THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 r 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY MRS. HUBBACK, 
 
 AUTHORESS OF 
 
 "THE WIFE'S SISTEB," "MAT AND DECEMBEE, 
 &C., &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I, 
 
 LONDON : 
 CHARLES J. SKEET, PUBLISHER, 
 
 10, KING WILLIAM STREET, 
 CHABING CEOS3. 
 1856.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Children's voices should be dear 
 (Call once more) to a mother's ear ; 
 Children's voices wild with pain, 
 Surely she will come again ; 
 Call her once, and come away !" 
 
 THE FORSAKEX MEKMAN. 
 
 IT was a summer's evening. The yellow sun- 
 shine streamed through the boles of the forest 
 trees, tinting them with purple, vermilion } 
 gold, or the richest brown. It gave a metallic 
 lustre to the tops of the giant oaks, and lighted 
 up with a silvery gleam the long feathery sprays 
 
 I VOL. I. B 
 
 oo
 
 2 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 of the graceful beech trees, waving gently and 
 slowly as the soft breeze passed rustling amongst 
 them. The same slanting sunbeams fell on the 
 dark glossy foliage of the tall groups of holly, 
 and twinkled like stars upon their stiff-pointed 
 
 | 
 
 leaves. 
 
 Beneath these ancient and hoary trees, on a 
 natural terrace clothed with soft mossy turf, and 
 commanding, along a glade in the forest, a full 
 view of the glowing west, there walked, with slow 
 and lingering step, two persons, who seemed too 
 deeply engrossed in conversation to heed the 
 loveliness of the evening. One of these was a 
 woman, who might perhaps be half way between 
 thirty and forty, but still possessing a large share 
 of personal beauty ; tall, dark, glowing, with 
 bright black eyes, and hair as black as jet, 
 parted off her forehead in rich braids, and as 
 she carried her bonnet in her hand, they caught 
 the gleaming sunshine, and seemed to turn 
 purple in its splendour. Her companion was a 
 young girl, slender, fair, and rather pale, except
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 3 
 
 that as she listened to the earnest discourse of 
 the matron, the flitting colour dyed her cheek for 
 a moment, and then left it pale again. Her slim 
 figure, and girlish proportions, gave a notion of 
 extreme youth and delicacy, and yet her face 
 was of that kind which brings a feeling of trust 
 and repose as you gaze upon it ; an idea that, 
 young as she was, there was steadiness and prin- 
 ciple to be read there. 
 
 " But, dear mamma," said the girl, " why do 
 you talk in this way ? You will soon be about 
 again, and able to see to all these things your- 
 self." 
 
 And she gazed with earnest, anxious fondness 
 at the face of her companion, unable to realise 
 that danger could lurk near, or death invade 
 a countenance so healthy and so invariably 
 cheerful. 
 
 " His will be done," said Mrs. Duncan, 
 raising her eyes, and fixing them on the glow- 
 ing west. " Life and death are in His hands ; 
 but, Hilary, it will neither increase my danger, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 nor my anxiety, if I give you such directions 
 as may be your help and guide hereafter. It is 
 a great charge, a heavy responsibility which will 
 fall on you, should I be taken from you, but 
 one which will not be laid on you, unless He 
 sees good ; and received from Him in a humble, 
 trusting, loving spirit, the event will be blessed. 
 In my weakness, and want of faith, I shrink 
 from the idea, sometimes ; but I know that all 
 is, all will be right, if you can but believe, and 
 feel it so. Nothing He lays on us is too heavy 
 to bear, if we do not add to it the burden of 
 our own selfish repinings, mistrust, and im- 
 patience." 
 
 " Oh ! mamma, it cannot be best to be with- 
 out you ; such a trial cannot be in store for us ; 
 for my father too how could he bear it ? and 
 surely he so good, so heavenly-minded, so 
 tender as he is oh ! he cannot need affliction ; 
 do not talk so, mamma, do not fancy such 
 things ; you will do yourself harm by dwelling 
 on it."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. b 
 
 Mrs. Duncan's eyes filled, and her lip quivered 
 for a minute ; she was silent a little space, and 
 then she spoke again, calmly, firmly, gravely. 
 
 " Hilary, ever since I have filled your mother's 
 place, I have met with the duty and affection of 
 a daughter from you. I came to you when you 
 were too young to understand my claims, but 
 I have never had to complain, so far as our 
 relationship is concerned. Be ever the same ! 
 do not now, by giving way to your feelings, 
 make it more difficult for me to control my own. 
 Try to listen to what may be my last wishes." 
 
 Hilary clasped her step-mother's hand, strug- 
 gled with her rising tears, swallowed down a 
 sob or two, and then turning quietly round, 
 said, " Go on, dear mother ! I will attend, and 
 endeavour to remember." 
 
 " Young as you are, Hilary, I do not fear to 
 trust you, for I know that you have that within 
 you which will lead you right. Experience, 
 indeed, you cannot have, and you may mistake 
 sometimes ; but with your earnest love of truth,
 
 6 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 your simplicity, candour, gentleness, and hu- 
 mility, you cannot go very far wrong ; and I 
 would rather confide my girls to you, than to 
 many an elder head. I know that you will lean 
 on the true, unfailing Support that you will not 
 trust your own understanding." 
 
 " Dear mother, if I have any good principle 
 or right habit, I owe it to you and papa ; what 
 should I have been, had you not led me so 
 kindly and gently in childhood ?" said Hilary, 
 blushing at the praise which she could not be- 
 lieve she deserved. 
 
 " But my girls are not like you, Hilary," con- 
 tinued the mother, "and their characters have 
 cost me many an anxious hour. Heaven knows 
 how earnestly I have prayed sometimes, to be 
 spared as their guide ; but this is self-will, and 
 self-conceit, perhaps ; now my only prayer is, 
 that, in whose hands soever they may fall, what- 
 ever troubles may come upon them, they may be 
 brought home safe at last. We are so unbeliev- 
 ing, we would fain choose our own path, and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 7 
 
 the paths of our dear ones also ; as if our nar- 
 row view could be better trusted than His, who 
 has told us so plainly what we ought to seek, 
 and what we may then hope for. All will be 
 right at last, and now I trust them entirely to 
 the Will which cannot err : yet not the less would 
 I warn you, Hilary, of the care and discipline 
 they need. Sybil is tender, loving, feeble, cling- 
 ing for support to those around her ; do not 
 act for her, my love ; make her feel her own 
 responsibility, or the realities and cares of life 
 will fall with a crushing force on her. Look at 
 the clematis which garlands this lime such 
 is she; take away her support, and the long 
 wreaths will droop and sink to the earth, and 
 may be trampled by every careless foot." 
 
 " But we cannot change the nature of the 
 clematis, mamma ; we can only prop it up, and 
 guard it carefully, and rejoice even in its cling- 
 ing, graceful fragility, which gives a beauty to 
 the bare and rugged stem, or the unpoetical 
 wall and trellis."
 
 8 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " True, you cannot change the clematis, 
 Hilary ; but therein a Christian differs from a 
 soulless plant ; her nature may be strengthened 
 by attention and discipline, till she may be firm 
 and yet flexible ; yielding and yet self-support- 
 ing ; regaining with elastic vigour the upward 
 tendency, even after the hand has bent it down, 
 or the breeze turned it aside. You cannot make 
 a clematis into a willow, but you may teach a 
 feeble mind and drooping heart where to find 
 strength of purpose and constancy of aim. 
 Teach Sybil that the weakest may have strength 
 sufficient to their need, but not in earthly things : 
 earthly props break and crumble away, or are 
 removed in kindness, lest we lean too much upon 
 them. Trust to the One above. He never 
 fails. Poor Sybil ! she is very far from knowing 
 this as yet !" 
 
 They were both silent for some time ; then 
 Mrs. Duncan seated herself, and continued, as 
 Hilary nestled close to her side. 
 
 " As to Gwyneth, she is different : she has all
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 9 
 
 the passionate and hasty nature of my country : 
 Welsh blood runs in her veins, and along with 
 this warmth, she has much self-will and pre- 
 sumption ; she doubts not her own opinion, and 
 cannot bear to have it questioned ; yet she is so 
 young, that I have every reason to hope that 
 attention may check what is wrong, and religion 
 lead her to true strength and confidence. And 
 then for my little Nest the darling ! who can 
 tell what that little black-eyed, bewitching fairy- 
 may turn out ? Heaven help me ! but it is hard 
 to think of leaving her." 
 
 Mrs. Duncan shuddered, and closed her eyes, 
 as if struggling with some deep emotion. 
 
 " Why should you ?" said Hilary, anxiously. 
 " Dearest mother, do you feel ill now ? It is so 
 long since you have had one of your bad attacks 
 of pain ; not for months now ; I am sure you 
 need not be alarmed." 
 
 Mrs. Duncan smiled, a faint smile it was, as 
 if she would rather put aside a subject of dis- 
 cussion than enter on it. Then, after a pause, 
 
 B 3
 
 10 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 she added, " I believe you will find all my papers 
 and accounts quite clear, and for the rest, dear 
 Hilary, you are well able to take my place in the 
 parish now ; and whatever may occur, you must 
 do it for a month at least. But there are horses' 
 feet upon the turf; your father and sisters are 
 coming home. Say nothing at present of what 
 1 have told you, and let us go to meet them !" 
 
 They rose, and advanced towards the house ; 
 crossing a part of the garden, of which the ter- 
 race where they had been walking formed the 
 eastern boundary. Dividing the lawn from an 
 open green space which lay in front of the old 
 rectory, was a line of wooden palings nearly 
 'covered by ivy, honeysuckle, roses, and many 
 flowering shrubs, and over this they saw, ap- 
 proaching through a shadowy glade, three forest 
 ponies ; the tallest bore Mr. Duncan, an elderly 
 man, whose figure' was, however, active >nd up- 
 right, and his countenance marked with the glow 
 of health and the look of peace : the other two 
 riders were girls, the Sybil and Gwyneth already
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE, 1 1 
 
 mentioned, whose black eyes, and long waving 
 locks flowing from beneath their broad-brimmed 
 straw hats, immediately reminded you of their 
 mother. The children, for they were only girls 
 of twelve and thirteen, sprung from their little 
 ponies, and rushed up to the garden gate, just 
 as Mrs. Duncan and Hilary reached it ; and be- 
 fore their father had descended in his more 
 leisurely way, and consigned the animals to the 
 old grey-headed servant who came forward to 
 receive them, they had advanced far in the history 
 of their ride, its adventures, delights, and novel- 
 ties. They had found a new path, had come to 
 a beautiful stream ; Gwyneth had leapt her horse 
 across before papa came up ; Sybil was afraid, and 
 had hung back, even when encouraged by him ; 
 then they had seen such a lovely dell, all sur- 
 rounded with trees oh ! such a place for a gipsy 
 party ; mamma must come there some day, and 
 they would have tea out there, under the huge 
 oaks and beech, beside that broken mossy bank, 
 out of which such a bright tiny stream trickled
 
 12 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 from under a grey stone. Up came papa, and 
 listened to the eager speaker, as Gwyneth, with 
 her cheeks glowing and her bright eyes glitter- 
 ing, dwelt with rather too much complacency, 
 perhaps, upon the courage she had shown, until 
 her father reminded her, with laughing but 
 affectionate manner, how Gwyneth herself had 
 shrunk and trembled when, as they were leading 
 their ponies down a steep and precipitous path, 
 a large toad had crossed their road, and hopped 
 towards her ; whilst Sybil's only care had been 
 that the creature should not be hurt by foot or 
 hoof; and after that, Gwyneth held her tongue 
 for a while. 
 
 They sat in the large wide porch, which, with 
 its projecting gable and curiously carved roof, 
 formed so conspicuous an ornament to the front 
 of the Vicarage, and harmonised so well with the 
 many angles, overhanging eaves, mullioned win- 
 dows, and twisted chimneys of that quaint old 
 house. It was a building well suited to the 
 forest scenery on which it closely bordered, with
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. . 13 
 
 its time-mellowed red brick, and grey stone 
 coignings, and huge oaken beams, whose ends 
 were grotesquely carved. From that porch you 
 could see the old church, half concealed in a 
 grove of trees, principally lime and sycamore ; 
 and farther off, the houses scattered on the village 
 green, or retreating back amidst the clumps of 
 oak and holly ; whilst to the south, through a 
 long vista in the forest, you caught a view of 
 distant hills, blue and shadowy, and a winding 
 river, and a wide extended plain. 
 
 Here they sat and chatted gaily, whilst the 
 young girls ate the fruit and cake, for which 
 their ride had given them an appetite, and which 
 Hilary brought out to them in an old-fashioned 
 china basket, until the hour of bed-time arrived, 
 and the children left them ; and then the others 
 returned to the cool parlour, where Hilary made 
 tea, and smiled and chatted with her father; Mrs. 
 Duncan meanwhile resting quietly on the sofa, 
 nearly silent, and perhaps engrossed in thought. 
 
 Hilary's was the hopeful as well as the trust-
 
 14 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 ful temper of youth, unaccustomed to the vicissi- 
 tudes of life ; the storm of which she saw no 
 symptoms could not alarm her ; and although 
 her step-mother's presentiments had at first 
 raised a vague terror, she had recovered from 
 this feeling, and was now tranquil. 
 
 The trust which she felt that all would be for 
 the best; conspired to increase this peaceful state, 
 for to her young mind, it seemed impossible that 
 good could spring from such sorrow as the loss 
 of the only mother she had known, would oc- 
 casion her and her family ; therefore this loss 
 was not to be expected or feared. Hers was the 
 youthful idea of divine protection, and fatherly 
 care; years of experience alone can teach us 
 that " His ways are not as ours," and that it is 
 not exemption from suffering which is promised 
 to His children, but such discipline as shall 
 strengthen, and purify, and elevate their hearts. 
 
 It was a cheerful family party on which the 
 bright summer moon peeped in through the old 
 windows that evening ; nd Hilary, as she
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 15 
 
 penned a few words at night, of the journal 
 which she always kept for her only brother Mau- 
 rice, recorded with a grateful heart, that hers 
 was indeed a happy lot. 
 
 Yet scarce was the ink dry on the paper 
 where she wrote these lines, than her pleasant 
 dreams were suddenly dissipated, and the very 
 sorrow which she had refused to consider as 
 probable, was presented to her mind. Mrs. 
 Duncan was ill very ill alarmingly so ; and 
 before that sun which had set in such glory, re- 
 turned to their view, the eyes that had gazed 
 on it so earnestly were closed in death, and the 
 spirit which had looked out so clear and loving 
 but twelve hours before, had tied to that land 
 which needs no sun to lighten it, and which 
 knows neither change, nor time, nor darkness. 
 
 The mother just now in all the prime of 
 womanhood, in her glorious beauty, was cold, 
 and white, and silent, and on her arm lay the 
 tiny marble face of that little being, whose en- 
 trance to this worlc^ . had cost his parents such
 
 16 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 a price, and whose stay had been so short, that 
 you wondered why he came at all. 
 
 On Hilary devolved the task of making her 
 young sisters acquainted with their loss; of 
 communicating to them the sad change that one 
 night had occasioned ; for this, when all was over, 
 and her father had withdrawn to the solitude of 
 his own study, she crept softly to their sleeping 
 apartment, and sitting down beside the bed, 
 watched patiently and silently for their first 
 awaking. 
 
 Her grief was very quiet, although very deep. 
 In idea she tried to follow the departed, and to 
 realize what she now was, so far as mortal fancy 
 might paint it ; and the glad, solemn, mys- 
 terious thought, that that dear one had felt her 
 last grief, suffered her last pain, heaved her last 
 sigh for ever, made it seem even a profanation 
 to indulge regret. It was when she permitted 
 her thoughts to anticipate, that she shuddered 
 and mourned ; it was the future for herself, her 
 sisters, her father, which made her tremble.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 17 
 
 How barren and blank it seemed ; the sweet voice 
 which had taught and soothed her, silent now ; 
 the bright smile vanished for ever ; the sunshine 
 of the house gone ; who would fill her place ? 
 Could it be that she so young, so simple, so in- 
 experienced, that she should be called on to 
 attempt this heavy duty ? did it devolve on her 
 to soothe, instruct, vvatch over her sisters, to 
 think for the household, to comfort her bereaved 
 father, assist in lightening his cares, or sharing 
 his anxieties ? She had told her such would be 
 her duty had bid her reflect on the responsi- 
 bilities laid on her ; had warned, encouraged, 
 and comforted her and as she had spoken so, 
 Hilary had felt strong and trustful; but now 
 oh ! how miserably weak, ignorant, helpless, and 
 deficient she appeared to herself ; the memory 
 of all her own girlish faults, indolence, thought- 
 lessness, ignorance, selfish indulgences, idle ways, 
 all the many failings for which she daily judged 
 and condemned herself, rose up in her mind, 
 and seemed to say, " impossible ;" seemed to
 
 18 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 whisper to her that her task was harder than 
 she could endure ; that such a life of carefulness 
 and watching, and thought for others, and denial 
 of self, as her mother had depicted for her, 
 could not be expected of one so young; it 
 would wither her youth, and blight her spirit, 
 and darken all the gay happiness which ought 
 to be hers ! 
 
 Nay, but it was her duty ! it was God's will, 
 and as such, it could not be too hard ; her bur- 
 den would not be greater than she could bear ; 
 more would not be expected of her than she 
 would have power to perform ; could she but 
 fix her eyes aright, and draw strength from the 
 Source of everlasting strength, she should not 
 find it fail ; weak, trembling, insufficient as she 
 was, she need not fear, if she only trusted all 
 to Him, and nothing to herself. And then a 
 voice seemed to whisper to her heart, 
 
 " Child of my love, how have I wearied thee, 
 Why wilt thou err from me ? " 
 
 and half unconsciously she repeated to herself
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 19 
 
 the succeeding lines of the same hymn ; there 
 was soothing in the thought. 
 
 Yet ever and again, as she grew calmer, came 
 rushing in the painful memory of her loss ; and 
 while she doubted not the wisdom and mercy 
 which had ordered all, and accepted meekly the 
 burden of care which seemed laid on her, her 
 heart ached in bitterness to remember what had 
 been, and what was. 
 
 That hour of watching and waiting was in- 
 tensely trying. She had been occupied all the 
 night, so eagerly and energetically, as to exclude 
 thought or anticipation ; now she could only sit 
 in silence, and weary, worn out, sorrowful, and 
 yet striving to be patient, remain quietly expect- 
 ing the painful task before her. 
 
 She wished to keep awake, and opening her 
 Bible, she tried to fix her eyes and thoughts, 
 and determined so to pass the time ; but blessed 
 sleep stole over her so softly, that she knew not 
 of its approaches, and the tearful eyes closed? 
 the heavy head drooped upon the pillow beside
 
 20 THE OLD VICAHAGE. 
 
 it, and a deep unconsciousness, a perfect dream- 
 less repose wrapped all the past in oblivion, and 
 brought the refreshment which that young, but 
 willing spirit needed to fulfil her destined task. 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 Gwyneth was astonished that morning, when, 
 on unclosing her eyes, she discovered her eldest 
 sister, half sitting, half lying on her pillow, 
 dressed as last night, and yet sleeping pro- 
 foundly, even though tears trembled on her eye- 
 lashes, whilst her long and glossy brown hair lay 
 unbound and unbraided over her neck and 
 cheek. 
 
 With the thoughtless impulse of her nature, 
 she at once woke her up, and eagerly enquired 
 why she was there, what was the matter, what 
 had made her cry. 
 
 That sudden waking bewildered Hilary ; the 
 vague, puzzled feeling which so often follows deep 
 sleep, at an unusual time, or in an unaccus- 
 tomed place, came over her, and for a minute 
 she could remember nothing ; not where she
 
 THE OLD VICARA.GE. 21 
 
 was, nor what had happened, nor why she 
 found herself so strangely sleeping there. She 
 pressed her hands over her eyes ; the full tide 
 of thought and memory came back, and she 
 shrank from the pain she was about to give. 
 But it must be done ! yes, and done by her too, 
 or the task would fall on her father, perhaps ; 
 and done at once, that the first wild agony of 
 tears and grief might be stilled and composed 
 in part, before it came to add to that father's 
 pain and desolation. 
 
 She drew the two rosy faces towards her, for 
 Sybil was awake now, and pressing each in her 
 arms, as they knelt or crouched upon the bed, 
 she faltered out the words, through her tears : 
 
 " Mamma has been ill in the night !" 
 
 Gwyneth fixeti her full dark eyes upon her 
 sister's face with a gaze which seemed to ask 
 for more, for some explanation. Sybil gave a 
 frightened start, and said : 
 
 " Oh, Hilary, and how is she now ? has she 
 been very ill ?"
 
 22 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " Very," replied Hilary, forcing back her 
 tears, and speaking gravely, calmly, but very 
 sadly ; " very ill indeed ; but, Sybil, she is better 
 now !" 
 
 Gwyneth still stared at Hilary. " Then why 
 were you crying ?" was her question. 
 
 " Let me go to her," said Sybil, struggling to 
 release herself from her sister's clasp, which, 
 however, now bound her the closer for her 
 efforts to move. Sybil was quiet without a 
 word, only glancing apprehensively at the face 
 hanging over her, with brimming eyelids and 
 quivering lips. Gwyneth exclaimed again im- 
 patiently : 
 
 " Speak, Hilary, or let me go ; nay, I will 
 go to mamma." 
 
 " No, Gwyneth, you cannot," said the elder 
 sister, laying her forehead down on her sister's 
 black curls. 
 
 " Who says so ? did she ? she never refuses 
 to see us ! how unkind you are, Hilary." 
 
 " A higher hand than mine, dear Gwyneth 
 be quiet ; you cannot see mamma now, be-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 23 
 
 cause " and such a deep, heart-felt sob stopped 
 her words, that Sybil saw it all in one moment, 
 and quietly turning from them both, laid her 
 head among the pillows, and, except for a slight 
 convulsive shiver now and then, was still and 
 silent. 
 
 " Why, why, where is mamma ?" cried 
 Gwyneth, righting with the wild, incomprehen- 
 sible terror which was overpowering her. 
 
 " In Heaven, we trust," said Hilary, regaining 
 her composure in a wonderful way ; she pressed 
 one hand upon her heart, made a strong phy- 
 sical effort to put away her grief, and then 
 endeavoured to draw Sybil towards her, hoping 
 that the sight of her tears would touch Gwyneth's 
 heart. For Gwyneth sat still now, with wide 
 open, tearless eyes, and parted lips, and cheeks 
 as colourless as her neck ; and her breath came 
 slowly and with difficulty, and in deep, sobbing 
 inspirations, and yet there was no tear ; it was 
 not like childish grief, it was the stillness of 
 despair her face might have belonged to a
 
 24 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 woman of thirty, so old it looked at that mo- 
 ment. 
 
 Hilary felt helpless at first ; then her whole 
 heart was raised in prayer ; words not her own 
 came to her mind, to express her thoughts and 
 wants, as she prayed that in all her troubles she 
 might put her whole trust and confidence in 
 that Mercy which would not, could not fail. 
 
 Sense and feeling returned to Gwyneth, and 
 with it the self-will, the passionate independence 
 of her character. Hilary's arms had relaxed 
 their hold ; she seized the opportunity, escaped 
 from her giasp, and springing from the bed, ran 
 out of the room without so much as pausing to 
 put her feet into her slippers. She crossed the 
 broad passage, and rushing to the door of her 
 mother's chamber, tried violently to force it 
 open. It was locked. Hilary had followed the 
 wilful child, and now laid her hand upon her 
 arm. But Gwyneth screamed, bursting into a 
 furious passion, and uttering cries which re- 
 sounded through that otherwise silent house.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 25 
 
 It was a mixture of feelings, terror undefined, 
 and therefore the more oppressive, grief, vex- 
 ation, anger she could not well have told what 
 it was ; but the utterance of these wild screams 
 for a moment relieved her, and appeared to 
 throw off the weight on her heart. 
 
 In vain Hilary tried to soothe, to quiet, to 
 command ; her gentle voice was unheard, and 
 Gwyneth, clinging to the handle of the door, 
 and hiding her face on her arms, continued to 
 scream with increasing energy. The old nurse 
 appeared, and tried what she could do ; but 
 interjectory addresses, supplications, and en- 
 treaties, were unnoticed, and force made matters 
 worse ; when suddenly the door unclosed from 
 the inside, and Gwyneth was only saved from 
 falling on the floor, by being caught in her 
 father's arms. 
 
 The screams stopped instantly ; she gave 
 one glance at his pale sad face, then hid her 
 own upon his shoulder, and indulged in a 
 copious and passionate burst of tears. He held 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 her quietly and gravely, without a word. Hilary 
 stood with the feelings of a culprit ; it seemed 
 to her as if in her very first endeavour, she 
 had failed entirely of all she ought to have 
 done ; she blamed herself for her sister's wilful- 
 ness, and changing colour and trembling, waited 
 for what might follow. 
 
 By degrees Gwyneth's sobs subsided, and 
 she lay quiet in her father's arms. 
 
 " What is all this ?" said he at length, glancing 
 at his eldest daughter. She could not answer. 
 
 Gwyneth whispered, " Mamma I want 
 mamma." Hilary looked up hastily and fear- 
 fully at her father's face. A sadder shade swept 
 over it, like the darkening gloom which precedes 
 the heavy shower ; then it passed away, and the 
 quivering lip was still. 
 
 " Hilary, love, does she not know ?" said he 
 gently, and drawing her close to him. 
 
 Hilary conquered the rising inclination to give 
 way to tears ; it was a hard struggle first, how-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 27 
 
 ever, but she felt she must answer, and to her 
 own surprise her voice came. 
 
 " I tried, papa, to tell her ; but she would not 
 believe she cannot understand she is so young, 
 and feels so acutely ; oh, papa ! it was my fault, 
 I did not know how !" 
 
 " My poor child," said he, as he stooped and 
 kissed her forehead, after anxiously scanning her 
 pale cheeks and weary eyes ; " you have had no 
 rest you have over-tasked yourself: you should 
 have gone to bed." 
 
 " Never mind me, papa dear ! I shall do well 
 enough but let me take Gwyneth back she 
 will be cold. Come, Gwyneth." 
 
 But the child rebelled again, clung to her 
 father, and seemed about to renew her shrieks. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! this will not do," said he, " this 
 must not be. Be still, Gwyneth, and you shall 
 see your mother once more." 
 
 He stepped into the darkened room, whose 
 grave and solemn aspect hushed the mourner's 
 emotion at once. He opened one shutter a little 
 
 c 2
 
 28 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 way the bright morning sun streamed in upon 
 the white bed-curtains, and danced upon the 
 toilet-glass. He brought his young daughter, 
 clinging to his arms, to the bed, drew back the 
 curtain, lifted the sheet, and Gwyneth's eyes fell 
 on the cold, still face of her, for whom she had 
 called in vain. 
 
 Words cannot describe the feeling of a child 
 thus brought face to face with death. The dead 
 flower appears as a shrivelled atom the extin- 
 guished fire presents an uncouth heap of ashes 
 the setting sun vanishes from our sight, 
 these speak for themselves, here the change is 
 real, perceptible, obvious ; but the soul departed 
 leaves the body the same and yet how different 
 how slight, yet how immense the alteration. 
 Lost in wonder, unable to realise what is gone, 
 the child gazes in unspeakable awe at what re- 
 mains death ! is that death '? it looks but like 
 profound and happy sleep ; for a moment the 
 eye is deceived : but to the touch the truth is at 
 once revealed, and the young finger shrinks, and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 29 
 
 never again forgets the strange, cold, unyielding, 
 icy feeling of the dead. For years it will thrill 
 through the frame. 
 
 Perhaps it was a hazardous experiment, to 
 place that young and susceptible girl in such a 
 presence. Mr. Duncan did not know what he 
 was doing ; he was one of those individuals who 
 cannot in the least understand childhood, its deep 
 feelings, its mysterious impulses, its strange 
 associations, its superstitions taught by Nature 
 herself, its Heavenly breathings, to which it can 
 give neither form nor words. He believed the 
 experiment was perfectly successful, for Gwyneth's 
 tears and cries alike ceased in that solemn pre- 
 sence, and she gazed in quiet, awe-struck, breath- 
 less surprise at the form before her. 
 
 Softly and gently her father talked to her, 
 whispering of the absent spirit which had gone 
 away for a time, but which might even now be 
 near, how near to them they could not tell ; and 
 of that day when this spirit should return again, 
 and that fair form, now motionless, cold 3 inani-
 
 30 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 mate as marble itself, should arise once more to 
 everlasting life. And then he knelt with 
 Gwyneth in his arms, and prayed that they might 
 all meet hereafter in that home of everlasting 
 peace, where no partings come. She was very 
 still and subdued as he carried her back from 
 the room, and gave her to the nurse's charge, 
 and they did not know the effect that sight had 
 produced on her, for she could not speak of her 
 feelings ; but, sleeping or waking, that face for 
 weeks was before her eyes, and the coldness of 
 death seemed ever on her lips and cheeks, such 
 as she had felt it, when, at her father's bidding, 
 she had pressed a last kiss on the corpse ; and 
 she would shrink into corners of the house or 
 garden, to cry and shudder alone, when none 
 saw her, and muse in silence upon what her 
 mother was. 
 
 Sybil was different ; she clung to Hilary, she 
 hardly dared to be alone ; but with a pallid face, 
 and swimming eyes, and little trembling hands, 
 she followed her sister all day long ; and never
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 31 
 
 wearied of talking of her mother ; of her wishes, 
 her tastes, her goodness ; every action seemed 
 referred to that object ; and she spoke of her as 
 one that was absent only for a short time, who 
 would soon return to claim their obedience 
 again. 
 
 Gwyneth would turn pale, shiver, and, if pos- 
 sible, quit the room at the slightest mention of 
 her mother's name ; nor could Hilary's utmost 
 efforts win from her the feelings that oppressed 
 her. 
 
 Of course, as time passed, it brought the usual 
 mitigation of acute sorrow : Sybil learnt to speak 
 with dry eyes of the departed, Gwyneth taught 
 herself to bear the thought without visible de- 
 monstrations of feeling ; but the effect remained 
 upon their characters ; Sybil was more soft and 
 dependent, Gwyneth more reserved in her gene- 
 ral demeanour, whilst the fire which burnt below 
 that outward crust of indifference and calmness 
 was but the fiercer for its concealment.
 
 32 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Blowing between the stems, the forest air 
 Had loosened the brown curls of Vivian's hair, 
 Which played o'er her flushed cheeks; and her blue eyes 
 Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise." 
 
 ISETJLT OF BRITTANY. 
 
 IT was about two months after the death of Mrs. 
 Duncan, when the cheering news arrived at the 
 old Vicarage that the ship in which Maurice 
 Duncan was serving had reached Chatham, and 
 was to be paid off immediately. 
 
 The letter was indeed a sunbeam thrown upon 
 a gloomy path. Some change was greatly 
 wanted at home. Mr. Duncan was a man of 
 deep and true piety, but of little judgment in 
 worldly matters. It would not be easy to find
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 33 
 
 one less fitted to guide aright four girls like his 
 daughters : he had no idea of what was good or 
 hurtful for them. In education, indeed, both 
 intellectual and religious, he could safely lead 
 them but of their physical natures he was quite 
 ignorant. He had no quickness of perception. 
 He did not see that Gwyneth was becoming daily 
 more gloomy and abstracted, yielding to fanciful 
 terrors, all the more powerful because she dared 
 not speak of them. He did not discover that 
 Sybil was giving way to indolence and repining, 
 loving to indulge in visionary dreams of future 
 happiness, or in retrospective pictures of past 
 bliss, but shrinking from real, actual exertion, 
 and the toils of every-day life. Still less did he 
 perceive that Hilary was working beyond her 
 strength, and sinking under a weight of respon- 
 sibility which she felt too vividly to endure safely. 
 She was keenly sensible of her sisters' defects ; 
 she felt them with an acuteness and a self-con- 
 demnation almost morbid in its excess ; it seemed 
 to her as if they were entirely her own fault, and 
 
 c 3
 
 34 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 she saw that, however she might guard their 
 health, minister to their comfort, and promote 
 their pleasures, she was still failing in the more 
 important part of her stepmother's charge, whilst 
 these evils were allowed to increase and over- 
 shadow their characters. Yet she could do no- 
 thing to repress them by herself, and she was 
 not seconded by her father. Not that he wished 
 or intended to thwart her ; he doted on her far 
 too much for that ; but he was quite ignorant 
 of the best manner of training children, or of 
 the importance due to the small points of which 
 Hilary thought so much. He secretly attributed 
 the stress she laid on such things, to the over- 
 anxiety of a new-made governess, precise about 
 unnecessary particulars, from the scruples of a 
 young responsibility ; and when Hilary had said 
 as much as duty and respect permitted, and 
 urged her opinions with the small degree of 
 earnestness which diffidence and humility allowed 
 her, he would reply with a kind smile and a 
 kiss, " Very true, my love you are a good girl
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 35 
 
 to think so much about your sisters, and I hope 
 they will be grateful. I do not know what I 
 should do without you." But the things to 
 which she objected, the indulgences which she 
 reprehended, were continued just the same. 
 
 Theoretically, he would tell the children to 
 obey Hilary ; practically, he would encourage the 
 contrary conduct. Not that there was any po- 
 sitive rebellion there was no passion, ill-will, or 
 disobedience apparent ; these would have been 
 instantly suppressed ; but these were not neces- 
 sary to gain her ends, Sybil found, and her na- 
 ture was too soft to use them. So when she 
 and Hilary differed about her occupations, her 
 manner of employing her time, or her amuse- 
 ments, an appeal to her father, a smile and a 
 kiss, always won him to her side of the argu- 
 ment, and gained for her the right of following 
 her own taste, rather than submitting to the act 
 of self-denial which her sister had proposed. Mr. 
 Duncan only saw that both acts were alike inno- 
 cent, why then should she not take her choice ?
 
 36 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Hilary saw further ; for she not only reflected on 
 the results of self-indulgence, but she felt 
 keenly how her power was annihilated, and her 
 actual authority annulled ; all the more keenly, 
 because it was owing to an affection she could 
 not bear to blame, even in thought. 
 
 One of Sybil's greatest indulgences was, in 
 drawing her father into long conversations res- 
 pecting her deceased mother, recapitulating her 
 virtues, and dwelling on their own loss. Had 
 he possessed judgment enough to turn such 
 recollections to good effect, to increase the 
 child's desire of excellence, by the memory of 
 what her mother had been, to strengthen her 
 faith and love, by pointing out how these had 
 been a support in trouble, and a comfort in sick- 
 ness or pain, and to incite her onwards in the 
 same course by the wish of meeting again there 
 might have been more reason in his conduct ; 
 but this was not the case, and every such dis- 
 cussion seemed only to soften and weaken her 
 nerves, make her more indolently dreamy, and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 37 
 
 bring on floods of regretful tears, such as she 
 ought to have checked as wilful, not encouraged 
 as amiable and affectionate. 
 
 Conversations such as these only drove 
 Gwyneth more completely apart, and made her 
 shudder in silence. If, when the girls were 
 riding or walking with their father, as they did 
 almost every day, Sybil fell into this strain, her 
 sister would draw back, and endeavour to escape 
 beyond hearing ; or if this were impossible, her 
 white cheeks, and firm-closed lips, and slightly 
 knitted brows, told plainly to Hilary how she 
 was inwardly suffering. 
 
 It was too much for Hilary ; the household 
 cares, the anxiety for her sisters, the watchful- 
 ness and broken rest which Nest, the youngest, 
 often caused her, for she had taken the little one 
 to her room at night, and watched her as her 
 mother had once done ; and then the unwearied 
 attention to her father, the arrangement of his 
 books, papers, and accounts, all which she took 
 up where Mrs. Duncan had laid them down ;
 
 38 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 the superintendence of the village school ; the 
 parochial cares ; all these fell heavily on her 
 young head, on her willing, but over-anxious 
 mind. The discipline, however, was good for 
 her, and taught her many things ; she saw much 
 was beyond her power, and that what she could 
 not accomplish, she must be content to leave 
 undone ; she saw many things which should 
 not be, and from clearly ascertaining the evil, 
 knew better what was good to seek. 
 
 And then at length, when she had taught 
 herself to submit with patience, and to bear 
 what she could not remedy, and to ask, and look 
 for help for what she could not supply by her 
 own power, help and comfort were sent to her. 
 
 Maurice came home : within ten days of their 
 hearing of his arrival in England, his ship was 
 paid off, and he was free ; it was only for a 
 limited period, however, for not having yet 
 served his time as a midshipman, and being 
 little more than eighteen, he had determined not 
 to be idle, and had applied for immediate em-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 39 
 
 ployment. Consequently he had but six weeks' 
 leave to spend at home, after an absence of 
 nearly four years. 
 
 The delight with which Hilary looked for- 
 ward to the arrival of her brother, was a sti- 
 mulus to every power of her mind ; and the 
 ecstacy with which she threw her arms around 
 the tall, slight, graceful youth on his presenting 
 himself, seemed at the moment a compensation 
 for all past anxiety and wrong. Maurice was 
 returned to her, and returned with the same 
 loving smile, and dancing eyes, and cheerful 
 voice which had dwelt in her memory for so 
 large a portion of her life ; he was the same ! 
 could she be thankful enough for this blessing, 
 not only for her own, but still more for her 
 father's sake. 
 
 How delighted she was to watch her father's 
 eye brighten, and his voice assume a more lively 
 tone, as Maurice laughed and talked, questioned 
 and commented, with the gaiety of youth at 
 home and happy. For Maurice was always
 
 40 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 happy ; his boyhood had been all joy and sun- 
 shine, so far as he could remember ; his school 
 life had been cheerful and pleasant ; and his ship ! 
 oh, that had been the happiest on the station ; 
 the captain the most considerate, the first lieu- 
 tenant the best fellow in the world, and all his 
 messmates, great and small, appeared to deserve 
 the same character ; and now, though for a short 
 time, the blank in their home was felt and 
 mourned by him, and he looked grave when he 
 saw the empty chair and the disused work-table 
 placed back in a corner : yet his joyous spirit soon 
 rose again, and with so many blessings left, so 
 much still unchanged, he said and felt it would 
 be ungrateful to repine that one had been taken. 
 So, when, in company of Hilary, he had visited 
 the spot where his step-mother was buried, and 
 talked with his sister of her last hours, and 
 heard what they had since discovered from her 
 written papers, that she had been warned by a 
 physician some months before, that, in all human 
 probability, her days were numbered, and that she
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 41 
 
 would not survive her next confinement, and 
 when they had recounted her kindness and her 
 virtues, and shed tears together at the memory 
 of past times, and made a solemn engagement 
 to return her affection for them as children, if 
 possible, in double care and attention to the in- 
 terests of her daughters, Maurice turned his 
 thoughts to other objects, and endeavoured to 
 show his reverence for the dead by his consider- 
 ation for the living. Cheerfulness was what was 
 needed in his dear old home ; cheerfulness, to 
 restore the tone of his father's spirits, to cheer 
 Sybil, to excite Gwyneth, and, above all, to aid 
 and comfort and sustain his darling Hilary. 
 
 Maurice Duncan had the happy, lively temper 
 ascribed by common report to sailors ; but he 
 had not the wild insouciance, the careless, reck- 
 less, or coarse habits often attributed to them. 
 He was delicately, exquisitely refined in all his 
 feelings ; his behaviour to his father was perfect 
 in the respectful attention, engaging confidence, 
 and invariable consideration he showed him. It
 
 42 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 was a sight worth seeing, too, to view him play- 
 ing with his little sisters ; Nest perched in the 
 back of the old large arm-chair, leaning over his 
 shoulder, and bringing her bright dark eyes, and 
 ebony curls, in such charming contrast with his 
 genuine Saxon features ; whilst the two elder 
 ones each occupied a knee, and drew an arm close 
 round their waists. Then he would pour out 
 long tales of India, China, or some other distant 
 land, of tornadoes and breakers, coral-reefs and 
 palm-trees, of wild shooting excursions, and 
 narrow escapes from danger to all which the 
 children listened with wonder and almost awe ; 
 and Hilary sat smiling by, with bright eyes 
 dancing in joy and thankfulness, and Mr. Dun- 
 can paused over his book, and listened with 
 feelings scarcely less moved and excited than his 
 children. 
 
 But, above all, it was beautiful to see how he 
 would wait on Hilary, attend to her least wish, 
 accommodate himself to her habits and occupa- 
 tions, relieve her of every burden he could take
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 43 
 
 upon himself, or share it with her by his sym- 
 pathy when he could not. Without any verbal 
 communication, he discovered in what respects 
 she was overworked, and to some extent con- 
 trived to remedy the evil. 
 
 Without seeming to find fault, he contrived to 
 arouse his father's attention to what was wrong, 
 to what was unfair on her, or pressed too much 
 on one so young. His devoted attention to her 
 wishes, the importance he attached to instant 
 obedience to her words, had a great effect on 
 the younger ones ; be the game ever so 
 amusing, the romp ever so exciting, or the 
 tale ever so deeply interesting, all was quitted 
 the moment Hilary spoke ; and this conduct in 
 one older and much taller than Hilary herself, 
 could not fail to produce most beneficial results 
 on the children's habits and actions. Long after 
 he was gone, his sister felt the good effects of 
 his care and kindness. 
 
 No summer sea sparkling in the sunshine was 
 ever more bright and buoyant than his spirit ;
 
 44 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 and not even those same waves could exceed his 
 determined energy of character, his steady per- 
 severance in right, or the gradual but resist- 
 less force with which he won his way through 
 impediments, and silently swept away obstruc- 
 tions and prejudices. 
 
 One Saturday afternoon, the young people all 
 set out together for a long ramble through the 
 forest, the two girls on their ponies, Hilary and 
 Maurice arm-in-arm, an arrangement which 
 suited them admirably, as affording pleasure to 
 the young ones, and securing at the same time 
 the luxury of confidential communication between 
 the brother and sister. Thus they strolled along, 
 the children choosing the way, and leading them 
 down beautiful glades carpeted with mossy turf, 
 and over-arched by the old elms, and beech, and 
 oak, where thickets of holly, underwood, and fern 
 made what Maurice called reefs, promontories, 
 islands, or sheltering bays ; winding about some- 
 times in one direction, sometimes in another, at 
 length they were entirely beyond the knowledge of
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 45 
 
 any of the party, and it suddenly became a matter 
 of doubt which way they were to turn. Hilary had 
 gone on, leaning, figuratively as well as actually, 
 on her brother ; and it had never occurred to 
 her, that with all his experience, and knowledge, 
 and learning, he might not be so well qualified 
 to guide them as to deserve this implicit credit. 
 They all came to a stand- still at last, and looked 
 about them with different degrees of wonder and 
 uneasiness. There was no track, no mark of foot- 
 steps, no sound of man, to guide them. Hilary 
 sat down on a fallen tree, puzzled and yet 
 amused, whilst Maurice and her sisters made 
 little excursions in different directions, to en- 
 deavour to discover some leading indications. 
 They had gone a little out of sight, and she was 
 looking towards the point "from which she ex- 
 pected them to return, when she heard footsteps 
 approaching, and turning round, saw, through a 
 thicket of thorn, hazel, and holly, a person whom 
 at first she believed to be her brother. 
 
 "Maurice, have you found the' path?" ex-
 
 46 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 claimed she, eagerly ; but the next moment she 
 perceived it was a stranger who advanced, and 
 who, springing over the intervening underwood 
 of fern and bramble, presently stood by her side. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Hilary, as she looked 
 at him ; " I thought it was my brother when I 
 spoke." 
 
 She addressed him with an easy grace and 
 courtesy, which was very attractive ; and the in- 
 truder replied, with as much eagerness as polite- 
 ness permitted, 
 
 " I have not seen your brother ; can I be of 
 any service to you ? may I infer from your ques- 
 tion that you have lost your way ?" 
 
 " Indeed we have," replied Hilary, frankly ; 
 " well as I know the forest generally, I am quite 
 puzzled now, and my brother and sisters are 
 gone a little way, to try and find a path." 
 
 " If you will allow me to remain with you till 
 their return," replied the stranger, " I shall be 
 most happy to act as your guide. In which 
 direction do you wish to proceed ?"
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 47 
 
 " We belong to Hurstdene," replied Hilary ; 
 " I am the clergyman's daughter ; perhaps you 
 know the name of Mr. Duncan !" 
 
 " Perfectly ; though I have not the pleasure 
 of his acquaintance j but you are a long way 
 from Hurstdene ; five miles, I should think, at 
 least." 
 
 " I have no idea where we are," replied Miss 
 Duncan, looking round ; " I never was so far on 
 this side of the wood. Is there any hamlet or 
 village near us ?" 
 
 " I think my house must be the nearest in- 
 habited spot," said the gentleman ; " perhaps 
 you may know that by name, ' The Ferns,' and 
 that may give you some idea where you are." 
 
 ' ' Oh yes, I know the gates and fences of 
 ' the Ferns ' very well," answered Hilary, looking 
 with a sort of modified and restrained curiosity 
 at her companion ; " but I had no idea it was 
 inhabited ; I thought the owner was abroad 
 still." 
 
 " I was abroad," said he, smiling, "until very
 
 48 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 lately ; but just at present I am living on my 
 own domain. Is this your brother approach- 
 ing?" 
 
 Hilary looked round : Maurice and the child- 
 ren approached quickly, evidently surprised to 
 find she had a companion. 
 
 "We cannot see any path," cried Gwyneth; 
 " what shall we do ? we are quite lost." She 
 looked exceedingly frightened. 
 
 " Maurice," said Hilary, stepping forwards to 
 meet him, " this is Mr. Huyton, of ' the Perns.' 
 
 I believe I am right," added she, looking with a 
 sort of apologetic smile at the stranger. 
 
 " I am happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
 Duncan," said he, frankly holding out his hand, 
 
 II and still more happy to think that I can be of 
 service to your party. I learn from Miss Dun- 
 can that you have lost your way, and I believe 
 I can direct you to the road home. But do you 
 know how far you are ?" 
 
 "I am so great a stranger here," replied 
 Maurice, " that it is easy for me to lose myself,
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 49 
 
 and I have no bearings to direct me : so we 
 shall be really obliged if you can set us right." 
 
 " But will Miss Duncan be able to walk back 
 five or six miles ?" enquired Mr. Huyton. 
 
 " Hilary, dear, you cannot do that, I am sure," 
 said Maurice, anxiously. 
 
 "Necessity knows no law," was Hilary's 
 cheerful reply. " I am not so very tired ; besides, 
 I can ride a little to rest myself, you know ; 
 neither Sybil nor Gwyneth have walked at 
 all !" 
 
 Both girls, who had been gazing most atten- 
 tively at the stranger, now cried out that Hilary 
 should ride when she liked ; all the way, if she 
 liked. 
 
 " Then your shortest way home," replied Mr. 
 Huyton, " is through my park, and out into the 
 road which skirts the side of it ; that will lead 
 you direct to Hurstdene." 
 
 The children looked delighted, and whispered, 
 audibly enough, how they should like to go 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 through " the Ferns ;" they had never been in- 
 side the gates. 
 
 This point was soon settled, and he led them 
 along a green alley of the forest, until they came 
 to the park palings. The fence was of the 
 wildest description. Ivy, clematis, and wood- 
 bine, mixed in the utmost profusion with bryony, 
 bind- weed, and other climbing plants ; over- 
 shadowed by gigantic ferns and gorse, which 
 might almost be classed amongst trees. Over 
 these, huge forest - trees swung their ancient 
 branches, and made a sort of twilight of the spot. 
 The children wondered what would come next ; 
 but Mr. Huyton, drawing a key from his pocket, 
 and pushing aside a tangled screen of green 
 boughs, soon threw open a little door, which at 
 first had hardly been perceptible, and the party 
 found themselves within the park. 
 
 A narrow path, which seemed but rarely 
 trodden, leading between thickets of tall fern, 
 picturesque old thorns, and ancient hollies, opened 
 before them. Eager and amused, the girls
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 51 
 
 pressed their ponies along, at a quick pace ; 
 Hilary still leant on her brother's arm, whilst 
 Mr. Huyton walked by her side, and assisted 
 Maurice to hold back the encroaching brambles, 
 or overhanging prickly branches, which might 
 have impeded her progress. 
 
 A turn in the path brought them suddenly in 
 sight of the house, and then the owner, turning 
 to Hilary, said, 
 
 " If you will trust yourself to the wild style of 
 housekeeping which a bachelor hermit's estab- 
 lishment affords, you will come in and rest your- 
 self, Miss Duncan?" 
 
 Hilary at first declined, but their companion 
 would not be refused, and Maurice was so 
 charmed with the manners of their new acquaint- 
 ance, and with the style of his conversation, 
 that he seconded his proposal, when, of course, 
 Hilary yielded. 
 
 "Thank you, very much," exclaimed Mr 
 Huyton, warmly ; " but I must tell you that to 
 rest in my house is but a part of my plan. You 
 
 D 2
 
 52 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 must let me have the pleasure of taking you all 
 home in my carriage. I am sure Miss Duncan 
 is too fatigued for more exertion ; and perhaps 
 the young ladies would not mind exchanging 
 their saddle for a seat in the britschka?" 
 
 " Oh no, we cannot think of giving such 
 trouble," exclaimed Hilary, quite shocked at the 
 idea. 
 
 " Besides, there are the ponies !" suggested 
 Maurice. 
 
 "Never mind them, the groom shall bring them 
 home in the evening," replied Mr. Huyton ; and 
 without listening to any further objections, he 
 called to a man who was standing by the gate 
 of the stable-yard, close to which their path led 
 them, and gave orders for the carriage to be got 
 ready. 
 
 Their path now emerged into a beautiful triple 
 avenue, which extended at least half a mile from 
 the front of the house, along which Hilary's eye 
 glanced with intense admiration, and a low ex- 
 clamation of " beautiful !" escaped her.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 53 
 
 " My ancestors must have loved trees," said 
 Mr. Hu) ton ; " there are avenues extending from 
 each side of this huge, unwieldy house. I should 
 like to show them to you some day." 
 
 " Is this the front ?" enquired Maurice. 
 
 " Yes, I fancy this is ; but the house is square, 
 and either side looks like the front ; each has an 
 entrance in the same heavy, substantial style ; 
 but I like the south rooms, so I have chosen 
 this part for my residence. Let me welcome 
 you to my domicile," added he, smiling with 
 captivating grace on Hilary, as he pushed open 
 the door, and ushered her into a broad entrance 
 passage. He then turned to assist the others 
 from their ponies, and after directing a stable 
 helper to lead off the animals, he took the hands 
 of the girls and led them in. 
 
 " Oh how charming !" cried both Sybil and 
 Gwyneth, as they glanced along the passage 
 which opened into a great hall, occupying the 
 centre of the house. They caught sight of a 
 wide branching staircase with a heavy balustrade ;
 
 54 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 of sundry trophies of the chase, and ancient 
 arms and armour, of various unknown articles, 
 and not a few packing-cases and great boxes, 
 standing about in extraordinary confusion. 
 
 Mr. Huyton seemed amused at their wonder- 
 ing admiration. He opened a door on the right. 
 " Here is my room," said he, " no other is 
 quite habitable yet ; I have not been home long 
 enough to get another furnished." 
 
 " We never heard you were at home at all," 
 said Sybil ; " when did you come, sir ?" 
 
 "About a month ago," replied he, as he 
 pushed up a large easy chair, and made Hilary 
 seat herself on it ; "I will tell you all about it 
 presently, but you must let me attend to your 
 sister's comfort first, will you not?" 
 
 He rang the bell as he spoke, and then looked 
 round to see what more he could do for her con- 
 venience, bringing her a footstool, and drawing 
 down the blind, that the sun might not shine on 
 her head ; and shewing, by his whole air and 
 manner, how anxious he was for her comfort.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 65 
 
 " Bring some wine and biscuits, or bread and 
 butter, or something," said, he as a servant pre- 
 sented himself at the door. 
 
 " Not for us, Mr. Huyton," exclaimed Hilary, 
 eagerly ; " pray do not take the trouble ; we 
 never touch wine, except Maurice, and I do not 
 suppose he would either, now." 
 
 " Some ladies do not, 1 know," replied he, 
 gently ; " then bring coffee as soon as possible, 
 and tell Leblanc to make it, that it may be 
 good." 
 
 The servant disappeared, and Hilary found 
 it vain to contend against such determined 
 politeness and hospitality. 
 
 "Those are beautiful specimens of wood- 
 carving, are they not ?" said their host to 
 Maurice, who was examining some book-shelves 
 at one end of the room ; " they are for my 
 library nothing is in its place about the house. 
 Indeed I have hardly had time to get my things 
 unpacked yet."
 
 56 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 "You have always been abroad, Mr. Huyton ?" 
 said Sybil, coming up to his side. 
 
 " Yes," was his reply with a smile, as he 
 looked at her face of curiosity. " I have spent 
 twenty-five years, my whole life indeed, abroad ; 
 but I mean to settle in England now, and make 
 this my home. Look at these beautiful cameos, 
 shall we show them to your sister ? would she 
 like to see them ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ! Hilary has some of her own, 
 which I know she likes very much," replied 
 Sybil, eagerly. 
 
 " But she would like these best," said Gwy- 
 neth, decidedly ; pointing to a book of drawings, 
 between the leaves of which she had furtively 
 peeped. It was a collection of drawings, copied 
 from some of the most celebrated works of 
 good artists, all done in a masterly style. 
 
 " She shall have her choice," replied their 
 host, looking much pleased ; " you bring the 
 book, and I will carry the case of cameos." 
 Again Hilary begged him not to trouble him-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 57 
 
 self, but without any effect : a small table was 
 placed beside her, and one article after another 
 produced for her amusement. Her admiration 
 of the coloured drawings was extreme, and 
 evidently highly gratifying to her host. 
 
 " How much my father would enjoy these," 
 said she to Maurice. 
 
 " If you think them worth the trouble of 
 carrying home with you," said Mr. Huyton, " I 
 shall be only too much flattered to lend them to 
 you. I can see, by your careful handling of them, 
 the book would be as safe with you as with me." 
 
 " They are exquisitely beautiful," said Hilary, 
 gazing with intense admiration at a copy of 
 one of Raphael's best works. " Who was the 
 artist ?" 
 
 " I made the copies myself," was his reply ; 
 an answer which brought Hilary's eyes on him 
 with a look of reverence and admiration. 
 
 The coffee was soon brought in, most ex- 
 cellent of its kind ; indeed, whatever they saw, 
 belonging to Mr. Huyton, which could be sup- 
 
 D 3
 
 58 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 posed finished, appeared as perfect as possible. 
 Although it was evident that as yet hardly any 
 thing was in its place, and the whole house had 
 the air of having been so long neglected, that 
 Hilary could not wonder that its progress to- 
 wards order and classification had gone on 
 slowly. 
 
 " I shall get on by degrees," said he, in 
 answer to some observation of hers, relative to 
 the labour before him. " By and bye, when the 
 library has been new floored and cleaned, we will 
 have these carved book frames put up, of which 
 that is a specimen. But I like to superintend 
 the whole. It doubles the value of a place to 
 arrange it all oneself: unless one had the happi- 
 ness of falling in with some second mind and 
 fancy, which could sympathise with, and enter 
 into one's own peculiarities and wishes." 
 
 " And do you not find the noise and bustle of 
 workmen disagreeable, Mr. Huyton ?" asked 
 Hilary. 
 
 " I do not mind it, and when I am tired I go
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 59 
 
 out in the forest, or stroll about, and form plans 
 for the ground and gardens." 
 
 " There used to be a famous garden here al- 
 ways," observed Maurice ; " many a time have 
 I bought peaches and nectarines at the Lodge- 
 gates, in former years." 
 
 " These windows look up that beautiful avenue, 
 T see," said Hilary ; " what magnificent timber 
 you have about here." 
 
 " Yes, and so quaintly planted," replied he ; 
 " one wonders at the taste. Straight rows seem 
 the prevailing idea. Rows of oaks, rows of 
 cedars, rows of larch trees, varied by quadrangles 
 of enormous yews, or of double rows of limes, 
 which must be delicious in summer. Miss 
 Duncan, I do not wish to hurry you away, but 
 whenever you please, the carriage is at your 
 service." 
 
 Hilary rose to prepare for her departure. The 
 children cast many a longing, lingering look 
 towards the unexplored regions of the house, 
 which Mr. Huyton observing, told them that
 
 60 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 they should come again some other day, and 
 they would have a good game at hide and seek 
 all over the house ; a promise which they re- 
 solved not to allow him to forget. 
 
 The most unqualified admiration was excited 
 by the beautiful horses and carriage, which stood 
 at the door, Sybil declaring they were just what 
 he ought to have, and Gwyneth whispering to 
 Maurice, that the afternoon's adventure was 
 quite like a fairy tale. 
 
 " Are you going to drive, Mr. Huyton ?" 
 asked Sybil, as he was preparing to hand Hilary 
 in. 
 
 "Not if you can make room for me inside," 
 was his answer ; ""do you think you two little 
 girls could sit by your sister without squeezing 
 her too much ?" 
 
 " Easily, easily," cried Sybil, springing up and 
 down on the elastic cushions of the carriage. 
 " Oh, Hilary, is it not delicious ? if we had but 
 such a carriage as this for every day !" 
 
 Maurice preferred going on the box, when it
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 61 
 
 came to the point, so that after all there was 
 plenty of room ; and Sybil and Gwyneth were 
 able to change sides in the carriage every five 
 minutes, a process which any one less patiently 
 indulgent than Hilary would soon have stopped. 
 Mr. Huyton, however, sitting opposite to her, 
 kept her in such pleasant conversation on really 
 interesting subjects, that she had not much time 
 to be worried by any restlessness of her sisters ; 
 and the half-hour's drive passed only too rapidly. 
 He was as enthusiastic an admirer of scenery as 
 she herself, and with an eye and taste cultivated 
 by familiarity with the best examples ; yet he did 
 not despise or look down contemptuously on 
 English scenery, or an English climate, because 
 the one could not show the Alps, nor the other 
 boast of the bright suns of Italy or Greece. The 
 small specimen that he had seen was enough to 
 give him most favourable impressions, and he 
 was equally prepared to like the women of his 
 country. His expectations were high, but he 
 had not as yet met with a disappointment.
 
 62 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " I am so glad of that," replied Hilary, with 
 a simplicity and candour which told how little 
 she suspected that she was the first English lady 
 he had conversed with since his return from 
 abroad. The idea of his intending a compliment 
 to her, was as far as possible from her mind. 
 
 Mr. Duncan was naturally a good deal sur- 
 prised, when he perceived the style in which his 
 children had returned home ; but nothing could 
 be more cordial and grateful than his thanks, 
 and his invitation to their new acquaintance to 
 walk in and share their tea. Sybil and Gwyneth, 
 too, seconded the invitation with all their might ; 
 but Hilary was engrossed with little Nest, and 
 either did not or would not attend ; he was not 
 sure which was the case. 
 
 " I must say good evening," said he, ap- 
 proaching the end of the room, where she was 
 sitting on a sofa, with her arms around the little 
 one. " Is this another of your sisters, Miss 
 Duncan '? I never saw more lovely children ; 
 and yet how unlike they are to you !"
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 63 
 
 Nest fixed her large black eyes on Mr. Huy- 
 ton, with a perfect appreciation of his compli- 
 ment. Her sister coloured, looked grave, and 
 then rising, held out her hand, only replying, 
 " Good evening, then, and we are so much 
 obliged to you !" 
 
 " The obligation is to me," replied he, grace- 
 fully ; then stooping to kiss the beautiful little 
 face, which half-shyly, half-coquettishly, rested 
 against Hilary's shoulder, he added, " It has been 
 a bright afternoon to me, and the acquaintance 
 I have formed I shall not easily relinquish !" 
 
 No sooner was he gone, than the whole party 
 joined in one unanimous chorus in praise of their 
 new friend, his house, his trees, his manners, his 
 carriage, and his coffee. 
 
 Maurice was as enthusiastic as the girls, and 
 the whole of tea-time was spent in recapitulating 
 the charms and virtues of Mr. Huyton. In 
 short, the entire thing had so much the air of a 
 romance, and they had so rarely met with any
 
 64 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 adventure before, that enough could not be said 
 in praise, or wonder, or delight. 
 
 After tea, Hilary produced the book of draw- 
 ings, and they were thoroughly appreciated by 
 Mr. Duncan, who had, in his youth, made a 
 tour abroad, and taken the opportunity of culti- 
 vating a natural taste and love for painting. 
 
 In the middle of this occupation, a message 
 was brought in, that Mr. Huyton's groom had 
 brought home the ponies, and also a basket of 
 peaches and grapes from " the Ferns ;" sent 
 specially directed to Mr. Maurice, to remind him 
 of old times ; an attention to her brother's 
 pleasure which charmed Hilary more than all the 
 rest of the transaction together.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 65 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Her 'haviour had the morning's fresh, clear grace, 
 The spirit of the woods was in her face, 
 
 She looked so witching fair " 
 
 ISEULT OF BRITTANY. 
 
 SYBIL'S lessons, the next Monday morning, were 
 much disturbed by sundry dreams and visions; 
 she was possessed with the idea that Mr. Huyton 
 would drive over in his beautiful carriage again 
 to-day, and perhaps take them all back to the 
 Ferns, for the promised game of hide and seek. 
 She was listening every moment for the sound 
 of wheels, and trying to catch a glimpse of the 
 carriage driving over the green, towards the 
 house.
 
 66 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 After all, Mr. Huyton came, but so quietly, 
 that Sybil was perfectly ignorant when he en- 
 tered the house. He rode over, rather early for 
 a morning visit, and met Maurice on the green, 
 who put his horse in the stable, and took the 
 visitor into the garden, to wait till lesson-time 
 was over, as he knew Hilary did not like to be 
 interrupted in her teaching. They were all 
 much surprised, in consequence, when, just as 
 the children were putting away their books, the 
 two young men walked into the room. None 
 of the party was sorry to see Mr. Huyton ; he 
 seemed to have such genuine pleasure in the in- 
 tercourse, that it naturally communicated itself 
 to the whole family. 
 
 Mr. Huyton, indeed, was delighted with the 
 acquaintance. The simplicity, frankness, and 
 refinement of the whole family enchanted him. 
 Weary of the fashionable manners, and artificial 
 style of living, prevalent among the circles in 
 foreign capitals, which he had frequented, there 
 was something bewitching in this little glimpse
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 67 
 
 of nature and truth now presented to him. Of 
 English society he knew nothing, save such as 
 he had met abroad, seldom the best, or under 
 the best aspects : and without troubling himself 
 to discover in what the peculiar charm consisted, 
 he resolved to cultivate the acquaintance of the 
 
 A. 
 
 Duncans, and make himself at home with 
 them. 
 
 He was surprised to find in a girl of Hilary's 
 age, and educated completely in retirement, such 
 a degree of elegance, and what he called high- 
 breeding. It was a wonder to him how she 
 learnt a style of courtesy which is sometimes 
 wanting under what he would have considered 
 much more favourable circumstances. He had 
 yet to learn that real Christianity is the best 
 school of good manners ; an oT that the rule of 
 doing as we would be done by, secures that sub- 
 
 -"" '- B^^^^W"' <MMHM*^- ^ffV^ 
 
 stance, of which politeness and refinement can 
 only give the shadow or the reflection. 
 
 She was so unconsciously pretty too, with all 
 her delightful simplicity ; so unintentionally
 
 68 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 graceful, and quietly elegant, that he never dis- 
 covered how plain her dress was, nor how 
 slightly it conformed to the prevalent fashion. 
 The black close-fitting gown, with the clean 
 little white collar, seemed made precisely to 
 show off her slender form and fair skin; and 
 the pretty brown hair, with its long curl, just 
 put back behind a small delicately-shaped ear, 
 and the rich braid forming a Grecian knot, 
 needed no coiffeur to make it look smoother, 
 more glossy, or more becoming to the classic 
 shape of her little head. 
 
 Without forming any definite ideas as to the 
 ultimate results likely to ensue, he entered at 
 once with youthful ardour upon an acquaint- 
 ance so accidentally formed. It was not likely 
 that a young man of large fortune and pre- 
 possessing person and manners, would long be 
 left to the solitude of his own country house, 
 nor obliged to pick up his acquaintance at ran- 
 dom in the forest ; but he was sufficiently pecu- 
 liar and independent in his tastes and habits, to
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 69 
 
 take his own line and adhere to it ; and for the 
 present, his chosen line lay in associating almost 
 exclusively with the Duncans. Prudent fathers 
 of families, and speculating brothers, hoping for 
 future battues or other delights, made visits at 
 the Ferns, as soon as it was generally known 
 that the owner was resident there ; and, thanks 
 to the necessity of eating and drinking, and the 
 circulating nature of butchers and bakers, as 
 well as gossip in a country place, that was 
 pretty soon after his arrival. 
 
 No one had, however, as yet got further than 
 the door-way, the answer being apparently stereo- 
 typed, that the house was in confusion, and Mr. 
 Huyton did not receive company. The Duncans 
 alone had been permitted to enter. They were 
 perfectly unconscious of the superior privilege 
 accorded them. They were out of the way of 
 gossip, arid had few visitors except the farmers' 
 and cottagers' wives of their own village. Mr. 
 H uy ton , himself was the only landed proprietor 
 in their parish, and on that account might be
 
 70 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 considered as belonging to them. The lay-im- 
 propriator resided six or seven miles from them ; 
 he was a man generally well-spoken of, and the 
 father of two daughters, but there had never 
 been any intercourse between them. 
 
 In short, Mr. Huyton's appearance amongst 
 them was like the discovery of a new and won- 
 derful comet to an enthusiastic astronomer ; and 
 he could not be more ready for the acquaint- 
 ance, than they were to admit and encourage 
 it. 
 
 Had Mr. Duncan been really a prudent fa- 
 ther, he might have hesitated, perhaps, to admit 
 to such intimacy a young man of whom they 
 only knew the name and residence; but his 
 charity made him literally think no evil; and 
 the young men proved so congenial to each 
 other in general taste, that they speedily became 
 as nearly inseparable as the five miles between 
 their respective homes would permit. 
 
 Maurice would have been constantly at the 
 Ferns, if the owner of that place had not been
 
 THE OLD VICAKAGE. 71 
 
 so often at Hurstdene ; and the little girls never 
 seemed to think of riding in any other direction, 
 unless he was with them to guide them in a 
 different path. 
 
 All his plans were brought over to the Vicar- 
 age, to be discussed and re-arranged according 
 to the tastes of his friends there ; nominally of 
 the whole family, actually of Hilary herself, in 
 most cases, with the assistance of her father's 
 opinion. 
 
 The number of nutting parties, whortle-berry 
 parties, and other rambling, scrambling expe- 
 ditions in which he was engaged by the children, 
 was wonderful. It was apparently all the same 
 to him, whether their object was to pick berries 
 or make sketches, he was an adept at either, and 
 he soon constituted himself drawing-master to 
 the whole party; and presented Sybil with a 
 stock of materials for the work, which amply 
 supplied, as it was perhaps intended it should, 
 both her sisters also. 
 
 Then he was delighted to encourage Gvvy-
 
 72 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 neth's natural and native love of music, and 
 finding their only instrument was just such a 
 piano as you might expect to find in an old- 
 fashioned country vicarage, he transferred to her, 
 as a birth-day present, a small but beautiful in- 
 strument, which he had ordered for his own 
 room at the Ferns, but which he succeeded in 
 persuading Mr. Duncan, it would greatly oblige 
 him if he could now get rid of. There were 
 some scruples about accepting so valuable a 
 present, but Mr. Huyton had his own way after 
 all. If he expected Gwyneth to be able to play 
 the music which accompanied the piano, he must 
 have formed wonderful ideas of the capabilities 
 of the child ; but Hilary revelled in Beethoven 
 and Mozart for months afterwards, and it cer- 
 tainly was an advantage to Gwyneth herself, to 
 hear such good music as was now placed within 
 her reach. 
 
 So the weeks sped away, fast and bright, as 
 the evening rainbow fades from the sky, until 
 Maurice's leave was over, and the sad eve of
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 73 
 
 parting arrived. It was a subject which had 
 never been discussed in Mr. Huy ton's presence, 
 and one which had not occurred to his mind ; 
 so that it took him quite by surprise when, late 
 one afternoon, on arriving at the Vicarage, after 
 an accidental absence of nearly forty-eight hours, 
 he found Sybil and Gwyneth with very sober 
 faces, sitting in the porch, and was told by them, 
 with tearful eyes, that Maurice was really to go 
 early to-morrow, so Hilary was helping him 
 pack his trunk. 
 
 The door of the little room on one side of 
 the hall was opened as they spoke, and Maurice 
 called out, " Oh, Charles ! is that you ? I began 
 to think I should have to leave without see- 
 ing you again !" 
 
 The visitor entered the room, and there he 
 found Maurice sitting on a portmanteau, in the 
 hope that his weight would bring the two sides 
 into fair proximity to each other ; whilst Hilary 
 was half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, from 
 which she made a sort of motion to rise as he 
 
 VOL. i. E
 
 74 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 entered, looking at him with very pale cheeks, 
 and mournful eyes. " I had no idea, my dear 
 fellow ! you were going so soon," said Charles 
 Huyton, quietly placing himself beside his friend 
 on the portmanteau. " Oh the misery of pack- 
 ing up," added he, taking a curious look round 
 the room at the various litters it contained. 
 
 "Well, we have done for to-day," replied 
 Maurice ; " I never got through it so nicely be- 
 fore ; but Hilary, dear, we will rest now. I say, 
 Charles, where have you been ?" 
 
 " I had to go to Hitchinboro', about some 
 business, and could not come earlier. Miss 
 Duncan, is it too late for a walk ? I had hoped 
 to be in time to finish that sketch of the old 
 oak tree." 
 
 " I don't know," said Hilary, trying to rouse 
 herself. " What do you say, Maurice ?" 
 
 " If my father will come," replied he. " I 
 should not like to leave him for the whole even- 
 ing ; and he talked of wanting to visit those 
 cottages by the tree."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Hilary said she would go and see ; and rising, 
 left the room. 
 
 " Poor dear girl !" said Maurice, looking after 
 her ; " do you know what it is to leave such 
 dear ones, Charles ? I could cry just now with 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Your sister will miss you immensely," 
 replied Mr. Huyton, " but she has so uncom- 
 mon a degree of self-control, and firmness of 
 character, that I have no doubt but she will 
 bear up under it with vigour." 
 
 " Hilary is not the least like any other girl I 
 ever saw," replied Maurice, thoughtfully, "and I 
 have seen a good many, one way or another ; 
 she is just a hundred times better than any one 
 T ever came across ; you might live with her 
 ten years, and never know her do a selfish or 
 an unkind thing. I really do not believe she 
 ever thinks of herself." 
 
 " It is certainly rare to see one so young, so 
 thoughtful and womanly in her mind," said 
 
 E 2
 
 76 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Charles Huyton, earnestly. " T think you told 
 me she is not yet eighteen ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no, only just turned seventeen ; most 
 girls are mere children at her age. To see how 
 she teaches and manages the little ones, and 
 cares for my father, and attends to all the old 
 women and babies in the parish ; knowing 
 exactly who wants a flannel petticoat, or a pig, or 
 a dose of rhubarb ; it is really something won- 
 derful ! I do not believe she ever forgets any- 
 thing, from one Sunday to another !" 
 
 " Except herself," replied the visitor. 
 
 " Ay, except herself, in the right sense. I 
 say, Charles, though, I have seen many girls 
 forget themselves, when I could have wished 
 them a little more memory, for their own sakes, 
 and you never see Hilary do that." 
 
 " Never I wonder you can make up your 
 mind to leave your family," observed Charles 
 Huyton, with the utter unconsciousness of the 
 laws of necessity which young men of large 

 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 77 
 
 fortunes, independent of guardians, sometimes 
 feel. 
 
 " What would you have ?" said Maurice. " I 
 must work, and, indeed, I love my profession ; 
 and but for these leave-takings, have nothing to 
 complain of. If I am only lucky enough to 
 get promoted by and bye, when I am older, 
 Hilary and I will settle down together, in some 
 little cottage on the sea-shore, and live on my 
 half-pay and her fortune together; and be a 
 regular old cosy brother and sister. That's my 
 notion of happiness. I don't think either Hilary 
 or I shall ever want to marry !" 
 
 " Don't you ?" observed his friend, with a 
 somewhat incredulous smile. 
 
 " I only hope she will not over-work herself ; 
 she is too anxious about every thing ; and with 
 nobody to help her, the three children come 
 heavily upon her. Charles, you will come and 
 see them sometimes, when I am gone ?" 
 
 " Sometimes !" replied Mr. Huyton, quietly. 
 
 Maurice turned round abruptly. " I am
 
 78 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 selfish for her sake, perhaps ; but you must 
 excuse me ; don't come if you do not like 
 however. I thought perhaps but never mind, 
 I daresay you have plenty to do, much 
 pleasanter than dawdling about here with such 
 rustics as we all are." 
 
 " There is nothing I like better, upon my 
 honour. My great fear has been, that your 
 absence would make a difference that perhaps 
 I should not be admitted. Nothing would give 
 me more pleasure than to think there need be 
 no change." 
 
 "No change ! well, I do not say that; but 
 let Hilary settle the change for herself. I only 
 wish you could help her teach the children a 
 little," added he, laughing; "but I am afraid 
 you cannot quite take my place as tutor." 
 
 " We will see," was the reply gravely given. 
 
 The little girls came running in, equipped for 
 walking, and summoned the two young men 
 to join Mr. Duncan and his daughter, who 
 were out at the gate, settling Nest in the pannier
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 79 
 
 of a pony, that being the way in which that 
 young lady made her excursions with her sisters ; 
 and on this occasion she was not to be left 
 behind. 
 
 There was a good deal of desultory conversa- 
 tion passed between the family, not the least 
 connected with the subject which occupied their 
 minds ; that was too sorrowful to be dwelt on ; 
 and both Maurice and Hilary thought more of 
 their father, and of amusing him, than of in- 
 dulging their own low spirits at the moment. 
 
 When they came to the Great Oak, it was 
 settled that Maurice should accompany Mr. 
 Duncan as he went round to visit a few scat- 
 tered huts and hovels, inhabited by a wild and 
 somewhat lawless race of wood-cutters, brick- 
 makers, and poachers, who had located them- 
 selves in this secluded spot, whilst Hilary and 
 Sybil sat down, under Mr. Huyton's protection, 
 to finish a sketch of the old tree. 
 
 " How well it looks this evening," observed 
 he ; " the tawny russet shade which has tinged
 
 80 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 the leaves, shows well against those orange- 
 coloured beech-trees which back it up. If you 
 can but catch the effect of that slanting sun- 
 beam falling on those bright leaves, and tinging 
 the trunk with gold ! It is made for a picture !" 
 Hilary laid down her pencil and gazed ab- 
 stractedly at the scene, gazed till the tears 
 gathered in her eyes, and first blinded her sight, 
 and then dropped on her sketch-book, and 
 blotted her drawing. Her companion saw 
 it, and gently drew it away from under her 
 hands, to which she passively submitted, hardly 
 knowing what he did, and hoping to quiet her 
 emotion more easily by keeping silence. 
 
 "The sunbeam may fade to-night," whis- 
 
 
 
 pered he, " but it will come again to-morrow, 
 Miss Duncan ; and we can sleep away the hours 
 of darkness, with the hope of a brighter 
 dawn." 
 
 " I was thinking," said Hilary, after a pause, 
 and carefully steadying her voice " that that 
 oak was like my father, how grand and vener-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 81 
 
 able it looks ; and that glowing, golden sunbeam 
 was Maurice's visit to us, just slipping away ; 
 what a bright gleam it shed on us for a little 
 time ; and now it is over, and he will be left 
 as that tree will be to the night dews, and the 
 cold light of the moon and stars, which may 
 glimmer round him, and seem to make a show 
 and brightness, but have no real warmth, or 
 strength, or power, in their poor feeble beams." 
 
 " That is a comparison which does little 
 justice to the bright light which shines on your 
 father's home and household," replied Charles 
 Huyton, warmly. 
 
 " I know it, Mr. Huyton," replied Hilary, 
 understanding his words in a different sense 
 from what he intended ; " I know that he has 
 that light within which makes external lights of 
 little consequence. But yet, I cannot help feel- 
 ing that our home is not what it was once, 
 and how sad, how desolate it must look to him. 
 If I could but fill the place more effectually but 
 I am such a child " 
 
 E 3
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " Maurice says, your only fault is that you 
 are too anxious," replied Charles Huyton, who 
 found it much easier to praise Hilary than to 
 answer her feelings. 
 
 " Ah, Maurice does not know ," was her 
 only answer. 
 
 " You do not in general dispute his judg-_ 
 ment," said Charles, smiling a little. " Do not 
 take your responsibilities so to heart do not 
 fancy that you are called on to wear yourself 
 out ; the very fact of taking things easily your- 
 self, will make them easy to others also. No- 
 body expects a woman's grave and severe pru- 
 dence and consideration, from your youth. Give 
 yourself more liberty, and take less trouble." 
 
 " Did Maurice tell you to say that to me ?" 
 enquired Hilary. 
 
 " No I say it of myself ; I can see that you 
 are over-anxious." 
 
 " Perhaps I am but can one really be too 
 anxious to do one's duty, Mr. Huyton ? Do I 
 take uncalled-for tasks on myself and if not,
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 83 
 
 if, as I believe, what I do is merely what I 
 ought to do, then, you know, it is what I have 
 the power to do also. More is not required 
 than is possible ; ours is not a hard Master ; 
 but then the proper interest must be returned 
 for the talents committed to us, or we are un- 
 faithful as well as unprofitable servants." 
 
 He was silent, for she was talking in an un- 
 known tongue to him, alluding to things as 
 realities, whose existence he hardly recognised. 
 
 " I know the fault is mine when I fail ; and 
 the merit, if I ever succeed, is His from whom 
 help cometh," added she, a little hesitatingly, 
 as if in deprecation of his grave looks. 
 
 " Maurice has given me leave, as far as he 
 can, to try and fill his place," said the young 
 man ; " and he referred me to you, as to the 
 way in which I could be of use, and when I 
 may come and see you." 
 
 " Will you really ?" said Hilary, showing the 
 most innocent pleasure at the prospect ; " I
 
 84 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 thought when he was gone, you would not care 
 much for coming here as you have done." 
 
 " Then you were mistaken. I have known 
 no pleasanter hours than those I have spent at 
 the Vicarage. Besides, how could I get on with 
 my improvements ? who would plan my walks, 
 or choose my papers, or design my greenhouses ? 
 no, I am not such an idiot as to throw away 
 a valuable friendship when I have once made 
 it." 
 
 Hilary laughed lightly, as her only reply. 
 
 " Gwyneth," added he, pulling the child to- 
 wards him, as he sat on the turf, " you know 
 very well that I could not do without you and 
 Sybil to help me, don't you ?" 
 
 " We could not get on without you," replied 
 Gwyneth ; " Hilary wants to go on learning 
 German, and I am sure nobody could teach her 
 so well ; and your Trench and English books, 
 and your music and paintings are much better, 
 and nicer, and prettier than any we have of our 
 own."
 
 THE OLD VI CAR. AGE. 85 
 
 " But then, Gwyneth," whispered he, " you 
 have things which I have not much better 
 things, things that I cannot buy." 
 
 " I thought you had money enough to buy 
 everything you wanted," said Gwyneth. 
 
 " Not every thing. I cannot buy a father, or 
 sisters, or a brother like Maurice and you have 
 all these, which I want ; so who is best off ?" 
 
 Gwyneth looked uncertain, or unwilling to 
 speak. 
 
 " Suppose you were to give me back my 
 sketch-book ?" said Hilary, stretching out her 
 hand for it ; but he drew it back out of her 
 reach, with a look which quieted Hilary, and 
 
 prevented her saying any more, although she 
 
 - 
 could not easily have told why. 
 
 The father and son returned, during the 
 silence which ensued after Hilary's last speech ; 
 and Sybil, who had been very industriously 
 working away at her sketch, now held it up for 
 approbation, which 'it obtained, as it deserved. 
 The party then prepared to return homewards,
 
 86 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 and little Nest, who had been wandering about 
 under the charge of Gwyneth, was recalled, and 
 once more lodged in her pannier. 
 
 Mr. Huyton was pressed to come in as usual ; 
 but thinking that on the last evening the family 
 would be more comfortable without a stranger 
 of the party, he declined, and mounting his 
 horse, after very cordial farewells to Maurice, he 
 rode slowly home, meditating on the charms of 
 Hilary, and thinking what he should do with 
 regard to her. To let things take their own 
 course, and be decided hereafter by events, 
 seemed to him the best thing to do. 
 
 In the meantime he carried away her sketch- 
 book, with the intention of abstracting and ap- 
 propriating the unfinished sketch on which her 
 tears had fallen, and giving her a copy, of his 
 own doing, of the scene she had attempted to 
 delineate. 
 
 So things did take their course; and acting on 
 impulse, without any definite idea, or decided 
 plan, Charles Huyton continued to come and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 87 
 
 go, between the Ferns and the Vicarage, all 
 through the autumn and ensuing winter. He 
 finished his house, and arranged his grounds, 
 and returned his neighbours' visits, sometimes 
 accepting invitations to dinner, sometimes even 
 appearing at a ball, being exceedingly admired, 
 and very much courted, and making himself 
 universally agreeable when he did go into society ; 
 but withal, preserving a sort of mystery about 
 his usual pursuits and amusements, which ren- 
 dered him piquant and interesting in the highest 
 degree. 
 
 He never gave parties of any kind, not even 
 to gentlemen ; did not preserve his game, and 
 did not either hunt or shoot ; men were as 
 much puzzled to account for his oddities, as 
 women. The neighbourhood that is, the part 
 of the country inhabited by gentlemen's families 
 lay almost entirely in the opposite direction to 
 Hurstdene, and so far removed from the vicinity 
 of the Vicarage, that the length and frequency
 
 88 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 of his visits to the Duncans, passed unheeded 
 and unheard-of. 
 
 All his leisure time was spent there, reading, 
 drawing, teaching, gardening for them, and with 
 them, and discussing his own plans and projects. 
 Inspired by Hilary, and advised by her father, 
 he did some very useful things : he built and 
 endowed a school at the edge of his park, for 
 some of the scattered population around ; he 
 improved the dwellings of the poor tenants, and, 
 in short, fell in with all the usual schemes of 
 benevolence patronised by a well-meaning land- 
 holder. But the hand that guided him was not 
 at all apparent, -and nobody could be more 
 ignorant of her influence than Hilary herself: 
 she really believed that all the right things Mr. 
 Huyton did, came from his own right feelings 
 and good principles. Indeed this was one great 
 secret of her power ; he could see through the 
 designs of the mammas who invited him to 
 their houses, and their daughters who took such 
 interest in his house, his park, his garden, or his
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 89 
 
 school. He felt that they only cared for him 
 because he was rich, and he believed that had he 
 offered his hand and fortune to any of these 
 elegant young women, it would have been un- 
 hesitatingly accepted on the shortest notice, and 
 with the greatest triumph. With Hilary it was 
 different ; kind and obliging as she was, unre- 
 served in many respects, frank and simple, he by 
 no means felt sure that she loved him ; on the 
 contrary, as months rolled on, and the graceful 
 girl grew and developed into a very handsome 
 and elegant woman, whilst her mind matured in 
 proportion as her person improved, he became 
 more dubious on the question which he often 
 asked himself, " Would she ever consent to be- 
 come his wife ?" 
 
 His own wishes took a most decisive shape be- 
 fore she had quite completed her eighteenth year ; 
 but his hopes stood on a very different ground : 
 shifting in their appearance, as if they rested on 
 a quicksand, and varving with every interview. 
 That such a notion had never entered her head,
 
 90 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 he would have boldly maintained, had it been 
 necessary ; he would have staked his fortune 
 fearlessly on her perfect innocence and sim- 
 plicity ; he had cautiously guarded against 
 putting it there, by any conduct of his own ; 
 for he had an intuitive conviction that the day 
 his wishes were discovered would be the last of 
 that pleasant, frank, comfortable intercourse, 
 which now existed ; and he by no means felt 
 convinced that it would be replaced by any 
 thing more pleasant. 
 
 Every part of her conduct convinced him 
 that she did not love him ; Sybil and Gwyneth 
 could not have appeared more unconscious and 
 unsusceptible of this feeling. But he hoped 
 that time would produce a change there was 
 no fear of a rival, so he could wait ; and rather 
 than risk all by a premature discovery, he did 
 wait, and watch and guard his looks and man- 
 ners, and lived in hopes of the future. 
 
 He was quite right ; Hilary did not love 
 him. He was very pleasant ; a great comfort
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 91 
 
 to her father ; most kind to her sisters, and 
 very good-natured to herself; but for some 
 hidden reason, she never entertained for him the 
 smallest approach to what could be called love ; 
 perhaps it was because she did not think about 
 it : busy and useful, cheerful and yet thoughtful, 
 she had adopted Maurice's notion that she 
 should never marry, but should continue as she 
 now was. To leave her father, or desert her 
 sisters, indeed, would have seemed a monstrous 
 impossibility to her, a thing too much contrary 
 to right, even to be thought of with a negative. 
 Nest, who was but just five years old, would 
 want her care for fifteen years to come at least ; 
 and oh ! what an age that seems, to the girl 
 who has herself only counted eighteen years of 
 life. 
 
 But it was very kind and pleasant to have 
 such a friend as Mr. Huyton, to lend them 
 books, and bring them reviews and prints, and 
 help them in the parish with money, and espe- 
 cially to be so fond of Maurice ; write to him so
 
 92 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 often, and always show the letters he received 
 from him to them. 
 
 And so matters went on, and things took 
 their course, and Hilary worked and read, and 
 governed her household, her sisters, and herself, 
 and very unconsciously, the owner of the Ferns 
 also ; and months passed, and she saw her 
 nineteenth birth-day arrive, and wondered to 
 think how old she felt when she was yet so 
 young, and questioned much with herself whe- 
 ther she had rightly fulfilled her task, and feared 
 that could her step-mother revisit her children, 
 she would find her best efforts had been fear- 
 fully imperfect, and that their characters were 
 too much the result of chance and circumstance, 
 and that the guiding hand had been too weak 
 to be efficient. 
 
 No she did not love Charles Huyton ; no 
 thought of him mingled with her reflections on 
 her nineteenth birth-day.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE, 93 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Far, far from each other 
 Our spirits have grown ; 
 And what heart knows another ? 
 Ah ! who knows his own ?" 
 
 ARNOLD. 
 
 MR. HUYTON, it may be presumed, did not 
 know that Hilary gave him so small a part in 
 her thoughts, or he probably would not have 
 acted as he did on that very day. However, I 
 will not venture positively to affirm this ; for 
 such are the inconsistencies and contradictions 
 of human nature, that it is safer to calculate on 
 resolutions being broken, and promises forfeited, 
 than on the exact performance of either. 
 
 Charles Huyton's resolutions had not been
 
 94 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 communicated to others, and his promises were 
 made only to himself, so there was no one who 
 could charge him with inconsistency, or blame 
 him for want of faith, when, after having firmly 
 resolved to conceal his opinions and wishes with 
 regard to Hilary, he betrayed them to her on 
 her nineteenth birth-day. 
 
 She was standing in the churchyard, beside 
 the graves of her own mother and her step- 
 mother, recalling her past life, and renewing 
 her resolutions to watch over, guard, and devote 
 herself to her younger sisters ; when Charles 
 Huyton, directed by some extraordinary instinct, 
 discovered and joined her there. 
 
 It was a very picturesque little spot. The 
 east window, which was handsome in itself, 
 formed the background ; a beautiful spreading 
 lime, with its pale tassels just then in full blos- 
 som, hung over head, and sheltered it from the 
 north ; the graves were carefully preserved, and 
 planted with myrtle, rosemary, and some other 
 evergreens ; and the wall of the church was
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 95 
 
 richly decorated with large purple and white- 
 flowered clematis, Virginia creeper, and climbing 
 roses. Hilary was sitting on a bench under 
 the lime-tree, plunged in profound meditation, 
 when Mr. Huyton, whose foottep was inaudi- 
 ble on the short turf, presented himself before 
 her. 
 
 " You have chosen rather a mournful place 
 of retirement, Miss Duncan," said he, seating 
 himself by her, after the first greeting; "may 
 I venture to remain with you, or do you court 
 solitude as well as gloom ?" 
 
 " I do not feel either solitude or gloom in 
 this spot, Mr. Huyton," said she, quietly ; 
 " but it seems to me a wholesome occupation 
 for the mind, sometimes to quit the brightness 
 of life, for the calm repose of such a scene as 
 this." 
 
 He did not answer immediately he was 
 reading the inscription on the headstones be- 
 fore him ; she too was silent. After some 
 minutes, he turned to her.
 
 96 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " I should like to know the thoughts which 
 occupy you so deeply," said he. 
 
 She coloured a little, and replied, "They 
 are sacred to the memory of the departed 
 but there are so many thoughts which come 
 in such a place as this I could not tell them 
 if I would." 
 
 " The most prominent one then will you 
 not trust me ?" 
 
 " I was thinking how false our lives are to 
 our professed principles." 
 
 " In what way ?" questioned he, curious to 
 learn the feelings of a girl like Hilary, although 
 not in the least entering into them. 
 
 " I was thinking," replied she, " that all 
 words spoken, and thoughts unuttered too, 
 exist somewhere are recorded not passed 
 away into empty air not perished like the 
 flowers which fall to decay." 
 
 " Well, what then ?" said he, not discovering 
 any connection in the ideas. 
 
 " How many thousand times have those
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 97 
 
 words been repeated here, in this church-yard, 
 praying that the number of the elect may 
 shortly be accomplished; and yet how little 
 we realize our own meaning, or live in accord- 
 ance with the words we use." 
 
 " You do not mean to say that we ought 
 to be glad when our friends die ?" inquired he. 
 
 " Partings for an indefinite time must be 
 always painful, and those left behind to sorrow 
 and struggle, to combat the waves of this trouble- 
 some world, must feel desolation and grief; 
 but when we look at a quiet grave like this, 
 where all is so calm and still, and think of 
 the spirit away in some unknown but happy 
 place, we ought not to feel gloom. Gloom 
 might rest on the graves of those who call it 
 ' Ultima Domus' but for us, who daily repeat 
 our belief in ' the resurrection of the dead,' 
 gloom ought to be banished with despair." 
 
 "That is a very beautiful idea," said he, 
 looking with admiration at her elevated ex- 
 pression of countenance. 
 
 VOL. T. F
 
 98 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " It should be more than an idea ; it should 
 be a guiding principle I mean that our busi- 
 ness here is so to live, that we may think of 
 lying down there without a shudder. Do you 
 know, I have often wondered what I shall feel 
 with what kind of emotions I shall look down, 
 when they lay me there or rather what once 
 was myself." 
 
 He looked at her with amazement. " Do 
 you suppose you will be conscious at all ? but 
 do not talk of it ; / cannot think of you in 
 such a connection, without more than a shud- 
 der. Did you train these creepers so grace- 
 fully round the church window ?" 
 
 " Partly ; there have been other hands here 
 besides mine, however; it has been the work of 
 affection; the result of the very feelings of 
 which I was speaking." 
 
 " Which is your favourite ?" inquired Mr. 
 Huyton, determined to change the subject. 
 
 " Of the shrubs ? that Virginian Creeper, I 
 believe."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 99 
 
 "Why, it has no blossoms, and is not 
 even an evergreen," replied he. 
 
 " I like it the better for that ; it says the 
 more to me." 
 
 " What does it say ?" replied he, smiling. 
 
 " The fading of its leaves speaks of sym- 
 pathy with us, which I never can fancy ever- 
 greens feel. And then they become more 
 beautiful as they decay, glowing with richer 
 colours lent by the frost which is about to 
 strip them ; just as those who have silently 
 spent their strength in aspiring heavenward 
 like that plant, often show, when touched by 
 suffering, new and unexpected graces." 
 
 " You are fanciful but I like to hear your 
 imaginations." 
 
 " The Virginian Creeper has another mean- 
 ing to me," pursued Hilary ; " it is an em- 
 blem of friendship, of which I am very fond." 
 
 " I thought ivy was the emblem of friend- 
 ship," observed he. 
 
 " Not my emblem at least, not of the 
 
 F 2
 
 100 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 friendship I mean. Did you ever notice the 
 plants ? ivy is a parasite, living on the sub- 
 stance which supports it; drawing its own 
 existence from the life of another ; and it is 
 very persevering too, where anything can be 
 gained : it is difficult to check ; tear it down, 
 and it will send out new roots and fix itself 
 afresh, until the prop is destroyed by the en- 
 croachment of the counterfeit friend ; then it is 
 so cold and apathetic, always green and un- 
 changing in appearance, one cannot love an 
 ivy plant, or make a companion of it, however 
 picturesque it may be." 
 
 " And your favourite, what character does it 
 
 bear?" 
 
 " Examine it do you see these little spread- 
 ing hands with which it supports itself? see how 
 closely they adhere ; if you tear it down, it can 
 never be replaced, however ; they will hold, 
 whilst they have life, but forcibly detached, they 
 cannot fix themselves again. They ask nothing 
 in return, but permission to be undisturbed ; and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 101 
 
 once allowed to attach themselves, they soon cover 
 their sustaining prop with their luxuriant foliage. 
 But the prop must be real of its kind, stone, or 
 brick, or wood; but not stucco for stone, nor 
 whitewashed plaster ; there they retain no hold ; 
 nor polished glass, you see ; to that they cannot 
 fix themselves, it is too hard. Is not that con- 
 stant, true, devoted friendship ?" 
 
 "And you think then friendship repulsed, 
 or violently severed, can never be replaced ?" 
 
 " Unkindly severed no, I should think not ; 
 but mine is only theoretical friendship, Mr. 
 Huyton ; practically, I have no experience. You, 
 perhaps, know better." 
 
 " I believe the only one I ever called a friend, 
 was Maurice, your brother," was his answer. 
 
 " I had hoped," said she, looking up ingenu- 
 ously, " that others of his family might have 
 shared in that title." 
 
 " No," replied he earnestly, and gazing at her 
 clear, innocent eyes, " Mr. Duncan is too old.
 
 102 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 I respect him greatly, but we are too unequal 
 for friendship, and your sisters, of course, are 
 out of the question." 
 
 He paused her eyes were bent down with a 
 slight shade of disappointment in them : did he 
 not think her worth caring for at all then ? well, 
 perhaps this was natural enough. She was 
 startled by his hand being laid on hers, and his 
 voice breaking the silence as he said, 
 
 " And for you, it is not friendship that I 
 feel ; that is not the name of the sentiment 
 which just now fills my heart." 
 
 She looked up again, but her eyes fell under 
 his once more, for she read there something 
 which gave her no pleasure, although it occa- 
 sioned her surprize. The idea for the first time 
 flashed across her that he loved her, and, quick 
 as thought can go, her mind took in at once all 
 the probable consequences of such a circum- 
 stance; the pain and disappointment to him, 
 the interrupted intercourse, the loss to their 
 society, which his absence would occasion, what
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 103 
 
 Maurice would think, and whether he would 
 wish either one way or the other. The silence 
 was not of more than a minute's duration, but 
 her mind travelled far and fast in the interval. 
 One idea did not occur to her ; that was the 
 possibility of marrying Mr. Huyton ; she did 
 not raise the question. 
 
 His thoughts had not gone so far, they were 
 all concentrated round her, watching the chang- 
 ing colour of her cheeks, and the long eye-lashes 
 which rested on them. He was partly think- 
 ing how pretty she was, partly wondering what 
 she was feeling. Of course he had to speak 
 again. 
 
 " Hilary, I love you. Ever since the mo- 
 ment when I suddenly saw you standing alone 
 in the forest, like some unearthly being, like 
 one of those angels of whom you are so fond 
 of talking, you, and you only, have filled my 
 heart. I have lived for you, worked for you, 
 thought of you all day, dreamt of you at night, 
 watched your progress to perfection with an
 
 104 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 intenseness of admiration you little guessed ; 
 dwelt on your image when absent, loved your 
 very shadow, doted on you with a heart which 
 never, never loved before." 
 
 " Hush ! Mr. Huyton," said she, gravely ; 
 " these are wild words, not language for one 
 human creature to use to another ; and to me, 
 if I did not know you too well, I should think 
 you meant to mock me ; do not talk so !" 
 
 " Mock you ! praise cannot come near your 
 merits ; words are too cold ; in that sense they 
 may be unfit to be addressed to you; as any 
 attempt to paint a rainbow is mockery. But 
 my meaning is most sincere, earnest, true. I 
 love you !" 
 
 He held her hand in both of his, and looked 
 in her face with all the eloquence of which 
 his very handsome eyes were capable ; but she 
 shook her head. 
 
 " I do not love you, Mr. Huyton at least, 
 not in that way ;" ending her sentence abruptly,
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 105 
 
 and with crimson cheeks, which made him 
 think her mistaken. 
 
 " You do not hate me ?" said he, persever- 
 ingly detaining the hand she endeavoured to 
 withdraw ; " tell me, am I disagreeable to 
 you?" 
 
 " Hate you ! oh no ; you are so good and 
 kind to me and mine ; and Maurice loves you 
 so, I could not hate you ; but I am so sorry, 
 so very sorry, that you cannot think of me as 
 I do of you ; liking, wishing well to, esteem- 
 ing one another, being friends and no more." 
 
 " Impossible ! a man must be made of mar- 
 ble, who could see you as I have seen you, 
 know you as I have known you, and not do 
 more than like you. Are you sure but no, I 
 have no right to doubt, to expect, to fancy even, 
 that you returned my passion ; but I may hope 
 for the future ; perhaps now you know my heart, 
 you will pity me. Let me try to make you love 
 me ; give me leave to devote myself to that ; if 
 I might look forward to one day making you 
 
 F 3
 
 106 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 my wife ; oh, Hilary, it is for you I have worked 
 at ' the Ferns,' in the dear hope of placing you 
 there, where, surrounded by all that could reward 
 your virtue, and enhance your charms, I might 
 see my idol the centre of worship, the admira- 
 tion of the neighbourhood let me hope." 
 
 " I hardly know what to say to you in answer ; 
 you think of me a great deal too well, but yet I 
 must thank you, and feel grateful to you for 
 your good opinion and your kind wishes, and 
 your love ; and do not blame me, please, for not 
 doing more, or not doing it rightly ; I am very 
 ignorant of what would be considered right 
 to do or say ; but indeed I only mean to be sin- 
 cere and true, so if I speak too frankly, you must 
 forgive me." 
 
 " You cannot speak otherwise than rightly ; 
 like yourself, the very soul of innocence, and 
 modesty, and grace ; be as frank as you please, 
 I promise not to misunderstand you." 
 
 " Mr. Huyton, I cannot be your wife, or the 
 wife of any one, whilst my father and sisters
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 107 
 
 require me with them. I believe the conviction 
 of this was so strong in my mind, that I thought 
 you must see it and know it too, and that was 
 why I was so surprised at your talking as you 
 do." 
 
 " But, Hilary, ' the Ferns' is not so far off, as 
 to be called leaving them. If you give me 
 no other objection, I need not despair ; if your 
 feeling for me would not prevent you giving me 
 your hand, your feelings for them need not 
 surely. I come here every day, so could you ; 
 the separation would be merely nominal, and 
 how much more I could and would do for them, 
 as my father and my sisters, than I could or 
 might do now ; what they lost in one way, 
 might be more than compensated in ano- 
 ther." 
 
