth.