The winter passed quietly, but far more cheerfully than Hilary could have ventured to hope; Mr. Duncan enjoyed Mr. Paine’s society, and relied on his judgment in all parochial matters; he also liked the two young ladies who frequented his house, especially Dora, who, he once told Hilary, might be made any thing, either good or bad, as circumstances fell out.
Sybil and Gwyneth, meanwhile, were growing very tall; and whether it was from their intercourse with the young ladies from the Abbey, or their own nature, they had lately advanced so rapidly, that their appearance had got the start of their years, and no one would have guessed them to be less than sixteen and seventeen, instead of what was actually their respective ages.
The owner of ‘the Ferns,’ although absent in a foreign land, had by no means forgotten either his friends or his tenants. More than one extensive order on his banker was remitted to Mr. Duncan, for the relief of distress, and the encouragement of good conduct; and several letters were received from him, written to the same person. Hilary could neither quarrel with
the act, nor the manner of performing it. Although Mr. Huyton was, of course, aware that she would necessarily be acquainted with the contents of the letters, there was nothing in the words which could in the least offend her; they breathed warm interest in his people, affectionate regard for the vicar, and kind remembrances to his family. No one could have suspected from these letters what had passed between them, and it seemed to Hilary’s young and trustful imagination, that absence was effecting the desired cure; she hoped that when their friend returned, as he talked of doing in the spring, it would be to resume a pleasant and rational intercourse, such as it had been eighteen months ago.
One morning, about the first opening of spring, the two young ladies from the Abbey arrived earlier than usual; so early, indeed, as to break in upon the girls’ school hours, which was a point Hilary had long begged them to attend to. She was looking graver than usual, which they attributed to this transgression; and Dora, putting her arms caressingly round her neck, exclaimed—
“Now, Hilary, dear, don’t be angry, but give your sisters a holiday, and let us be happy for once; do you know we have come to say good-by for ages.”
“Indeed! are you leaving home?” said Miss Duncan.
“Yes, we are going to martyrdom,” replied Dora.
“We are going to town for the season,” said Isabel, in answer to Hilary’s look of inquiry. “We always do, of course; it is expected of people in our rank, you know; Dora pretends she does not like it, but she does really; and if she did not, one must make some sacrifices for duty.”
“Going to London for the season—that means going to be very gay, does it not?” said Sybil.