 Hilary shook her head, and then, pointing to 
 the grave before her, she said : "I promised her 
 not to desert her children ; I have since renewed 
 the promise more than once, on this very 
 spot ; and for my father oh, Mr. Huyton, what
 
 108 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 excuse could I have for leaving him ? What sel 
 fishness to think of it." 
 
 Mr. Huyton bit his lip, and then answered : 
 "If it is on their account you act, that need 
 not prevent my hoping ; if regard for them pre- 
 vents your entertaining the thought of leaving 
 them now, this reason will not always exist. In 
 a very few years, Sybil will be able to take your 
 
 place, and then " 
 
 " But you mistake," said Hilary, drawing back, 
 " if you think they are the only reason : I do not 
 wish to give you pain, and I hope you will not 
 think me proud, or anything wrong, but, indeed 
 I must tell you the truth I do not feel for you 
 what you would like ; I hardly know what to 
 say, but I mean, what you would wish your wife 
 to do. I do not think I should make you 
 happy, or that I could be happy with you, feel- 
 ing as I do ; and whilst I really am very much 
 obliged to you for your good will to my sisters, 
 and all that you say, I do wish you to leave 
 off thinking of anything more. Find some-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 109 
 
 body more suited to be your wife, and the mis- 
 tress of ' the Ferns' ; somebody who could do you 
 credit, and not a poor, ignorant country girl, like 
 me, quite unused to society, and hardly knowing 
 even how ignorant I am." 
 
 " I might search through all the world, and 
 not meet one more thoroughly good, elegant, 
 refined, and excellent than yourself, Hilary. It 
 is no use to tell me not to hope and wish ; it is 
 no use to tell me to love another, after a two 
 years' acquaintance with you. Only let me try 
 to win you. I do not ask you to bind yourself, 
 you shall be quite free and unfettered by pro- 
 mises of any kind ; only do not send me away ; 
 suffer me in your sight, though I have had the 
 presumption to love you !" 
 
 " I thought you would have wished to leave 
 me of yourself, after what has passed," replied 
 Hilary, in a little surprise. 
 
 " You did me injustice then ; whilst you are 
 free, and therefore to be won by the man who 
 can best deserve you, I will not leave you, unless
 
 110 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 you drive me away ; and you will not do that, 
 will you ? I ask no more ; only allow me to go 
 on as I have done." 
 
 Poor Hilary ! she was very young, very inno- 
 cent, and very ignorant of the selfish pride of a 
 man's nature, or she would not have yielded 
 this point. She had no female friend to guide 
 her, to warn her of the difficulties in which a 
 promise which seemed so fair and simple, might 
 involve her ; or to teach her how far the mere 
 permission to try to win her, might be inter- 
 preted in favour of her suitor's claims. 
 
 She felt how very disinterested it was of a 
 rich man like Mr. Huyton clever, fashionable, 
 admired, no doubt, in the world to ask for the 
 hand of a simple country maiden like herself, whose 
 future fortune bore no proportion to his, and 
 whose family could add nothing to his honour 
 or influence. He might represent the county if 
 he chose ; he had discussed the subject several 
 times with Mr. Duncan ; he might, no doubt, 
 win a wife from any noble family in the land,
 
 THE OLT) VICARAGE. Ill 
 
 and yet he loved her, and asked her to marry 
 him. The wonder of her mind at his making 
 such a choice, so unequal in every respect as her 
 modesty made her think it, was only surpassed 
 by her astonishment at finding that she could 
 not love him in return. Why not? why could 
 not all his good qualities, his ardent affection, 
 and his kindness to her family, influence her to 
 wish to be his wife ? Why did the idea seem 
 incompatible with happiness ? and why did the 
 notion of reigning at ' the Ferns,' make her cling 
 the closer to her duties and responsibilities at 
 the Vicarage ? 
 
 Was it the mere idea of leaving those she 
 loved ? there was something in that ; for she 
 was not blinded by the fallacies of his argu- 
 ments ; she knew the separation would be more 
 than nominal ; she knew it must be real, because 
 it ought to be so. Once mistress of ' the Ferns/ 
 in how many new duties and cares should she 
 not be involved, with which her old pursuits at 
 Hurstdene would be incompatible ; and once
 
 112 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Mr. Huyton's wife, his claims on her time and 
 society would he paramount, and would he yield 
 them to others? She was convinced he would 
 not. It was true, he was at Hurstdene every 
 day now, but then it would be different ; and 
 every future plan on which he now dwelt, would 
 call him in an opposite direction. 
 
 She did not say to herself in words, or form 
 a distinct idea in her mind, that he was innately 
 selfish and self-willed ; but it was this unex- 
 pressed thought and feeling, which made her 
 certain that his wife must make him her first 
 and last object, if she would please him, and be 
 at peace. 
 
 Hilary could not have told why she mistrusted 
 one who talked so well, and acted so fairly ; she 
 had unconsciously explained it by a symbol to 
 him, when she dwelt on the peculiarities of her 
 favourite plant ; but she did not know that she 
 was the Virginian Creeper, he the wall, which 
 bore the fair appearance of stone, and was in 
 truth only stucco, and that to one of her nature,
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 113 
 
 the effort to attach herself to him must be ut- 
 terly vain. 
 
 She really wished she could love him ; I need 
 not say not from any unworthy motives, but 
 from gratitude for his kindness, and his affection 
 for herself; and although hardly believing that 
 any change was possible, she yet engaged to 
 allow him the opportunity to effect it which he 
 desired. One other mistake she committed, 
 one, likewise, resulting from delicacy and regard 
 to his feelings ; she promised to keep what had 
 passed between them a profound secret, even 
 from her father. She fancied she was doing 
 right ; a dislike to say what might seem to claim 
 her father's thanks, a dread of appearing to boast 
 of her attractions, and the admiration she had 
 inspired, had a little influence ; she felt how un- 
 maidenly it was to triumph in her conquests ; 
 but the chief reason for her silence was regard 
 to Mr. Huyton's feelings, and a fear of morti- 
 fying him by making known his disappointment. 
 It was the romantic delicacy of a young mind,
 
 114 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 much accustomed to act and decide for itself; 
 used to bear its own burdens in silence ; and to 
 endure, rather than to indulge its feelings. 
 . Her theory was right ; secresy in such a case 
 being in general honourable and just ; but hers 
 was one of the exceptions which prove a rule, 
 and in her peculiar circumstances it would have 
 been her father's part to decide how their future 
 intercourse should be arranged, as it was his 
 due to know the footing on which they now 
 stood. 
 
 Mr. Huyton was well aware of the advantage 
 which he gained, when he won from Hilary's 
 gratitude and delicacy the promise that nothing 
 should be said to others of this conversation. 
 Conscious how unfair this requisition was, he 
 quitted her immediately she had given it, with 
 many a word of gratitude, passionate affection, 
 and intense admiration, and many an assurance 
 of the changeless nature of the feelings he pro- 
 fessed. 
 
 His love for her was very strong, as well as
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 115 
 
 very sincere ; he fully appreciated her character ; 
 he saw and admired her genuine truth and sim- 
 plicity, her innocence and modesty, her humility 
 and her loving nature. He had seen a good 
 deal of women of the world, women of fashion, 
 and could value pretty accurately their admiration 
 of him ; he understood his charms in their eyes, 
 and despised them accordingly. He did not 
 believe there was another woman, besides Hilary, 
 who could have been constantly the object of 
 his friendly attentions, and the companion of his 
 pursuits and wishes, as she had been for the 
 last two years, and yet have never understood 
 his motives, or calculated on his probable inten- 
 tions. He was aware that this was partly owing 
 to her entire ignorance of the manners and habits 
 of men in general, and the circumstance of 
 having been long used to such devoted care and 
 kindness from her brother, as could hardly be 
 exceeded by the attentions of a lover himself. 
 But he saw also that it marked an entire disin- 
 terestedness of character, a total absence of sel-
 
 116 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 fish ambition, and a devotion to the plain, 
 straight-forward duties of life, which, if her af- 
 fections could but be turned into the channel he 
 desired, would certainly secure his happiness. 
 
 He was not angry with her for refusing him ; 
 in his calmer moments he would have himself 
 predicted such a result to any explanation be- 
 tween them : he had spoken on the impulse of 
 the moment, and could not be surprised at the 
 answer he received. He loved her the better, 
 as well as admired her the more ; emotion had 
 given a more lovely hue to her face ; and this 
 proof of her purity of principles had added a 
 brighter charm to her mental qualities. He 
 was more thoroughly captivated than ever, and 
 rode home, dreaming of Hilary the whole way ; 
 of the time when he could transport his beautiful 
 flower, now blooming so fairly in retirement, 
 and place it where all would admire his choice, 
 and wonder at his good fortune, and honour his 
 taste in the selection, of a perfect wife. For as 
 to failing eventually in the attempt, there was
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 117 
 
 not a fear in his mind of that occurring. There 
 was no rival, and no chance of one ; nothing to 
 interfere with his success ; and he could exert all 
 the powers of his mind and imagination to win 
 her, undisturbed by jealous passions, unpleasant 
 observations, or the cold interference of worldly 
 customs and reserve. She had promised all 
 should go on as usual, and his reliance on her 
 word was as unbounded as his love for her. 
 
 Scarcely had her lover left her, when Hilary, 
 sinking on her knees beside the grave of her 
 step-mother, and covering her face with her 
 hands, renewed in a low but distinct voice the 
 pledge she had already given, never to leave her 
 sisters so long as they required her care, never 
 to forsake them, unless she could see them under 
 safer and tenderer guardianship than her own ; 
 but to devote her thoughts, her strength, her 
 love, and her life, to their and their father's 
 service. 
 
 It was no sacrifice which she resolved on ; she 
 was not prompted by any enthusiastic impulse ;
 
 118 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 she did not imagine herself acting a heroic part ; 
 she believed that it was simply her duty. The 
 ties knit by Nature, the friends given her by 
 Heaven, the charge imposed on her by God 
 Himself, these must surely have the first claim ; 
 and till she had discharged these faithfully, she 
 felt she had no right to form others, or to en- 
 gage in new and uncalled-for duties. Then she 
 raised her head, and with the grateful emotions 
 of a child relieved from danger or trouble by a 
 tender parent, she thanked her Heavenly Father, 
 that he had made her duty so plain and so easy, 
 that she had no counter - wishes to struggle 
 against, no affection to subdue, no opposing 
 feelings to torment and perplex her. She was 
 glad, then, from the bottom of her heart, that 
 she did not love Mr. Huyton, and wondered 
 how she could ever have been tempted to wish 
 it otherwise. 
 
 At that moment she felt that to love him was 
 impossible, and that to allow him to hope or 
 expect a change was unjust to him, as well as
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 119 
 
 untrue to her own convictions; she repented 
 that she had not spoken more clearly, regretted 
 what she had promised, and resolved to take an 
 early occasion to explain decidedly to him, that 
 the sooner he resigned all his views on her hand, 
 and allowed his love to cool into friendship and 
 good- will, the pleasanter it would be for her, the 
 better and happier for himself. She pitied him 
 exceedingly ; she thought it was so very gene- 
 rous and noble of him to love her so : she could 
 not be insensible to such a compliment ; and he 
 had shewn such forbearance and moderation 
 after her refusal, had been so humble and gentle, 
 so considerate of her feelings, as she fancied, 
 that he deserved to meet with something better 
 than disappointment. She would make no 
 change towards him, she had promised she would 
 not, she would keep his secret, and trust that 
 her calmness and quiet indifference would soon 
 dispel a love which could not live quite unre- 
 turned. 
 
 But it was much easier for Hilary to promise
 
 120 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 to make no difference towards him, than to keep 
 her word, although she fully intended to do so ; 
 it was simply impossible. A conscious shyness 
 took the place of her former open friendliness ; 
 she dreaded being alone with him, carefully 
 avoided sitting near him, dropped her German 
 lessons, gave up her drawing for the indispen- 
 sable business of making frocks for the school- 
 children, and was uncommonly silent in his 
 company. He saw all this clearly enough, and 
 he saw she could not help it : he did not blame 
 her ; he rather loved her the better for the bash- 
 fulness which made her shrink from him. It gave 
 more interest to his pursuit ; he no longer had 
 the certainty of unchecked intercourse, but there 
 was more excitement, more difficulty, and there- 
 fore more amusement as well as novelty. Some- 
 times he spent a whole afternoon at the Vicarage, 
 without winning from her one open, straight- 
 forward smile ; or obtaining even five minutes' 
 conversation unrestrained by her sisters' presence. 
 Any eyes less dim than her father's had lately
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 121 
 
 become, or more awake than her young sisters, 
 must have noticed the very great change in their 
 mutual manners ; the absolute and unreserved 
 devotion on his part, the shrinking timidity and 
 constraint on hers. Poor Hilary ! she would 
 have been very glad had her father noticed these 
 circumstances ; she wanted some one to counsel 
 her, to teach her how to escape from the em- 
 barrassment in which she found herself; but 
 she could not break her word, and her father 
 saw nothing of what was passing. 
 
 However, things carne to a crisis at last. Mr. 
 Huyton took it into his head to add cloaks and 
 bonnets to the set of new frocks which Hilary 
 was getting ready for her little scholars. Of 
 course he had a right to do so if he pleased, 
 and Miss Duncan could not have objected, had 
 he not taken pains to let her know that it was 
 done for her sake, and to please her. What 
 could she do ? he had mentioned it to her father, 
 had received his cordial approval, and his ready 
 promise that Hilary should co-operate, and assist 
 
 VOL. i. G
 
 122 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 his ignorance. She sat by in silence, until ap- 
 pealed to by Mr. Huyton, who suggested that 
 she should take on herself all the active and 
 responsible part of the distribution. Hilary felt 
 that to do so would be giving a tacit encourage- 
 ment to his wishes, such as she could not 
 conscientiously bestow. If he had only not 
 hinted that he did it for her, it would have been 
 possible ; but after that, she could not accept the 
 office. 
 
 She replied, gravely, that she would furnish 
 the necessary details, but that she thought Mr. 
 Huyton's housekeeper would probably be far 
 better able than herself to superintend the pur- 
 chasing and making up of the articles of her 
 master's bounty. 
 
 " I do not think so at all, Miss Duncan," re- 
 plied he, smiling quietly ; " my housekeeper, I 
 am afraid, is a vast deal too fine a lady to enter 
 into such schemes with the right spirit : it re- 
 quires a certain degree of refined tact, the off- 
 spring only of a really elegant and generous
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 123 
 
 mind, to do these things without hurting the 
 feelings of those who receive the benefit. Mrs. 
 Gainsborough, I feel sure, would put on a con- 
 descending and self-satisfied air, which would 
 affront all the mothers, frighten the little girls, 
 and probably bring on a quarrel with the school- 
 mistress herself." 
 
 " Why do you keep so uncompromising a 
 character then ?" demanded Mr. Duncan ; " a 
 bachelor like you, ought to have some one 
 who can give away either cloaks or anything 
 else, without fatal consequences to the re- 
 cipients." 
 
 " I have been wishing to change for some 
 time," replied Charles Huyton ; " I know exactly 
 the character which would suit me ; can estimate 
 to a nicety the advantages of truth, simplicity, 
 steadiness, and gentleness, combined with be- 
 nevolence, charity, humility, and a universal 
 desire of making others happy." 
 
 Mr. Duncan laughed. 
 
 " Content yourself with those characters in a 
 
 G 2
 
 124 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 wife, Charles," said he ; " do not expect ro- 
 mantic perfection in a housekeeper ; lower your 
 estimate, or you will go unsuited." 
 
 " I shall remain as I am, till I do find them ; 
 but indeed it is only under one circumstance that 
 I intend to change at all; the housekeeper I seek, 
 my dear sir, will, as you suggest, be also my 
 wife; till then, Mrs. Gainsborough may rule 
 supreme." 
 
 " Except over cloaks and school-girls, it ap- 
 pears," replied Mr. Duncan ; " and those Hilary 
 is to undertake instead." 
 
 " If Miss Duncan will do me that favour," 
 replied he ; " but not if you do not like," he 
 added in a lower voice, coming close to the table 
 where she was working. 
 
 "Then I advise you, Hilary, to make your 
 calculations of yards and quarters," said Mr. 
 Duncan, rising as he spoke, and preparing to 
 leave the room. " I am going to ride into the 
 town to-day, and could order patterns sent out
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 125 
 
 for you and Mr. Huyton to inspect and settle on, 
 if you please." 
 
 He went out as he spoke, and Hilary was 
 left alone with her lover.
 
 126 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " For she was passing weary of his love." 
 
 ISEULT OF BRITTANY. 
 
 HILARY looked up from her needle-work with a 
 trembling heart, but a face of calm determina- 
 tion. She had made up her mind to speak. 
 
 " Mr. Huyton, this will not do ; this must not 
 be." 
 
 " What, dear Miss Duncan ?" sitting down 
 close beside her as he spoke. 
 
 " I cannot allow this ; you must not suppose 
 that if my father knew what has passed, he would 
 act as he does now. He would see as plainly as 
 I do, the impropriety of my undertaking what 
 is done avowedly for such motives." 
 
 " Impropriety ! nay, 'you must not put it so
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 127 
 
 strongly ; surely there is nothing improper in 
 my assisting to clothe the same children as you 
 do ; or even in my caring for them, because 
 they are objects of interest to you !" 
 
 " That is not what I mean ; and indeed, I 
 am sure you will not press your request, when I 
 tell you, that after the motive you assigned, it 
 would be unpleasant to me to grant it." 
 
 " 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 com- 
 petent enough. But remember the motive is 
 the same ; I cannot pretend to retract that ; and 
 whether you accept of it as a proof of devotion
 
 128 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 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 ?" con- 
 tinued he ; " you are unjust alike to my con- 
 stancy 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," re- 
 plied 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 cannot 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 cannot now ; I have tried in 
 vain your presence distresses, frightens me 
 makes me uncomfortable and unhappy."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 129 
 
 
 
 Hilary ended her sentence in very great tre- 
 pidation, and finally burst into tears, which 
 both frightened and perplexed Mr. Huyton. 
 
 "Dear Miss Duncan, don't; dearest, sweet- 
 est Hilary, my beloved ! do not make yourself 
 unhappy ; I will not stay another day to dis- 
 tress 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 hap- 
 pin ess 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 !" 
 
 "I did, and. I will." 
 
 " Thank you. You will tell my father, will 
 you not?" 
 
 G 3
 
 130 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " I will explain all that is necessary. Com- 
 pose yourself, and trust me." 
 
 She rose hastily, and left the room ; drop- 
 ping, as she did so, a carnation she had worn 
 in her bosom, of which he took possession with 
 a lover's enthusiasm. He did not, however, go 
 away immediately ; he could not, without saying 
 good bye to her ; but he sat down, and formed 
 his plan for the future. 
 
 When Mr. Duncan returned, Hilary entered 
 the room along with him, and glanced, with 
 jsome confusion, at Charles, who, on catching 
 her eye, said, half turning to the clergyman, 
 "I propose to go with you, Mr. Duncan, and 
 give these very important orders myself. I 
 imagine my genius will be equal to that, if the 
 shopman will only help me out a little ; so if 
 you will accept my society, I will order my 
 horse round with yours, sir." 
 
 The offer of his company was readily ac- 
 cepted, and Hilary saw the two depart together, 
 with much satisfaction, for more reasons than
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 131 
 
 one ; and having watched them off, and sighed 
 to witness how uncertain her father's step had 
 become, she turned again into the house, to 
 attend to household duties. 
 
 Mr. Duncan's eyesight had lately been fail- 
 ing rapidly, and Hilary, who was aware of the 
 circumstance, had become extremely unwilling 
 to allow him to ride about alone ; but it was 
 
 * 
 
 not in her power to accompany him that day, 
 as the girls were all poorly with bad colds, and 
 she did not like to leave them. She was there- 
 fore as glad on her father's account that he 
 should have a companion, as she was herself 
 to get rid of Mr. Huyton's society. 
 
 She went to her sisters, and read or talked 
 to them, to amuse and comfort them under the 
 unpleasantness of their present indisposition ; and 
 she continued with them until the sound of 
 horses' hoofs warned her that her father had 
 returned. 
 
 Charles Huyton was still with him, conse- 
 quently Hilary went into the drawing-room to
 
 132 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 await his entrance, instead of running out into 
 the porch. The two gentlemen entered to- 
 gether : the young man looking apologetically 
 at Miss Duncan, as if to excuse his return. 
 
 " I made Charles come in and give an ac- 
 count of his purchases in the woollen-drapery 
 line," observed Mr. Duncan, " that there might 
 be no mistake in so important a transaction, 
 Hilary ; when you have arranged about quan- 
 tities and other necessaries, he says he will 
 turn the matter of making, over to the village 
 sempstress." 
 
 Hilary made no answer, busying herself with 
 the tea equipage, which was on the table. 
 
 " How are the children ?" enquired Charles, 
 drawing near her ; and then adding, as the 
 vicar went out of the room, " Do not be dis- 
 pleased with me for coming once more." 
 
 She coloured, and answered, " I am very 
 much obliged for your going with my father, 
 Mr. Huyton, and also for the arrangements 
 you have made about this business. The little
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 133 
 
 ones are much the same, thank you, but they 
 will be better to-morrow, 1 hope. Do you stay 
 to tea this evening ?" 
 
 " May I ? I should like I have made up my 
 mind during my ride; I will go abroad to- 
 morrow ; but I have not told your father, and 
 it may seem unkind to leave abruptly, without 
 any explanation. But I will do exactly as you 
 please." 
 
 " I have made tea for you," replied Hilary, 
 busying herself as she spoke, in putting water 
 into the tea-pot, and thereby avoiding looking 
 up. 
 
 Whilst they three were sitting together round 
 the tea-table, Charles Huyton said, rather to 
 the surprise of Mr. Duncan, 
 
 " Do you know, sir, I am thinking of going 
 abroad." 
 
 " Abroad !" exclaimed the vicar, with an ex- 
 pression of sorrow in his countenance ; " I had 
 hoped, Charles, you were going to settle here 
 for life."
 
 134 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " So did I, at one time," replied Charles ; 
 " but circumstances have interfered, and I am 
 proposing a visit to my mother's family at 
 Dresden ; they have asked me several times 
 during the last two years, and now I mean to 
 go." 
 
 " When ? soon ? not directly, I hope ?" said 
 Mr. Duncan, still looking much concerned. 
 
 " Yes, immediately ; when a disagreeable 
 thing has to be done, the sooner it is com- 
 menced the better. Unless Miss Duncan will 
 give me leave to call to-morrow to say farewell 
 -to her sisters, I shall perform that painful cere- 
 mony to you both to-night." He fixed his e\es 
 on Hilary with a look of meaning, which she 
 had great difficulty in not seeing. 
 
 " Come to-morrow, by all means," replied 
 Mr. Duncan. " Hilary, dear, the girls will be 
 able to see him then, and they would break 
 their hearts at missing him altogether. Are you 
 going with any permanent views of settling in 
 life, Charles? Excuse my curiosity, but do you
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 135 
 
 mean to bring home a bride with you ? Or, 
 perhaps, you will marry and stay there." 
 
 " Most decidedly not," exclaimed he, eagerly 
 and warmly ; " there is not the smallest pros- 
 pect of either one or the other. All my affec- 
 tions are centered in England, all my hopes of 
 happiness are founded on a residence at ' the 
 Ferns,' and every prospective plan of fancy, or 
 retrospective glance of happy memory, will 
 carry me at once to the parish of Hurstdene. 
 You will see me here again as soon as it is in 
 my power to come." 
 
 " I shall never see you here again, Charles," 
 replied the vicar, with a gentle shake of his 
 head, and a very patient smile. 
 
 " My dear sir, do not imagine such a thing ; 
 I trust to be with you at least in the spring." 
 
 " I trust you will, my dear Charles ; but do 
 you not understand what I mean ? Before that 
 time my old eyes will be quite worn out ; at 
 the rate in which they have lately failed me, 
 they will be totally dark before spring comes,
 
 136 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 and I shall not see your face, though you may 
 look on mine when you return." 
 
 " I am shocked to hear you say so," exclaimed 
 Charles, with a face of the deepest sympathy. 
 His glance went from the father to the 
 daughter ; Hilary was very pale, and her brim- 
 ming eyes and quivering lips warned him not to 
 speak to her at that moment ; he turned again 
 to the vicar. " But can nothing be done, dear 
 sir ? have you had advice ? must this sad fate 
 befal you ? Do not believe it inevitable till it 
 is proved to be so." 
 
 " I do not imagine any advice can avail," 
 replied the vicar, calmly ; " I have looked for- 
 ward for some time to this event ; and having 
 enjoyed my eyesight for sixty years, Charles, 
 I have no reason to think it a very grievous 
 hardship if I spend a few more in darkness. It 
 will not last for ever light will come, I hum- 
 bly trust, at length; a better, purer, brighter 
 light than that on which my old eyes are so 
 fast closing ; the Light of everlasting Day.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 137 
 
 There will be no darkness in Heaven, Charles ; 
 and thinking of that, shall I complain ?" 
 
