“I would not do what is unpleasant to you, not for the hundredth part of a minute; no, not if it were to procure me the greatest pleasure in the world. Say no more about these foolish cloaks, I entreat you.”
“And tell my father the reason?” said Hilary, blushing very deeply.
“That is not necessary, surely,” replied he, gravely; “there is no occasion to assign any other reason; make the business over to your school-mistress; I dare say she will be competent
enough. But remember the motive is the same; I can not pretend to retract that; and whether you accept of it as a proof of devotion to you or not, there is no other plea to put it on.”
Hilary was silent, and looked down.
“You did not suppose I could change?” continued he; “you are unjust alike to my constancy and your perfections. That indeed is the cause of my constancy; there is no merit in loving you unchangeably—nobody could help it.”
“Mr. Huyton, I believe I was wrong,” replied Hilary, with very crimson cheeks, and a rather unsteady voice; “when I promised to allow you to remain—to go on the same as ever—I can not—it is painful, embarrassing, most distressing to me. Am I asking too much in asking you to leave us for a time?—perhaps, too, absence might be good for you, might teach you how much you over-rate me; but, at least, it would do me good. After a time, I might learn to meet you unembarrassed, and look on you as I used to do: I can not now; I have tried in vain—your presence distresses, frightens me—makes me uncomfortable and unhappy.”
Hilary ended her sentence in very great trepidation, and finally burst into tears, which both frightened and perplexed Mr. Huyton.
“Dear Miss Duncan, don’t; dearest, sweetest Hilary; my beloved!—do not make yourself unhappy; I will not stay another day to distress you. Though to leave you is exile and banishment, and protracted pain, I will go; only don’t cry. I would not cause you a tear if I could help it. I will make any sacrifice—there now, dry your eyes, take this glass of water! are you better? trust me, your happiness is dearer than my own. I will do any thing you ask.”
Hilary dried her eyes, and quieted herself with an effort; then looking up, she said, “I beg your pardon for being so foolish; but—did I understand you rightly?—you said you would leave us!”