With a suppressed sob, Hilary started from the table, and ran out of the room.
“She is crying, is she not, Charles?” inquired the father, a little moved; “I can not see that dear face now as I used to do, to read all her emotions as in a book. Poor girl! she has not learned to think of it yet with composure; but she will find strength in her time of need. I mind it more, when I think of being a burden on the girls, than for any other reason; but His will be done—I will be as little troublesome as I can.”
“Troublesome—a burden!” exclaimed Charles Huyton, extremely affected at the quiet resignation of the old man. You know that is impossible. A burden and a trouble implies something unwillingly carried; and Hilary, angel that she is, would bear any thing for you, or for others with pleasure. With such a daughter, your domestic happiness can never be entirely destroyed; I could almost envy you the blindness which will be waited on, and alleviated by her kindness.”
“I am just going to take measures for inquiring for a curate. I can not trust my sight much longer, and some help I must have very soon,” said Mr. Duncan.
Charles Huyton started. A curate settled at Hurstdene, and he away! images of a painful nature crossed his mind. He foresaw how much Hilary would be thrown with this curate; he knew the influence which religious enthusiasm exercises over the minds of women; he foresaw what he supposed would be
the inevitable consequence—an attachment between them; the overthrow of his hopes. Should this be! what could he do to remedy or prevent it?
“I suppose you would wish for a married curate,” suggested he, after a pause. “A lady resident in the village would be a comfort, perhaps, to Miss Duncan; it would be better in every respect to have the gentleman married.”
“If we could lodge him; but how can that be done? Stair’s farm would accommodate a single man, but there is no house in the village where a couple could live.”
“True, perhaps; but I think, if you will give me time to arrange, it could be managed. You remember that cottage on the green, which is known as Primrose Bank, about a quarter of a mile beyond the church. Would not that do?”
“My dear Charles, are you dreaming? it is quite out of repair, and small besides.”