 With a suppressed sob, Hilary started from 
 the table, and ran out of the room. 
 
 " She is crying, is she not, Charles ?" enquired 
 the father, a little moved ; "I cannot see that 
 dear face now as I used to do, to read all her 
 emotions as in a book. Poor girl ! she has not 
 learnt 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 resigna- 
 tion of the old man. " You know that is im- 
 possible. A burden and a trouble implies some- 
 thing unwillingly carried ; and Hilary, angel that 
 she is, would bear anything for you, or for 
 others, with pleasure. With such a daughter, 
 your domestic happiness can never be entirely
 
 138 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 destroyed ; I could almost envy you the blind- 
 ness which will be waited on, and alleviated by 
 her kindness." 
 
 " I am just going to take measures for in- 
 quiring for a curate. I cannot 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 conse- 
 quence an attachment between them ; the final 
 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, per- 
 haps, to Miss Duncan ; it would be better in 
 every respect to have the gentleman married."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 139 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " But that is easily altered ; it is mine now ; 
 the lease fell in last Lady Day, and the tenants 
 are gone. I must have it repaired, as you 
 say, and a little addition, a couple of hundred 
 pounds laid out on it, would make it just the 
 thing." 
 
 " What a spirit you have, Charles ; you never 
 see difficulties." 
 
 " Not where there are none ; but, my dear 
 Mr. Duncan, I have a motive ; it was only last
 
 140 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 week I heard from a sort of cousin of mine, 
 saying, he wanted a curacy to marry on ; and 
 this would be the very thing. I do not know 
 the lady, but I am sure you would like him ; and 
 as he is very well off, only wanting work, not 
 pay, until a certain family living falls vacant, I 
 am convinced it would suit exactly. I will put 
 off my departure, until the whole matter is ar- 
 ranged to your liking." 
 
 " Can you do that ?" 
 
 " My departure does not depend on myself, 
 Mr. Duncan ; but on one, who, for your sake, 
 would, I am sure, endure me in her presence a 
 little longer. I only wish to please one, for 
 whom I would go or stay, work, beg, die if needs 
 were your angel-daughter, Hilary !" 
 
 " Hilary !" exclaimed Mr. Duncan ; " I do not 
 understand ! what has your going, to do with 
 her ?" 
 
 " Dear Mr. Duncan, I love Hilary with a de- 
 votion which is beyond any words of mine to 
 express ; but she does not love me ; and to
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 141 
 
 please her, to prove my constancy, to relieve her 
 from my society, to try if my absence will win 
 a regard which my presence has failed to do, I 
 have resolved to quit England for a time." 
 
 Still Mr. Duncan was puzzled ; the idea of 
 Charles wishing to marry Hilary, was entirely 
 new to him ; and he trembled at the notion of 
 losing her, even whilst he wished he could see 
 her, as he supposed, so safely settled. 
 
 Charles explained all that had passed between 
 them, dwelling much on Hilary's determination 
 never to leave her father, with a sort of hope, 
 that his influence would be used to turn her 
 wishes in favour of her lover. His eloquence 
 was interrupted by the return of Miss Duncan, 
 calm and composed, as usual ; and on her re- 
 suming her seat, her father immediately entered 
 on the discussion of Mr. Huyton's plan respect- 
 ing his cousin, and the house at Primrose Bank, 
 anxiously appealing to her for an opinion. 
 
 Hilary, who had been for some time aware that 
 an assistant in the parish was every day becom-
 
 142 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 ing more necessary, and who saw at once the 
 possible advantage of having that assistant a 
 married man, admitted that the plan was a good 
 one, and did not frown when Charles, with some 
 anxiety and doubt, proposed delaying his depar- 
 ture from England for the purpose of super- 
 intending the necessary alterations. It was 
 unpleasant to her, but she could not allow her 
 own wishes or fancies to interfere with the ad- 
 vantage of others, or her father's comfort. To 
 have this -affair settled, was of great importance 
 to him, as he had more than once hinted at the 
 necessity of leaving the Vicarage for his succes- 
 sor, and retiring to some other home ; but Hilary 
 knew well that to leave the abode where he had 
 spent nearly thirty years, to break off all the 
 ties formed in a life-time, to quit his people, his 
 church, his schools, and all the interests accu- 
 mulated around him, would be as painful to his 
 mind and heart, as unknown rooms and paths, 
 and people, would assuredly be trying to his 
 bodily infirmities.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 143 
 
 She could not refuse her acquiescence to these 
 plans, although it increased her obligations to 
 one, from whom she was forced still to withhold 
 the only return he asked for his kindness. 
 
 After a good deal of discussion, Charles de- 
 cided that he would go the next morning to 
 London, seek an interview with his cousin, Mr. 
 Paine, and, if possible, bring him down to " the 
 Ferns ;" he further determined to engage some 
 clever architect, who could give them the best 
 plan for arranging Primrose Bank, and then the 
 alterations could commence without the least 
 delay ; and having come to this determination, 
 he took leave, and returned to his house, to 
 think what more he could do, to win Hilary's 
 heart. 
 
 Left together, the father and daughter sat 
 some time in silence ; he broke it by saying, 
 
 " Hilary, my child, is it for my sake only 
 that you will not listen to Charles Huyton's 
 love ?" 
 
 Hilary started, laid down her work, and going
 
 144 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 to him, she hid her face on the back of his 
 chair, whilst she whispered 
 
 " Dearest papa, I would not listen to any one's 
 love, who proposed to take me away from 
 you !" 
 
 " I could ill spare you just now ; but yet, if 
 it would make you happy, my child, I would 
 give you to him," replied he, drawing down her 
 face and kissing her. 
 
 " But it would not it would make me mise- 
 rable ; I eb not love Mr. Huyton well enough to 
 marry him. To go and live with him would be 
 wretchedness, and I am very, very happy, with 
 you and my sisters as happy as I can be !" 
 
 " I do not feel sure of that ; I shall regret 
 my blindness more than I ought, if it interferes 
 with such a prospect for you." 
 
 " Don't say so, dear, dearest father ; ah ! how 
 glad I am that I am not in any danger of being 
 tempted away. Would I leave you in solitary 
 darkness for any thing this world can offer ; or, 
 would I throw such a burden on my younger
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 145 
 
 sisters, as to expect them to take the duties I 
 deserted. I hope nothing would tempt me to 
 such selfish wickedness. But, indeed, papa, I 
 do not love Mr. Huyton in the least; I cannot 
 tell why, but the more I tried the less I found I 
 could ; so now I have given up trying, and mean 
 to devote myself to one dearer, better, more pre- 
 cious than he, or twenty such ;" kissing him 
 over and over again, as she spoke. 
 
 " Dear Hilary, I will not say a word to urge 
 you to wed where you do not love ; but be quite 
 sure, before you decide for life. I should like 
 to see you safely housed at ' the Ferns,' with 
 such a guardian and husband as Charles Huy- 
 ton." 
 
 " You never will, papa 'do not talk of it ; I 
 will not leave you ; I never mean to marry. I 
 have made up my mind to be your single daugh- 
 ter for life, and to give away my sisters, as if I were 
 an old maiden-aunt, or a lady-abbess at least." 
 
 He smiled, and passed his hand over her fore- 
 head, putting back her hair, and looking lovingly 
 
 VOL. i. H
 
 146 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 at her face ; then he added, in a sort of regretful 
 tone, 
 
 " Charles Huyton loves you very much, Hi- 
 lary." 
 
 " I believe he does now, papa ; but I daresay 
 it will not last; you do not think a man could 
 go on loving a woman who did not care for him, 
 do you ? He will find some one else to marry ; 
 and when I am an old woman of thirty-five, he 
 will be thankful that he has so much more 
 charming a wife." 
 
 " You do not do yourself or him justice, my 
 dear ; I expect he will be constant !" 
 
 " Constant, for a man, dear papa ; but that 
 
 is not constant to one woman, only to one idea 
 
 ' ~^9> 
 
 that of marrying somebody." 
 
 " What do you know of men, Hilary ?" in- 
 quired her father, laughingly. 
 
 " A little from history and books ; a little 
 otherwise," said Hilary, smiling also. 
 
 However, Hilary coaxed her father into not 
 minding her refusal of Charles Huyton, and not
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 147 
 
 regretting her resolution of never quitting him ; 
 and the matter was dropped between them, al- 
 though it could not be forgotten by either. 
 
 About four days after this conversation, as 
 Hilary and her father were walking together in 
 the garden, where the other girls, now quite re- 
 covered, were also amusing themselves, the sound 
 of horses' feet upon the green drew their at- 
 tention, and looking up, they saw Mr. Huyton 
 advancing to the Vicarage, accompanied by three 
 gentlemen who were strangers. He sprang off 
 his horse, and came hastily into the garden, 
 leaving his companions to occupy themselves by 
 surveying the village. 
 
 After a hurried greeting, though a joyous one 
 enough from all but Hilary, Charles told Mr. 
 Duncan, not without some little embarrassment, 
 that he had brought his cousin, Mr. Paine, to 
 visit him ; that one of his other companions was 
 a Mr. Jeffries, a clever architect, who was to give 
 them plans for improving Primrose Bank, and 
 the other was a friend of his own, whose name 
 
 ii 2
 
 148 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 he, for some reason, omitted just then to 
 
 mention, 
 f 
 
 Mr. Duncan most courteously desired he 
 
 would introduce any friends he wished ; and the 
 three gentlemen, leaving their horses to the groom, 
 were ushered into the garden. Hilary had no 
 difficulty in deciding which of the three strangers 
 was the clergyman, during the short interval of 
 their approach down the garden walk, and she 
 as rapidly made up her mind that she liked his 
 looks ; his countenance conveyed the impression 
 of benevolence, sense, and firmness : she hoped 
 he would come to settle among them. 
 
 He, as might naturally be expected, gave his 
 attention to the vicar, and they soon were deeply 
 engaged in conversation. Mr. Jeffries, the 
 architect, began talking to little Nest, to whom 
 he speedily made himself very agreeable ; Charles 
 Huyton stood by Hilary in silence, whilst she made 
 an effort to converse with the third stranger, a 
 very clever, intelligent-looking man, who answered 
 her remarks with a quick but pleasant manner,
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 149 
 
 although with a slightly foreign accent, whilst 
 his eyes followed Mr. Duncan's movements, and 
 expressed great interest in him. 
 
 After a while, the whole party adjourned to< 
 see the church ; Hilary then claiming her right 
 of leading her father, Mr. Paine still by his side 
 conversing on parish matters, the architect lead- 
 ing little Nest, and devoting himself to her 
 prattle with astonishing pleasure, whilst the other 
 two gentlemen followed behind, earnestly dis- 
 cussing some topic in under-tones. 
 
 Love of his profession, apparently, overcame 
 his love of children in Mr. Jeffries, when in the 
 church, for he examined the building minutely ; 
 but Hilary observed that the unknown placed 
 himself beside Mr. Duncan, and seemed far 
 more interested in watching his expression and 
 countenance, than in looking at windows, or de-. 
 ciphering brasses. 
 
 Her curiosity was excited ; something more 
 than curiosity indeed, for whatever was connected 
 with her father interested her deeply, and she
 
 159 THE OLD VICARAGE, 
 
 determined, as soon as she was outside the 
 church, to inquire of Mr. Huyton who this 
 stranger was. 
 
 Meantime, the quick eyes and keen perception 
 of Mr. Jeffries had revealed a circumstance 
 which country churchwardens had not detected, 
 and which Mr. Duncan's increasing blindness 
 had prevented him from seeing. The chancel 
 was exceedingly out of repair, and Mr. Paine 
 suggested that immediate application should be 
 made to the lay-impropriator, to remedy that 
 evil now first pointed out. Mr. Duncan pro- 
 mised to take measures to that effect, and they 
 all left the church together. 
 
 Charles came up to Hilary's side as they did 
 SQ, and rather detaining her behind the others, 
 said, " Your eyes, Miss Duncan, have been 
 questioning, ever since we arrived, who the in- 
 dividual now walking with your father is ; he is 
 an eminent French physician, a friend of mine, 
 an oculist I should rather say, whom I per- 
 suaded to come over here with me to-day, think-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 151 
 
 ing that perhaps his advice might be of service 
 to Mr. Duncan." 
 
 Hilary coloured deeply ; she saw, or thought 
 she saw at once, that this was another obligation 
 under which Mr. Huyton had laid them ; pos- 
 sibly he had only invited M. de la Recaille to 
 ' the Ferris ' in order to see and consult about her 
 father's sight. It was a positive pain to her to 
 receive favours in their present relative situation ; 
 and whilst she felt she ought to be obliged for 
 the kindness of the thought, she could not 
 entirely suppress a feeling of repulsion towards 
 one who would heap benefits on her, which she 
 would rather have avoided. 
 
 " Do you think Mr. Duncan would mind my 
 friend looking at his eyes ?" continued Charles, 
 watching her countenance attentively ; "I was 
 afraid of doing anything disagreeable, so did not 
 like to mention it to him without your leave ; but 
 M. de la Recaille is such an enthusiast in his 
 profession, that he declares I cannot oblige him 
 more than by bringing new cases under his
 
 152 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 notice ; that is the reason he accompanied me 
 here to-day !" 
 
 This speech in some measure relieved Hilary's 
 mind ; and after scolding herself in secret for 
 being such a goose as to think that Mr. Huyton 
 must be influenced by thoughts of her in all he 
 did, she entered upon the subject more readily 
 with him, and it was agreed that the suggestion 
 should be made to Mr. Duncan. 
 
 " I am not afraid of hurting him," continued 
 Hilary ; " for his resignation to whatever hap- 
 pens, is too deep to be shaken by an observation, 
 a hope, or a decision of any man. I have not 
 learnt to view it so calmly yet," her lip quiver- 
 ing as she spoke, " and can hardly discuss the 
 subject but oh ! if your friend could give us 
 hopes could tell us how to avert " her voice 
 was lost entirely, and Charles almost regretted 
 that he had introduced the topic. However she 
 recovered her composure again when M. de la 
 Recaille spoke to her on the subject, enquiring 
 particularly, methodically, and with great acute-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 153 
 
 ness, all the symptoms of which she had ever 
 been aware in her father's case ; what advice he 
 had taken, and what remedies had been used. 
 His quick, business-like questions, the manner 
 in which he caught the meaning and point of 
 her answers, stopping her from entering on use- 
 less details, and arranging all the facts which he 
 elicited during his searching interrogatory, com- 
 pelled her to use her utmost endeavours to meet 
 his inquiries, to banish feeling and agitation, and 
 to look only at facts in the same light as that in 
 which he viewed them. 
 
 It was too late in the day, when they returned 
 from the church, to be favourable for an ex- 
 amination at that time ; and it was finally settled 
 that the gentlemen should proceed at once to 
 Primrose Bank, conclude their investigations 
 there, and return to Hurstdene the next morn- 
 ing ; when Mr. Paine and the vicar could 
 mutually make known their decisions concerning 
 the curacy, and M. de la Recaille might carry
 
 154 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 out his wishes with regard to Mr. Duncan's eye- 
 sight. 
 
 It was an evening of great trial to Hilary ; 
 hope for her father had entered her heart, and 
 she could not bid its gentle whispers be still : 
 but she dared not impart her fancies, or allow 
 him to see how much she dwelt on the idea. 
 He was as calm as ever ; the notion of approach- 
 ing darkness had become familiar to him, and 
 he was so firmly convinced of the incurable 
 nature of his complaint, that he would hardly 
 have been disturbed, had all the oculists in the 
 kingdom promised him sight. She would not 
 distress him with her agitation ; her feelings 
 must be smothered under an assumed appear- 
 ance of calmness, but she could not approach 
 the topic ; and whilst her sisters were chattering 
 gaily about the gentlemen whom they had seen 
 that day, and describing again and again the 
 personal appearance of all three strangers, never 
 agreeing in details, nor feeling sure whether any 
 pair of eyes were blue, black, or brown, Hilary
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 155 
 
 smiled, and answered, and gave her opinion with 
 almost her ordinary cheerfulness and readiness, 
 whilst her heart was palpitating with excitement, 
 and her mind at every leisure moment putting 
 up secret petitions for patience, strength, and 
 submission, whatever the result might be. 
 
 The morrow came, and the visitors arrived 
 punctually. After a brief interview between the 
 clergymen in Mr. Duncan's study, he repaired 
 to the drawing-room, and seating himself ac- 
 cording to the oculist's directions, quietly sub- 
 mitted to his examination. His daughter stood 
 beside him, her hand clasping his, her breath 
 almost stopped from agitation, her very lips 
 white with intense excitement, and yet her face 
 calm, rigid, and pale as marble. Oh ! the sus- 
 pense of that moment : her eyes, eagerly bent 
 on the oculist's countenance, endeavoured to 
 read his decision in his face, before his lips pro- 
 nounced it; and, unconscious of all beside, her 
 whole mind and understanding was centred on 
 that one object.
 
 156 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Charles was close to her, his eyes intently 
 gazing on her, but she knew it not : had he been 
 a hundred miles off, she could hardly have been 
 more indifferent about him. 
 
 It was over at last ; that prolonged agony was 
 ended ; M. de la Recaille shook his head, sighed, 
 and announced there was no hope, no human 
 probability of any cure : perfect rest might delay 
 the result, agitation might expedite the evil ; but 
 come it must ; total blindness, sooner or later, 
 was inevitably impending. 
 
 Mr. Duncan heard it unmoved ; he only drew 
 Hilary's hand closer to his heart, and said, in a 
 cheerful voice 
 
 " Then, my child, I must submit to be de- 
 pendent on you for eyes ; thank God, that I 
 have still a daughter !" 
 
 She pressed his hand, words would not come, 
 and she was too shy to caress him before stran- 
 gers ; but Charles saw that her feelings were 
 
 I 
 wrought to the uttermost, that composure was 
 
 on the point of giving way, and only anxious to
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 157 
 
 release her, addressed Mr. Duncan, so as to call 
 off his attention. Hilary had sufficient fortitude 
 quietly to withdraw her hand, and then escaping 
 from the room, rushed into her father's study, 
 where, throwing herself on a chair, and burying 
 her face in her hands, she gave way to sobs deep 
 and agonizing, such as are the out-pourings of 
 suppressed feeling alone, the quivering of the 
 spring long held in suspense. 
 
 She was not aware that Mr. Paine had con- 
 tinued in the study after her father left it; at 
 the moment of her entrance, he was sitting in a 
 large chair, engrossed in reading, but startled 
 from his occupation by her appearance, and the 
 excessive agony she betrayed, he looked at her 
 for a minute in silent commiseration, and then 
 rising, and approaching close to her, he said, in 
 a peculiarly gentle and sweet voice 
 
 " Miss Duncan, I am grieved to see you so 
 much distressed : has any thing occurred '?" 
 
 She started at the sound of his voice, but her 
 feelings were too strongly moved for ceremony,
 
 158 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 and the soft, kind tone went to her heart, like 
 the words of a friend. 
 
 " Oh, my father ! my father !" she sobbed, 
 " all hope is gone, he is, he must be " then 
 her voice was choked again, in an agony of 
 tears. 
 
 " M. de la Recaille gives no hope, then ?" said 
 he, very gently ; " I am indeed grieved." 
 
 " Ah, if it had been to me," exclaimed Hilary, 
 " I think I could have borne it better ; but for 
 my father, dear, dear father, that he should be 
 helpless, dependent, dark, he who has such in- 
 tense pleasure in beauty, who has been so active, 
 so busy all his life, that he should be reduced to 
 the state oh, for submission, resignation, faith, 
 like his !" 
 
 " Is he much disappointed at the result ?" in- 
 quired Mr. Paine. 
 
 " No, oh no, he never hoped at all ; and he 
 is so good, so trustful !" 
 
 " Dear Miss Duncan," said Mr. Paine, draw- 
 ing a chair close beside hers, " short as our ac-
 
 THE OLD VICA.RAGE. 159 
 
 quaintance has been, it is impossible for me not 
 to be interested in your father and family ; and 
 the future connection between us, the claim 
 which I hope to have as your pastor, when I 
 come to assist Mr. Duncan in his duties here, 
 makes me feel that I have a right to speak to 
 you. Will you let me address you as a friend, 
 or shall I be intruding unpleasantly on a sorrow 
 I would gladly assuage or mitigate ?" 
 
 Hilary raised her head, and wiping away her 
 tears, she said, with a sort of watery smile, 
 
 " Be our friend, Mr. Paine, and speak ; I de- 
 serve reproof for my rebellion to the will of 
 heaven !" 
 
 " I would rather give you comfort than re- 
 proof, Miss Duncan ; and painful as the certainty 
 
 
 you have just acquired must be, natural as grief 
 is under such feelings, I think there is comfort 
 to be found even here. The entire and beautiful 
 resignation of your father, shows so clearly that 
 he has that blessed light within which is alone 
 the source of true happiness, that I think you
 
 160 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 may repose in perfect confidence on this dispen- 
 sation proving a blessing, not a scourge to him. 
 ' HE that formed the eye, shall not HE see ' the 
 sorrow or the suffering of His servant ? and 
 cannot that Arm guard him from evil during the 
 rest of his life which has led him hitherto ? HE 
 has not left him helpless, for He has given him 
 daughters, who, I am sure, will all make it their 
 privilege to minister to his wants. There is 
 the same home to shelter him, the same daily 
 comforts to which he has been used, the same 
 church, and the same loved services to cheer 
 him. And best of all, beyond all," added Mr. 
 Paine, looking upwards, " the same hope of ever- 
 lasting life in the brightness of light, when our 
 poor, feeble bodies shall be changed into the 
 likeness of the Glorious Body of our Adorable 
 Redeemer, and when all sorrow, sighing, and 
 darkness shall for ever flee away." 
 
 Hilary could not answer, and he was silent, 
 too, for L few minutes. Such thoughts as these 
 make earthly trials and earthly pleasures seem 
 

 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 161 
 
 small and poor indeed ; and the young man just 
 entering on life's serious duties and engagements, 
 felt he could readily have changed his own bright 
 prospects, for the fate of the elder Christian, 
 whose active warfare must be nearly accom- 
 plished, and who must now retire from harassing 
 duties to that quiet contemplation so suited to 
 the last stages of our pilgrimage here. 
 
 Recollecting himself and his companion, who 
 was sitting before him, with downcast eyes, and 
 composed, though pale features, he added, in a 
 more cheerful voice 
 
 " And indeed, my dear Miss Duncan, if you 
 have had any experience amongst blind people, 
 you must know that there is far less trouble to 
 the sufferer than to those who care for and watch 
 over him. There are many alleviations merci- 
 fully sent in all trials ; and I have often remarked, 
 that those deprived of sight are cheerful, and 
 even joyous under their affliction. To you, and 
 to your sisters, the anxiety and responsibility
 
 162 THE OLD VICA.RAGE. 
 
 may be great, but I feel convinced that, in such 
 a cause, no labour will be a trouble." 
 
 " Trouble !" repeated Hilary, clasping her 
 hands ; " Mr. Paine, I can only consider it, as far 
 as I am concerned, a privilege, a blessing, to be 
 allowed to minister to such a father as mine. 
 It is a thing to be thankful for, for life." 
 
 " Fear not then, you will not be deserted, or 
 left without strength to fulfil your labour of 
 love ; services so rendered are indeed a blessing ; 
 and happy as I believe your father to be, in 
 having a daughter from whom he may receive 
 attentions, I hold that daughter happier still, 
 who, from the truest, highest, holiest motives, 
 can give her undivided affection to such an ob- 
 ject. Miss Duncan, if you can view your position 
 in the true light, you are not an object of pity ; 
 the line of your duty is so plainly marked out, 
 you can have no hesitation in following it. Give 
 yourself to it unreservedly, and your strength 
 will not fail : or, if your cares should become 
 too heavy, and your burden more than you can
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 163 
 
 bear alone, then only believe, and help will be 
 sent you in your need. Look above for aid, and 
 you will find it come to you by earthly means, 
 as you require it. Look below, fasten your hopes 
 on temporal things, and they will wither in your 
 grasp !" 
 
 " True, most true ; at this moment I feel it 
 true ; just now, when, weak and fainting, you 
 have been sent to strengthen me, Mr. Paine ; 
 thank you for your words. No, I am not to be 
 pitied, indeed ; for I can put my trust above, 
 and even below I have blessings innumerable. 
 You are right ; my duty is plain, and with GOD'S 
 help I will not depart from it." 
 
 " I hope we shall always continue to be 
 friends, Miss Duncan," added the clergyman ; 
 " looking forward as I do to a residence amongst 
 you, I feel happy in the prospect of having such 
 neighbours ; and I trust to bring one among 
 you, who, I am sure, will be desirous to be num- 
 bered also amongst your friends ; one whose 
 society will, I hope, be not disagreeable to you.
 
 164 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 I will not venture to say more, for perhaps you 
 may not consider my evidence conclusive, but I 
 hope we shall be friends." 
 
