Was not the whisper of trees more soothing than the angry dash or mournful murmur of the waves? and yet this was their most agreeable music, and was sweet compared to the sharp crack of musketry on the common, the louder reports of the cannon from the shipping, the wearisome notes of the bugle giving signals to the parties of soldiers drilling or parading on the open ground, the wretched street organs which haunted the vicinity, the cries of itinerant venders of oysters and such like, the squabbling of children, or the rolling of carts and drays in the back street, which shook the house to its center.
For herself, she would have borne it all with indifference or patience—but for him, every jar thrilled through her frame, every discordant sound made her shrink, and every disgusting odor made her tremble for his comfort.
Oh! to have him but away in their quiet cottage, where the open windows would admit only pure air, and pleasant, shadowy sunshine, and refreshing scents, and songs of birds among the trees; where their eyes could rest on green grass, and young foliage on the waving boughs, and flowers unstained by smoke, unwithered by sea-breezes!
And by the end of the week it was done; Lord Dunsmore’s yacht conveyed the whole party round to Southampton, and by his and Lady Rupert’s care an invalid carriage was in waiting, which carried Captain Hepburn to the quiet, pretty home of his wife and her sisters.
The back sitting-room, whose French windows opened on the little flower-garden, was appropriated to his use, and had been
previously arranged, through the zeal of Gwyneth and Nest, and the kind activity of their friends, in the way most suitable to his situation and infirmities.
And so May and June crept by, and the birds sang, and the flowers blossomed, and the bright tints of early spring deepened into the more unvaried hue of summer; and Hilary nursed her husband with unwearied care, and hoped still, and was patient and composed. There was nothing which friendship or affection could supply, wanting to their outward comfort; and nothing of cheerful resignation, trustful endurance, hopeful fortitude, and devoted affection, failing to their mental support.
Who could have guessed from Hilary’s calm brow, and sweet smile, and steady voice, as she waited on, and read, or sung to her husband, that she had the smallest foresight of the inevitable end? She seemed so cheerful, so even happy while thus employed! and she was happy too.
Every day during which her precious charge was spared her, every hour that she was permitted to spend by his side, every sentence of hopeful aspiration, or gentle courage, which dropped from his lips, was received as a heaven-sent boon, a favor, as unexpected as it was precious.
“I almost think you like to have me ill,” said he, smilingly, one day to her, “you take such delight in nursing me.”