So Gwyneth was married; and it was, perhaps, no small increase to Mrs. James Ufford’s matrimonial discomforts, to learn as she did, about that time, how far her own manœuvers had contributed to place the late Vicar’s daughter in the situation she now filled; for Mr. Ufford affirmed, that but for her intervention he should have made Gwyneth his wife. So he said, at least, and so he believed, whether truly or falsely, who can venture to tell, when we reflect on the inconsistency of human feelings.
It was a comfort to Lady Dunsmore’s womanly feelings at last, when she heard from her husband’s lips, that her brother-in-law, when appealed to on the subject by him, before the journey to Italy, had avowed an intention of proposing to her; since it proved that the feelings of girlish tenderness which she had wasted on him, had not been unsought, although undeserved.
Indignation at James’s fickleness, and concern for Miss Duncan’s feelings, heightened by very warm personal regard for herself, had hurried Lord Dunsmore straight home from Italy to Hurstdene, to find her; and the result was happy for both.
Mrs. James Ufford never forgave her brother-in-law for not having died in Italy; but she knew that family quarrels were ungraceful and unbecoming, so she abstained from them; and welcomed her dear Gwyneth with a cordiality and affection which deceived every one except their respective husbands.
In a house on the outskirts of a small town, on one of the most wildly picturesque shores of the kingdom, Captain Duncan and his two sisters soon settled themselves. There the days passed in the quiet but busy monotony, which makes time fly so fast. Affection and unreserved confidence were their solace; and Maurice, occupied daily, and often nightly, by his situation, soon recovered the cheerful tone of mind which, when springing from a right source, is one of life’s best blessings.
As to Hilary, her resignation was calm, perfect, and even cheerful too; and strangers little guessed the history of her feelings from her face. They saw the surface only, and could not look into the depths of her heart; and yet, even that surface told as clearly of the peace of her mind as the waveless sea reflects the blue heaven which looks down upon it.
Nest was the glancing sunbeam of their house, and to make her happy was a sufficient object to excite the energy of both her affectionate guardians.
CHAPTER XXV.
“His long rambles by the shore
On winter evenings when the roar