 " I am sure I shall be most happy to have a 
 friend," replied Hilary, simply. " I have never 
 had one of near my own age, and I shall look 
 forward to the prospect of the acquaintance with 
 very great pleasure. Now shall we go back to my 
 father ? perhaps he will want me ; and," added 
 she, with something between a sigh and a smile, 
 " do not betray how weak I have been, and then 
 my dear father need not know it."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 165 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " But in the world, I learnt, what there 
 Thou too wilt surely one day prove- 
 That will, that energy, though rare, 
 I Are yet far^far less rare than love. 1 ' 
 
 AENOLD. 
 
 " I CANNOT leave England, and quit for an 
 indefinite time the spot which contains all 
 that is dearest on earth to me, without one 
 more attempt to avert the necessity of sepa- 
 ration from you ; one more endeavour to soften 
 an indifference which occasions me so intense 
 a regret. Dearest Miss Duncan, I fear, in my 
 efforts for your father's benefit, I have in- 
 creased your sorrow, have deepened and aggra- 
 vated the wounds, from which your loving
 
 166 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 heart was already so acutely aching. Forgive 
 me the deed for the intention ; may I suggest 
 that, however bitter was the pang of disap- 
 pointment, it must be less severe than would 
 hereafter be the misery of self-reproach, had 
 you neglected any means which might have 
 alleviated his affliction ? Your pale face of 
 suffering, self-command, and fortitude is ever 
 before me ; I longed intensely yesterday to 
 speak words of sympathy and affection ; my 
 heart was yearning to pour out its passionate 
 pity for your agony but I might not I 
 whose love for you is, oh so deep ! so pure, 
 so strong ! I was forced to be silent, or to 
 breathe only calm sentences of courteous re- 
 gard, and polite, well-bred, decorous com- 
 passion. Do not be angry with me for put- 
 ting on paper the feeling I cannot hope to ex- 
 press otherwise; condescend to read and give 
 some attention to what I say. Must I leave 
 yoirnow, with this sad destiny closing darkly 
 round you ! leave you to struggle alone, to toil
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 167 
 
 beyond your strength to sacrifice yourself in 
 the melancholy fate that awaits you ! Do you 
 think I can contemplate such a conclusion 
 with calmness ? Oh ! no, it is agony to me 
 to dwell upon the idea, which haunts me 
 night and day. Beloved, excellent, adorable 
 Hilary, you have an angel's spirit, in an angel- 
 form, but your strength, alas ! is mortal, and 
 well I know that rest and comfort for your- 
 self will be your last thought, whilst your 
 services of love are poured out on the helpless . 
 ones around you. May I tell you what is 
 my dream, my vision of bliss? I fancy I 
 see you all transported to ' the Ferns,' your 
 younger sisters making joyous with their 
 bright presence the dreary walls of the old 
 house, and causing its empty chambers to 
 echo to their merry voices ; there I see them 
 in idea, growing up under every advantage 
 which can be procured by love and wealth 
 united ; proper attendants, masters, litera- 
 ture, enjoyments in doors and out, every
 
 168 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 taste developed, every talent cultivated to 
 the utmost. I see your dear parent, too, en- 
 joying under the same roof every blessing 
 and comfort which perfect filial love and 
 unbounded power could shower on him every 
 compensation for this new affliction which could 
 assist to lighten the burden, and brighten the 
 remainder of his path through life. And 
 there I see, reigning supreme over all, with all 
 the despotic power of love, and gentleness, 
 and tender firmness combined, one whose 
 presence is like a ray of sunshine, blessing and 
 gladdening every thing within reach. I think 
 I see you, ruling the family, governing the 
 parish, protecting the weak, comforting the 
 unhappy, delighting the gay ; influencing all 
 around by the imperceptible power of good- 
 ness, even as a delicate odour spreads itself 
 unseen and yet all-pervading, driving away 
 what is bad, and purifying the surrounding 
 atmosphere. Do you frown upon my dream ? 
 alas ! that there should be that in me, which
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 169 
 
 prevents its realisation ; that though to me it 
 looks so fair and beautiful, my presence should 
 cast the shadow on it, which alone makes it 
 impossible. But is it so ? let me ask, is there no 
 change ? may I have no hope ? Have the three 
 months which have elapsed since I first ventured 
 to express my feelings, passed, and left no trace 
 behind ? am I as far off as ever from the point, 
 the only thing which can make me happy ? If 
 so, I go to exile and solitary misery to-morrow, 
 for solitary I must ever be where you are not ; 
 solitary I shall continue until the weary months 
 roll by, which you may consider necessary. 
 But, tell me how long must it be ? how long 
 must my home duties be laid aside, my house 
 be left untenanted, and myself a wanderer in 
 foreign lands, away from all who have any claim 
 on me? Hilary, you shall dictate, but remem- 
 ber you decide for more than yourself; look at 
 the whole circumstances, and then tell me how 
 long shall I be justified in absenting myself from 
 what you have taught me to consider duties 
 VOL. i. I
 
 170 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 and responsibilities? Deign to give me an 
 answer to this question. Must my dream con- 
 tinue nothing but an empty dream whilst I 
 go, and for how long or may I remain and 
 realise it ? 
 
 " CHARLES HUYTON." 
 
 Such was the letter which, on the ensuing day 
 after the interview with the oculist, Charles 
 Huyton's groom carried to the Vicarage ; and 
 to this Hilary was forced to reply, for the ser- 
 vant was waiting for an answer. Was it not 
 a dazzling vision to place before a young girl's 
 eyes, whose self-devotion to her family was 
 her most prominent characteristic ? Opulence 
 and all its advantages for them, instead of a 
 narrowing income, a humble home, and the 
 wearing routine of close domestic economy ; 
 and the price was to give her hand to an 
 amiable and agreeable man, passionately de- 
 voted to her, and a favourite with every mem- 
 ber of her family. Ought selfish feelings to
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 171 
 
 stand in the way, and prevent their enjoying 
 benefits which she might so easily purchase ? 
 
 For a moment she hesitated ; she deliberated ; 
 not for herself, but for those most dear to her. 
 Then, too, there was his plea. Could it be 
 necessary to insist on his leaving home and 
 home- duties, renouncing his occupations and 
 pursuits, and all for her ? Had she any right 
 to require such a sacrifice ? She pondered the 
 question again and again : her head was be- 
 wildered, and she could decide on nothing. 
 Time was flying quickly ; the answer must 
 be written. Oh ! for a friend to guide and 
 counsel her. 
 
 Nay, but she had a friend ; One who would 
 not leave her; One always accessible, always 
 loving and patient. And there was a rule too, 
 a rule to guide her, if she could but discover 
 it ; she knew that she must not expect sudden 
 illuminations, divine impulses to direct her ; 
 such were not the answers to her prayers for 
 which she had been taught to look. Her 
 
 i 2
 
 172 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 line of duty was marked out, and she should 
 see it, doubtless, clear and distinct, if she 
 could but remove the intervening mists and 
 shadows, which passion and prejudice, imagina- 
 tions, mistrust, or too great anxiety for the 
 future had thrown across it. She prayed to 
 be guided aright, and then quietly set herself 
 to review the case, trusting that she should 
 eventually see what the right was. 
 
 The cloud passed from her eyes ; she saw 
 the snare laid before her ; stepped aside, and 
 thanked God that she had been saved from 
 sin and danger. 
 
 " Thou shalt not do evil that good may 
 come of it." 
 
 There was the rule; and plausible as the 
 temptation had appeared, she saw now that it 
 was evil. Yes, evil to give her hand without 
 her heart, to sell herself for any earthly good, 
 either to herself or others ; to make the 
 solemn vow to love, honour, and obey, one 
 towards whom the two former seemed im-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 173 
 
 possible, and the latter might be incompatible 
 with other duties. What, if she shrank 
 from the claims now existing on her, should 
 she therefore form others more indissoluble, 
 more exacting still ? If she had not strength 
 to act a daughter's part, should she take the 
 responsibilities of a wife also ? Would she 
 have more time to attend to her father's 
 wants, when she had added the cares of an 
 extensive establishment, and a large depen- 
 dent neighbourhood ? What madness to dream 
 of such a change! And would the luxuries, 
 the indulgences of wealth be a real blessing, 
 a safe acquisition to those for whom she had 
 been tempted to procure them. Whose words 
 then were those who spake, " How hardly 
 shall they that have riches enter into the king- 
 dom of heaven ?" Did not He know, or could 
 He be mistaken ? 
 
 She wept ! not that she must resign the 
 prospect, but that it should have proved a 
 temptation to her ; and seizing a sheet of paper,
 
 174 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 she hastily wrote the answer which should 
 decide this point as she hoped for ever. 
 
 " Again, and I trust for the last time, let me 
 say, I thank you for your good wishes, but 
 my plans, my intentions are unchanged. I 
 deeply regret having been the cause of so much 
 disappointment to you. Our duties henceforth 
 must keep a separate path. Mine is too clear 
 to be mistaken ; nor am I making any sacrifice 
 in my resolution ; my wishes, my hopes of 
 peace and happiness all point to remaining as I 
 am, as clearly as my sense of right, and my 
 convictions of duty. Now will you allow me, 
 as the only return I can make for your attach- 
 ment and kind wishes, to say one word to you 
 about what your duty is ? Is it right for you 
 to throw on me the decision of what it should 
 be? you know, whatever you may say, you 
 cannot really make me responsible for what I 
 cannot help. 
 
 " Must you renounce your country and your, 
 home, because you must renounce my society ?
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 1?5 
 
 I asked you not to come to the Vicarage ; 
 I did not bid you go to Dresden neither do 
 I tell you not to go there. If your mother's 
 family have claims on you, of course you must 
 attend to them ; if the claims of others are 
 pre-eminent, should you not give them their due 
 place ? 
 
 " Does it become any of us, poor, short- 
 sighted, weak individuals to quarrel with our 
 station in life, and because Providence denies 
 us one thing we wish for, should we fret like a 
 pettish child, and throw aside every other bless- 
 ing in angry disgust ? Pardon me for writing 
 thus to you ; I should not have presumed to 
 do so, but for the part of your letter in which 
 you call on me to decide. Mr. Huyton, when 
 you have hereafter to answer for your conduct, 
 will it be a good plea that you gave up the helm 
 of your mind to another hand, one which could 
 not guide you rightly ? 
 
 " Now, farewell. I trust that we shall each 
 be led right in our separate ways, and if I
 
 176 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 can give you nothing else, I will, at least, give 
 you my poor prayers for a blessing on you, 
 in return for the kind wishes you have expressed 
 for my family, and the favours you have con- 
 ferred on them. 
 
 " H. D." 
 
 This answer dispatched, of its results she 
 knew nothing, except that Charles Huyton left 
 the country with the intention of going abroad ; 
 and this information was conveyed by a servant, 
 who brought over a little parcel, directed to 
 Miss Sybil Duncan. There was the key of his 
 library, and an order to his gardener to admit 
 Mr. Duncan's family, when and where they 
 pleased, in his grounds, a privilege accorded to 
 no one else. Hilary was glad of this little proof 
 of kindness, it shewed that he did not resent 
 her answer ; and she trusted that she was acting 
 from right motives, whatever his course might 
 be. 
 
 She was the only one of her family who did
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 177 
 
 not either secretly or openly regret his absence ; 
 but to her the relief was unspeakable, and she 
 knew that her father owned it was right, how- 
 ever much he might miss his society. 
 
 Charles Huyton gone, she was able to devote 
 herself to other cares and occupations, and all 
 disagreeable memories connected with him 
 vanished gradually from her mind, in the more 
 pressing duties which surrounded her, and 
 unexpected pleasures which opened upon her 
 view. 
 
 Mr. Barham, the gentleman whose duty it 
 was to keep the chancel in repair, answered 
 the letter from the Vicar on the subject, by 
 a visit in person, accompanied by his steward, 
 Mr. Edwards, and a surveyor, whose opinion 
 was much relied on by his employer. Mr. 
 Duncan's infirmities rendered Hilary's presence 
 necessary during the interview ; and the gen- 
 tlemen really seemed much struck by the 
 young lady's personal appearance, graceful man- 
 ners, and quick, yet clear powers of mind.
 
 178 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Mr. Edwards paid her several compliments on 
 her business-like habits and capacities ; the 
 surveyor admired her command over her pen- 
 cil, and Mr. Barham, who was a courteous 
 but calm-mannered person, and who was known 
 generally as possessing a considerable degree 
 of that pride of family and exclusiveness of 
 habits, which often developes itself in a lofty 
 graciousness to all others supposed to be in- 
 feriors, intimated his wish to come again, and 
 see how the building went on, and requested 
 permission to bring over his daughters to visit 
 a place which had so much to recommend it. 
 
 Hilary gave a ready acquiescence ; and an 
 early day next week was fixed on for a party 
 from Drewhurst Abbey, to come over and take 
 luncheon at the Vicarage. 
 
 In the course of conversation, Mr. Duncan 
 mentioned the circumstance of the expected 
 arrival of the curate, who was to come down in 
 a very short time, and take the duty on Sunday. 
 Mr. Barham immediately began regretting that
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 179 
 
 he had not known that Mr. Duncan was in- 
 quiring for a curate : there was a young man of 
 good family and great talent, whom he should 
 have been glad to have seen settled there one, 
 in fact, who was about to marry a connection of 
 his, a cousin of his daughters it would have 
 been pleasant to have had them in the neigh- 
 bourhood : Miss Duncan would have found the 
 lady an acquisition to their society. He very 
 much lamented that the arrangement had been 
 made without his knowledge. 
 
 Mr. Duncan was privately a little amused at 
 his visitor, who having been contented for thirty 
 years to have no intercourse with him, could 
 hardly have reasonably expected to be consulted 
 on the choice of an assistant in duties with 
 which he had no concern. 
 
 However, he answered very mildly, " that 
 the gentleman in question was, he believed, an 
 excellent young man, which, so far as parochial 
 matters were concerned, was of far more conse- 
 quence than either high family or astonishina/
 
 180 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 talents, and he hoped no one would find reason 
 to complain that their Vicar had been hasty or 
 injudicious in the selection of a pastor." 
 
 " No doubt that is very true, my dear sir," 
 blandly observed Mr. Barham ; " virtue in a 
 clergyman undoubtedly ranks above all ; never- 
 theless the advantages of a cultivated genius 
 and high family are not to be despised ; and 
 although there may be many men of low birth 
 highly estimable in a moral point of view, yet 
 it is desirable, for the sake of the character and 
 standing of the clerical body, that there should 
 be gentlemen also in the profession. They give 
 a tone an elevated tone to the whole !" 
 
 Mr. Duncan did not feel called on to reply ; 
 and after a pause, Mr. Barham added, 
 
 " I could have wished that your curate had 
 been a man of good connections, and a certain 
 fortune and position in society. Is he married ?" 
 
 " Not yet, I understand," replied the Vicar ; 
 " but he has promised to bring a wife as soon 
 
 his new house is ready. And I believe I
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 181 
 
 may venture to answer for his connections and 
 fortune being both good. He is a relative of 
 Mr. Huyton of ' the Ferns,' who assured me 
 he was a man of independent income." 
 
 " Mr. Huyton of ' the Ferns,' how strange ! 
 what may his name be ?" 
 
 " Paine the Reverend Edward Paine." 
 
 " My dear sir, this is most extraordinary ! 
 he is the very man I was thinking of. I am 
 delighted to hear it ; but it is strange that it 
 should be settled without my knowing it ; neither 
 Mr. Huyton nor Miss Maxwell has informed us. 
 I wonder she did not let her cousins, my 
 daughters, know. I wonder Charles Huyton 
 has not called to inform me." 
 
 " Mr. Huyton went abroad last week," ob- 
 served Mr. Duncan, quietly. 
 
 " Abroad ! are you certain ? I knew nothing 
 about that, and I should have expected, from 
 the sort of terms we were on, that he would 
 have told me. I can hardly believe it." 
 Mr. Duncan made no observation.
 
 182 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " I shall call at ' the Ferns' to inquire, as I go 
 home. Perhaps you have been misinformed !" 
 continued Mr. Barham. 
 
 " I have reason to think not," was the Vicar's 
 quiet observation, conveying, however, no con- 
 viction to the mind of his visitor, who only 
 thought he knew nothing about it. 
 
 " But about Edward Paine," continued Mr. 
 Barham : " how came it settled without my 
 hearing, I wonder? Whose arrangement, may 
 I ask, was it ?" 
 
 " It was so recently settled," answered Mr. 
 Duncan, " that perhaps there has not been 
 time to let you know ; and in that case I 
 regret I have forestalled them in giving infor- 
 mation, which would, no doubt, have come 
 more gracefully from the parties in whom you 
 are so much interested. Charles knew my 
 wishes, and introduced his cousin here, and 
 Mr. Paine, once introduced, is a person to make 
 his own way : but almost nothing was said of 
 the lady, so that I was entirely ignorant of her
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 183 
 
 being a connection of yours. Charles did 
 not even mention her name to us, did he, 
 Hilary ?" 
 
 " Excuse me," said Mr. Barham ; " may I 
 enquire who Charles is ?" 
 
 " I really beg your pardon, Mr. Barham ; I 
 mean Mr. Huyton ; but for the last two years 
 I have been so completely in the habit of 
 speaking to him by his Christian name, I some- 
 times forget and speak of him as such, too." 
 
 " I had no idea," said Mr. Barham, a little 
 majestically, " that my young friend, Mr. Huy- 
 ton, was so diffusive in his acquaintances. You 
 were, then, on very intimate terms ?" 
 
 " He has always been a kind neighbour to 
 us, and being my principal parishioner, and 
 owning most of the property about, we natu- 
 rally were much interested in many of the same 
 things. He has been very good to the schools, 
 and, indeed, in many ways ; the poor will miss 
 him this winter, for we can hardly expect him 
 to remember them at Dresden."
 
 184 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Mr. Barham's notions were quite discom- 
 posed by this speech. His amiable intentions 
 of patronising and bringing into notice a family 
 who had hitherto " blushed unseen" in the 
 wilds of Hurstdene, seemed apparently quite 
 thrown away; possibly they were not such 
 entire representatives of modern Robinson Cru- 
 soes as he had imagined them. He saw, how- 
 ever, no reason for changing his views with 
 regard to introducing his daughters, and, ac- 
 cordingly, he soon afterwards took leave, with 
 a renewed promise to come at the time talked of. 
 
 Isabel and Dora Barham were both younger 
 than Hilary Duncan, but their friends had evi- 
 dently done what they could to give them some 
 of the advantages of age, or to deprive them as 
 soon as possible of those peculiarities of youth 
 which consist in simplicity, bashfulness, or dif- 
 fidence. They had been early brought out into 
 the world ; early introduced into society ; they 
 had been taught to behave, talk, and dress as 
 women, at an age when more fortunate girls
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 185 
 
 are allowed still to feel themselves children. 
 They were now, at sixteen and seventeen, ex- 
 tremely elegant young women, elegantly edu- 
 cated, elegantly dressed, elegantly mannered, 
 surrounded from childhood by all the refine- 
 ments and luxuries of life ; accustomed to lavish 
 indulgence of their fancies, and an unbounded 
 command of money. Suffering was to them a 
 fable ; self-denial a mere myth. Had they not 
 been naturally amiable, they would have been 
 now detestable but they were not. Isabel was 
 a little proud, a little selfish, a little vain ; but 
 she had some very good qualities mixed with 
 these vices, which, in good hands, might have 
 turned out well. Dora had no particular cha- 
 racter at all; she was merely a reflection of 
 those she lived with ; and as these were chiefly 
 her father and sister, of course she generally 
 fell in with their tastes, adopted their habits, 
 and believed all they told her. 
 
 They were delighted with the introduction to 
 Hilary ; they both commenced a most enthu-
 
 186 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 siastic girlish friendship with her. Isabel's was, 
 perhaps, less sincere than Dora's she had more 
 of her father's patronising tone ; and never, in 
 the least, suspected how very far the vicar's 
 daughter was really her superior in every essen- 
 tial particular. 
 
 Hilary was very simply sincere in her regard 
 for the two girls. She admired them exceed- 
 ingly, and their kindness, their caressing man- 
 ners, and very amiable ways, engaged her affec- 
 tion. They soon became intimate, and the 
 Miss Barhams would ride over of a morning, 
 and gliding into the Vicarage drawing-room, 
 would spend the whole afternoon hanging about 
 Hilary, chatting, idling, or pretending to learn 
 from her some of the many elegant fancy works 
 which she had acquired. They were contin- 
 ually trying to wile away Hilary to the Abbey ; 
 but this her home occupations forbade, and only 
 twice, during the autumn and winter following, 
 was she induced to spend an afternoon there, 
 and then her father accompanied her.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 187 
 
 The introduction of Mrs. Paine was another 
 remarkable event in Hilary's quiet life, which 
 gave her, perhaps, even more pleasure than the 
 acquisition of her other friends. She was a very 
 pleasing young woman, indeed ; and although 
 a cousin of the late Mrs. Barham, and having 
 a good fortune, she was so earnest in her wishes 
 to follow out her duty, so simple in her tastes, 
 and indifferent to personal accommodation, that 
 long before Primrose Bank was habitable, she 
 was established with her husband in tiny lodg- 
 ings at Stairs farm, and giving her time and 
 attention as much to their new parish as to 
 her future home. 
 
 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 anything, 
 either good or bad, as circumstances fell out.
 
 188 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Sybil and Gwyneth, meanwhile, were grow- 
 ing very tall ; and whether it was from the in- 
 tercourse 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 seven- 
 teen, 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 ex- 
 tensive 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. Al- 
 though 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 ;
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 189 
 
 * 
 
 they breathed warm interest in his people, 
 affectionate regard for the vicar, and kind re- 
 membrances 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
 
 190 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 once ; do you know we have come to say good- 
 bye 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. 
 
 " Oh yes, Sybil," cried Dora, " it means turn- 
 ing night into day, and spending it in hot 
 crowds, for whom one does not care the least 
 portion of an atom ; and employing all one's 
 energies, faculties, and time in dressing, dancing, 
 or sleeping oh dear !"
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 191 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Dora ; nobody likes com- 
 pany, or pretty clothes, better than you," said 
 Isabel. 
 
 " That is the worst of it ; I like them against 
 my conscience, and every time I buy some ex- 
 travagant ornament, I suffer from remorse ; and 
 yet am just as weak at the next temptation. I 
 wish I could say I really hated it all. Do you 
 know, Hilary, I envy you for staying here so 
 quietly in the country, and being able to dress 
 plainly and do good, whilst I am only able to 
 wish to do either." 
 
 " I am afraid you would feel rather awkward, 
 Dora, either with my wardrobe or my occupa- 
 tions. Our duties are so different ; yours, you 
 know, is to go with your father to London, to 
 dress elegantly, and look pretty." 
 
 " That is just what I despise myself for, 
 Hilary my perfect uselessness, and life of gaudy 
 show. I never leave you without wishing I 
 were situated like you. Not too grand to be 
 useful, living in a small house, instead of those
 
 192 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 fatiguing large rooms, which tire one to walk 
 across ; having a garden one could love and care 
 for, instead of being merely allowed to look at 
 papa's gardener's plants and shrubs : having to 
 do things for myself, instead of being always 
 waited on ; and oh, above all, having learnt 
 to despise the pomps and vanities of life, in- 
 stead of all the time loving them in my heart, 
 and feeling them necessary to my comfort." 
 
 " She is only talking nonsense, Hilary," inter- 
 posed Isabel ; " she is seized with these fits of 
 despondency about her own rank in life, every 
 now and then, and fancies we are all wrong, for 
 living according to w r hat is expected of us in 
 society. I am happy to say, however, she acts 
 on principles of common sense, and her de- 
 mocratic theories of equality and universal 
 brotherhood are confined to theory entirely." 
 
 " It is not right," said Dora, thoughtfully 
 shaking her head ; " it cannot be right ; but 
 I do not know what is wrong, and when I 
 begin to think, I am involved in a labyrinth
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 193 
 
 of doubt. To be admired, courted, and ca- 
 ressed, cannot be the right aim of life, and 
 yet I am sure it is mine. Now is not that 
 absolutely contemptible, Hilary, to live for such 
 objects ?" 
 
 " I rather suspect," replied Hilary, " you 
 mistake your real motives. You know your 
 father likes you to go into society, and is 
 pleased when you are admired ; and this, I 
 have no doubt, is what makes you like it too. 
 If nobody wished you to go out, I dare say 
 you would be as quietly domestic as I am, 
 Dora." 
 
 " I do not know ; I believe if anybody I 
 cared for wished me to stay at home, I should 
 yield to them with delight. One comfort is, I 
 know the London dissipation will make me ill, 
 and then I shall be forced to be quiet." 
 
 " That is an odd sort of comfort, Dora," said 
 Hilary, smiling ; " one I cannot wish for 
 you !" 
 
 " It is her nonsense," observed Isabel. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " Indeed, it is not. I was quite knocked up 
 last year; and I am not so strong now. I 
 mean when I am ill, to ask Mrs. Paine to take 
 me, for change of air, to Primrose Bank, and try 
 how I like small rooms, and a moderate estab- 
 lishment." 
 
 " Here come Mr. and Mrs. Paine," observed 
 Gwyneth, who was sitting by a window ; " you 
 can settle with her at once, Dora ; it would be 
 so nice to have you at Primrose Bank." 
 
 Mr. Paine went to Mr. Duncan's study, his 
 wife came to the drawing-room, bringing with 
 her little Nest, who had been saying her lessons 
 to her papa. There were some parish matters 
 to be discussed first, with Hilary ; and then, be- 
 fore Dora had time to mention her plans for her 
 expected illness, Mrs. Paine observed, looking 
 earnestly at Hilary : 
 
 " What is the matter, dear ? have you had 
 bad news of any kind to-day ?" 
 
 " Not bad ; at least, not necessarily so," re-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 195 
 
 plied Miss Duncan ; " but we heard from abroad 
 to-day." 
 
 " Your brother ! nothing wrong about him, 
 I hope." 
 
 Hilary's eyes filled, but she spoke calmly. 
 Maurice had been ill, very ill, of a most danger- 
 ous fever ; the danger was over now, they hoped, 
 but, indeed, they believed it had been extreme, 
 and he was not yet well enough to write himself. 
 Their letter had been from his captain, who had 
 most kindly written to his father, to assure him 
 that danger was now over, and that they hoped, 
 by care and attention, to restore this promising 
 young officer to his family and his country ; 
 there was one to the same effect from the sur- 
 geon also, who had written at the express desire 
 of Captain Hepburn, to certify his being now in 
 a state of convalescence. 
 
 " It was so kind, so very kind, of Captain 
 Hepburn to write," pursued Hilary, with emo- 
 tion ; '/ and such a beautiful, feeling letter, speak- 
 ing, oh, in such terms of Maurice, and so de- 
 
 K 2
 
 169 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 sirous to spare my father's feelings. I knew 
 Maurice liked him very much, and now I do not 
 wonder." 
 
 " What a wonderful girl you are, you dear 
 thing !" said Dora, caressing her ; " having all 
 this on your mind, and yet teaching and talking, 
 as if nothing had been the matter. How did 
 you see, Fanny? for I never discovered any change 
 in Hilary." 
 
 " Perhaps, Dora," said Mrs. Paine, " because 
 you are more accustomed to attend to your 
 own feelings than those of other people." 
 
 " Well, I am afraid I am ; I want to know 
 how to cure that. But do tell me something 
 more about this brother of yours ; how long has 
 he been away ? what is he, a captain too ? or 
 what ?" 
 
 " He is only a mate, Dora ; but has served 
 long enough to be promoted, only we have no 
 interest. But the best part of Captain Hep- 
 burn's letter, Mrs. Paine, is, that he hopes to 
 get him leave to come home for his health, and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 197 
 
 then we shall have him here again !" Hilary 
 clasped her hands in a very unusual ecstacy. 
 
 " And what sort of interest does it need 
 to make a young man a lieutenant ?" inquired 
 Dora, again. " Could papa do it for you ?" 
 
 " Interest at the Admiralty," replied Mrs. 
 Paine. " I hardly think Mr. Barham would like 
 to trouble himself about it, because he has a 
 nephew at sea himself." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! cousin Peter I cannot bear him, 
 Hilary ; I hope your brother Maurice is not 
 like our cousin Peter." 
 
 " Absurd, Dora !" ejaculated Isabel ; " Peter is 
 a very good sort of young man." 
 
 However, Dora's inquiries were not to be 
 stopped by Isabel's ejaculations ; and before she 
 took leave of the Vicarage, she had made herself 
 mistress of the rank which Maurice now held, 
 of the time he had served, and the wished-for 
 promotion he deserved -to attain. 
 
 Maurice's illness, and his expected return to 
 England, so excited and engrossed the minds of
 
 TflE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 the family at the Vicarage, that another piece of 
 news, which reached them the same time, was 
 comparatively insignificant; this was the pro- 
 jected return of Charles Huyton. 
 
 A letter to Mr. Duncan reached the Vicarage 
 the week after ttye Barham family left the Abbey, 
 intimating that he was proposing to be at ' the 
 Ferns ' in about a fortnight. It was a calm and 
 friendly letter ; not one expression or sentiment 
 betrayed any strong emotion, nor was there the 
 smallest allusion to the motive which had taken 
 him abroad. Hilary was much pleased, and 
 when she had thoughts to spare for him at all, 
 they were of a quiet and satisfactory nature.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 199 
 
 CHAPTER Vll. 
 
 " What lady is this, whose silken attire 
 Gleams so rich by the light of the fire ? 
 The ringlets on her shoulders lying, 
 In their flitting lustre vying 
 With the clasp of burnished gold 
 Which her heavy robe doth hold." 
 
 TRISTRAM AND ISETJLT. 
 
 THE Barhams had been in town about a fort- 
 night, when Hilary received a letter from Dora, 
 enclosing another addressed to that young lady ; 
 Dora's epistle was written in the following 
 words : 
 
 " DEAREST HILARY, 
 
 " You see I have got it done at last ; I have 
 coaxed, and prayed and begged, and not in vain.
 
 200 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 What would I not give to see your dear, beautiful 
 face at this moment ! I never forgot you, and I 
 made up my mind at once. I said nothing to 
 papa, because I thought my dear old friend the 
 earl (he is my god-father, you know) would do 
 it for me, and I believe he only made me beg, 
 for the fun of the thing. I went down on my 
 knees to him ; we had such a laugh when he 
 brought me the little note inside ; I do not think 
 it gave him any more trouble than just asking. 
 Remember, I should not have begged for any 
 body but you ; and having never even seen your 
 brother's face, my efforts must be acknowledged 
 disinterested. Perhaps you had better not tell 
 him ; however, you may do as you please, for I 
 am not ashamed. I am not ill yet, but, on my 
 honour, I am not so well as I should be in the 
 country ; and though I have tried hard to be 
 rational, I rather think I am as extravagant as 
 ever. Tell dear Mr. Duncan, I am so glad for 
 you all, and I only wish I could have asked for a 
 step or two more at the same time. The
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 201 
 
 pleasure of making you happy is so great, that 
 I think I am best off of the whole party, in- 
 cluding your brother. Is that the reason you 
 are so fond of doing good, Hilary ? it is much 
 better than jewels or balls ; only now the excite- 
 ment is over, what shall I do ? Good bye, you 
 dear darling ! Mind, I expect a letter of thanks, 
 of course. Your loving friend, 
 
 "DORA M. BARHAM." 
 
 Hilary read through her friend's letter in 
 hopes of meeting with something explanatory of 
 her meaning ; failing that, however, she did not 
 stop to puzzle over it, but opening the enclosure, 
 found a little note addressed to the Earl, of whom 
 Dora had been writing, informing him that a 
 lieutenant's commission for Maurice Duncan had 
 that morning been made out, and would be 
 forwarded to the young officer by the next 
 packet. 
 
 The delight of the whole family at this very 
 unexpected news was quite as great as Dora 
 
 K 3
 
 202 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 could have anticipated ; it was only a pity that 
 she was not there to witness it. 
 
 Of course there was still considerable anxiety 
 about Maurice's health ; and until the next ac- 
 count arrived from abroad, they were in a state 
 of too great and trembling uneasiness, to dwell 
 very much on the prospect of seeing him again ; 
 the uncertainty of the issue checked their an- 
 ticipations, and it required no small exercise of 
 patience and trust, on Hilary's part, to go through 
 her ordinary duties, at moments when her mind 
 was tempted to wander off to the possible or 
 the probable which might yet be in store for them. 
 Mr. Paine's society was a great comfort to her ; 
 she could talk freely to him and his wife of her 
 fears as well as her hopes ; whilst to her father, 
 owing to the relief she thus obtained, she was 
 able to maintain the same cheerful demeanour 
 as ever, and to speak with far more confidence 
 of her brother's recovery, than she really felt. 
 
 Mr. Duncan and his four daughters were all 
 seated one day in the little summer-house at the
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 203 
 
 end of the terrace walk ; one of the girls was 
 reading aloud, whilst the rest were busy with 
 their needles, when a shadow crossed the window 
 which made them look up, and the next moment 
 Charles Huyton turned the corner of the build- 
 ing, and stood in front of them. Down went 
 Sybil's book and Gwyneth's work in a moment ; 
 whilst Nest, slipping from her father's knee, made 
 no scruple of throwing herself at once into the 
 arms which were extended to take her. 
 
 " It is Mr. Huyton," said Hilary to her father, 
 in explanation of the sudden cry of joy from her 
 sisters ; and Charles, putting aside the little one, 
 advanced to the vicar, taking at the same time 
 in his own, both the hand which was extended 
 towards him, and that which guided and sup- 
 ported it. Excepting that one tender and pro- 
 longed pressure of her slight and trembling 
 fingers, there was nothing in his greeting of 
 Hilary which marked any peculiarity of feeling, 
 and even at that moment he hardly looked at 
 her ; his attention was apparently given entirely
 
 204 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 to her father ; his words, his looks, his smiles, 
 half sad, half joyous, were devoted to him. He 
 pressed his hand again and again, inquired most 
 affectionately after his health, and then turning 
 to the others, greeted Sybil and Gwyneth with 
 looks of open, undisguised pleasure, remarked on 
 their wonderful growth, and paid some little com- 
 pliments to their personal appearance, which 
 brought a still richer glow into their cheeks, all 
 the deeper because the admiration was but half 
 expressed in words, and much more unequivo- 
 cally in looks and smiles. Then sitting down 
 amongst them, he exclaimed at his pleasure in 
 being there once more, glancing from one to the 
 other of the party with happy eyes, taking Nest 
 upon his knee, and bidding Gwyneth sit beside 
 him, almost as if he had been Maurice himself ; 
 and all with such an easy, disengaged air, and so 
 entirely devoid of any appearance of a nature to 
 alarm Hilary, that after the first half hour her 
 heart ceased to flutter, ;her cheeks to glow with 
 consciousness or fear, and she was soon convers-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 205 
 
 ing with him as unreservedly, and almost as 
 readily, as her sisters themselves. He entered 
 into parish matters with Mr. Duncan, and his 
 questions of, How do you like Mr. Paine ? and 
 How does he please in the parish ? and many 
 others of the same kind, were followed by an 
 appeal to the girls as to how music and painting 
 went on ; and then a gentle questioning of 
 Hilary herself as to the favourite scholars, the 
 old women pensioners, the idle and mischievous 
 boys who had formerly vexed her ; and sundry 
 other particulars, which proved that whatever 
 else he had consigned to oblivion, he had not 
 forgotten anything connected with the welfare of 
 his tenantry. Discussing the repairs of the 
 church, introduced the name of the Barham 
 family, with whom he was already acquainted, 
 and he seemed pleased to think that they had 
 formed an intimacy with the Duncans, and 
 amused at Sybil's somewhat enthusiastic friend- 
 ship and admiration for Dora. 
 
 The relation of what she had done for
 
 206 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Maurice might have justified this partiality, but 
 Sybil did not know the particulars connected 
 with that transaction ; Hilary being rather shy 
 of owning the influence through which the long- 
 desired promotion had been procured. 
 
 " And oh ! Mr. Huyton, Maurice is a lieuten- 
 ant," was therefore the information which Gwy- 
 neth communicated, without any connection with 
 Dora Barham's name. 
 
 " A lieutenant ! I am glad indeed to hear 
 that ! I congratulate you, my dear sir," was 
 Charles's exclamation, grasping Mr. Duncan's 
 hand once more with warmth ; " nay, I think I 
 may do the same to you all," added he, taking 
 the two girls' hands in his, and kissing little 
 Nest very heartily. " Indeed I do congratulate 
 you all you, Miss Duncan, more especially." 
 
 He dropped her sisters' hands and advanced 
 towards her, very gracefully, yet with a little 
 hesitation, which bespoke doubt as to whether he 
 were taking too great a liberty. 
 
 She could not help placing her hand in the
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 207 
 
 one he extended, and she looked up with her 
 clear innocent eyes to him, as he stood before 
 her ; there was nothing in his look to alarm her 
 into shyness, and she met his gaze with quiet, 
 comfortable confidence, as she said, 
 
 " Indeed it has been a pleasure, although it, 
 like mortal affairs generally, has had a drawback, 
 for Maurice has been ill." 
 
 " Indeed ! I am sorry not seriously I trust !" 
 
 Hilary glanced at her father, and then replied, 
 " We have only had a report from the captain 
 and doctor as yet ; we are expecting further news 
 in a short time. I will show you the letter from 
 Captain Hepburn." 
 
 She drew the letters from her work-basket, 
 and gave them to him with another glance 
 at her father, and a sort of beseeching look at 
 him, as if deprecating any unnecessary alarm 
 to Mr. Duncan. Charles Huyton understood 
 her, and seating himself by her side, he quietly 
 read through the two letters, and returned 
 them ; observing " It was this, doubtless, that
 
 208 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 prevented his writing to me lately. I should 
 not wonder if we were to see him here, be- 
 fore you hear again. He will, of course, re- 
 turn now." 
 
 She felt grateful to him for the cheerful 
 tone in which he spoke, although she saw, by 
 the anxious expression of his eyes, that he 
 participated in her uneasiness on her brother's 
 account. 
 
 " And what are your plans now, Charles ?" 
 inquired Mr. Duncan kindly, laying his hand 
 on his visitor's shoulder ; " have you made 
 up your mind to become a useful member 
 of society, a good and hospitable neighbour, 
 a justice of the peace, or to fill any of the 
 other duties which country gentlemen ought to 
 attend to ?" 
 
 " I will place myself in your hands, my 
 dear sir," replied he, with a sudden glow 
 over his countenance, which Hilary did not 
 see ; " you shall dictate what my duties are. 
 However, I have indeed made up my mind
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 209 
 
 to renounce my hermit life at ' the Ferns ;' and, 
 as a preliminary step, have persuaded an aunt 
 and cousin of mine to come over to England 
 and pay me a visit." 
 
 " Indeed ! who are they ?" inquired Mr. 
 Duncan, with interest. 
 
 " Mrs. Fielding was my mother's sister, 
 and, like her, married an Englishman. Will 
 you do me the great favour of visiting them, 
 Miss Duncan?" turning suddenly to Hilary. 
 " I am anxious to give them, my cousin 
 especially, a favourable impression of England." 
 
 Hilary replied she would be most happy ; a 
 sort of wondering feeling passing through her 
 mind, as to why Mr. Huyton was so desirous 
 to please his cousin. Perhaps he hoped to 
 persuade her to settle for life at ' the Ferns,' 
 and then how pleasant it would be to have 
 a friend in his wife ; her countenance brighten- 
 ed at the idea : and her manner became more 
 easy and disengaged towards Charles from that 
 moment.
 
 210 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 He seemed readily to fall into his old ways, 
 in every respect, except such as she might 
 have objected to, and never thought of 
 leaving them for the rest of the afternoon ; 
 taking it as much as a matter of course that 
 he should remain to tea, as the younger 
 girls did. 
 
 On their return to the house, whilst Hilary 
 supported and guided her father's steps, he 
 loitered behind with her sisters, strolling along 
 the terrace, and laughing and chatting with 
 them, telling Sybil he had found them out 
 by the sound of her voice reading, which 
 fortunately was not so much altered as her 
 person was, or he should have run away, be- 
 lieving them to be a party of strangers. But 
 when Mr. Duncan was safely past the win- 
 dow, by which he entered his own room, 
 and Hilary had turned away to take the 
 path to the porch, he immediately joined 
 her, and began, in a voice and words of sin- 
 cerest sympathy, to inquire into the actual
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 211 
 
 state of her father's sight. She could speak 
 of it calmly at last ; use, and the quiet sub- 
 mission and unvarying cheerfulness of Mr. 
 Duncan, had reconciled her to the idea, and 
 she was able to tell him with composure, or 
 rather resignation, that all was quite dark to him 
 now ; but that she was thankful to say, that 
 the affliction had been so softened and modi- 
 fied, as to be far less terrible than she had ima- 
 gined it could be. 
 
 Then he alluded to Maurice ; but here the 
 chord of feeling vibrated too strongly ; the 
 tension had been too acute for it to harmonise 
 entirely with faith and patience ; and they 
 sounded in a minor key, compared with 
 the sharp tone that fear and suspense rang 
 out. 
 
 It was with quivering lips and trembling 
 eye-lids that she spoke of her brother's danger, 
 and it was with looks and tones of answering 
 sympathy that Charles Huyton replied to her. 
 Had not her eyes been at that moment blinded
 
 212 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 by her tears, she might have read how deep 
 his feelings were. 
 
 " It is very wrong, I know," added she, dash- 
 ing away the drops from her eye-lashes ; " I 
 ought to feel more resigned, knowing as I do, 
 he is in the same Hands still, and that nothing 
 will happen but for the best. I still shrink 
 and tremble inwardly as to what may be in store, 
 although I ought to do better, considering the 
 lessons of trust I have had." 
 
 He stepped into the porch, near which 
 they were standing, and taking up a small 
 basket from the bench, presented it to her. 
 
 " You told me once," said he, " that flowers 
 preached to you, and taught you lessons of 
 confidence and hope ; may I trust that these 
 will say something of the sort, and not be re- 
 jected ?" 
 
 He lifted the lid, and showed her a bunch of 
 lilies of the valley, carefully arranged, with their 
 roots in wet moss. 
 
 " Oh ! how exquisite !" she exclaimed, stoop-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 213 
 
 ing over them, to hide a little hesitating con- 
 sciousness, and not venturing to take the basket 
 from his hands ; " these must be forced, Mr. 
 Huyton !" 
 
 " Yes, I found them this morning in my 
 conservatory, and brought them here, thinking 
 you would all like them. Will you not take 
 them ?" 
 
 " It seems selfish when you have visitors 
 coming to-morrow," replied Hilary, still looking 
 at them. 
 
 " My aunt and cousin have nothing to do 
 with these ; the gardener raised them on pur- 
 pose for you and your sisters, I know ; I can 
 claim no merit, except that of willingly bringing 
 them : do take them, and put them in pots in 
 the drawing-room ; and let them speak of 
 comfort." 
 
 " You have chosen your text well," replied 
 Hilary, receiving the basket from his hands, 
 and raising first one and then another of the 
 delicate bells. " They do indeed preach elo-
 
 214 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 quently. Thank you very much for so kindly 
 reminding me of all these flowers bid me con- 
 sider." 
 
 He gave her a quiet, rather grave smile ; 
 and then turned the conversation to some 
 other topic, as they walked into the house 
 together. 
 
 He seemed very happy afterwards, assisting 
 Gwyneth and Nest in preparing the flower- 
 pots in which these lilies were to be planted, 
 whilst Hilary sat with her father at the win- 
 dow, and gave her advice on the subject, but 
 was not allowed by any of them to tire herself 
 over the plants, as she had taken a long 
 walk that morning, and was looking, they all 
 agreed, both pale and fatigued. 
 
 Mr. Huyton did not come to the Vicarage 
 again for two or three days ; he was supposed 
 to be occupied by his visitors, who, they 
 heard from Mr. Paine, had arrived when 
 expected. 
 
 To Hilary's great satisfaction, Mrs. Paine
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 215 
 
 offered to accompany her to ' the Ferns ' to call 
 on these visitors, a task which, for several 
 reasons, was rather a formidable undertaking to 
 her. They drove over together, in Mrs. Paine's 
 little pony-carriage, and were received at the 
 door of the large house with a degree of splen- 
 dour and pomp such as she had never seen 
 there before. 
 
 Hilary thought of her first visit to that place, 
 and the quiet way in which she had then been 
 introduced, as they followed the servants 
 through the spacious vestibules and antecham- 
 bers, into the morning sitting-room, where Mrs. 
 Fielding and her daughter were sitting. Hap- 
 pily for them, Charles entered as they did, and 
 he introduced Mrs. Paine pointedly as his 
 cousin ; Miss Duncan was more slightly named, 
 but it was evident, by the quick glance which 
 Miss Fielding gave, that her visitor was an 
 object of some interest to her. The elder 
 lady was equally foreign in her look and her ac- 
 cent, both which betrayed her birth, although
 
 216 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 perfectly lady -like, and rather pleasing ; the 
 cousin, in whom Hilary felt more interest, was 
 a handsome girl, more English than German 
 in her air and voice, and looking so perfectly 
 at home at ' the Ferns,' that Miss Duncan could 
 not get the idea out of her head that she 
 was consciously destined one day to be mistress 
 there. 
 
 " Victoria has been wanting you so much, 
 Charles," said Mrs. Fielding, turning to her 
 nephew, who was standing by Mrs. Paine. 
 " It was something about the drawing she was 
 copying ; I hope presently you will help her out 
 of her difficulties." 
 
 Mr. Huyton said something about happy, 
 and turned to his cousin with a smile ; but 
 Hilary, who unconsciously watched the ex- 
 pression of his face, was disappointed : it was 
 not exactly the smile she wished to see there, 
 not like the happy, frank look she had been 
 used so often to receive, before she learnt to 
 know its meaning.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 217 
 
 Victoria Fielding threw back a somewhat 
 haughty head, and said, with a flashing, mocking 
 look of her bright eyes, 
 
 " Mamma flatters you ! do not fancy I wanted 
 you in the least. I disdain help. My motto is, 
 ' By my own hand.' " 
 
 " Very well," replied he calmly, but with an 
 expression of admiration in his face ; indeed, 
 she was so handsome and graceful, that it was 
 not easy to look at her without admiration. 
 
 Her conversation to him was all in the same 
 style, to Hilary she hardly spoke at all ; and when 
 Miss Duncan tried to find subjects of conversa- 
 tion, she seemed little inclined to reply, unless 
 Mr. Huyton joined ; whatever she might affect 
 of indifference towards him, Hilary was con- 
 vinced, was simply affectation. The wish to 
 attract him was obvious, although shown in a 
 taunting and defying sort of way. 
 
 After about ten minutes' conversation of this 
 uncomfortable and disjointed kind, Charles sud- 
 denly turned to Hilary, and said 
 
 VOL. i. L
 
 218 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " Have you been into the conservatory lately, 
 Miss Duncan ? I should like you to see my 
 camellias." 
 
 Hilary, feeling that any change would be a 
 relief at that moment, answered that she should 
 like it very much indeed ; and then he asked 
 Victoria if she would come too. 
 
 "No, thank you," replied the young lady, 
 carelessly, " I have walked round and about it, 
 till I am more weary of that particular spot of 
 ground, and those especial flowers, than of any 
 thing else on earth ; except myself," she added, 
 in a sort of whisper. 
 He smiled again. 
 
 " Conservatories should be made like kaleid- 
 oscopes, to vary at every turn, or they grow in- 
 tolerably dull," added she, aloud ; " don't you 
 think so, Miss Duncan? Perhaps you don't 
 know, however ; you probably have not been so 
 often in the one in question as I have." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Hilary, very quietly; " but 
 I always thought it very pretty when I did see
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 219 
 
 it. However, it is many months now since I 
 was in it." 
 
 " I cannot fancy you tiring of flowers," said 
 Charles, with more peculiarity of accent than he 
 had used before ; so much so, indeed, as to cause 
 Victoria to raise her head, and turn a sharp look 
 on the person thus addressed. 
 
 Mrs. Paine rose at this moment to go, and 
 Hilary, glad to escape from the eyes bent on 
 her, prepared with pleasure to take leave of the 
 whole party. Charles, however, accompanied 
 them out of the room, and then, as they were 
 crossing the vestibule, repeated his request that 
 they would come and look at his camellias ; 
 adding, with a quiet, grave courtesy, which he 
 had assumed since his return, " I hope it was 
 by your own choice that it is so long since you 
 have entered the conservatory : for though it was 
 optional with you and your sisters to visit it, it 
 was not left so with the servants whether you 
 should be admitted." 
 
 " I am afraid, from your saying that, Mr. 
 
 L 2
 
 220 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Huyton," replied Hilary, "that Sybil omitted 
 to thank you for your thoughtful kindness. I 
 assure you, ray sisters have paid several visits 
 here during the winter, as Mrs. Paine can testify, 
 having accompanied them every time." 
 
 " Yes, laying claim to relationship," said Mrs. 
 Paine, smiling, " I ventured on that liberty." 
 
 " I am truly glad your sisters enjoyed it," was 
 his answer; he saw at once the reason why 
 Hilary herself had scrupulously avoided similar 
 visits : he did not like her the less. 
 
 He cut huge bunches of heliotrope, and the 
 loveliest camellias he could find, " to send to her 
 sisters," as he said. Most gardeners would have 
 been in despair at the liberties he took ; but 
 Mr. Huyton was peculiar, and with his gar- 
 dener, Mr. Allan, the Miss Duncans were great 
 favourites ; so perhaps the surveyor to the con- 
 servatory did not grumble very much. 
 
 " Your library has been a great resource to 
 my father," said Hilary presently, wishing to say 
 something which should show gratitude, and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 221 
 
 avoid misconstruction ; " he has often expressed 
 himself so much obliged to you for your libe- 
 rality." 
 
 " Is not that a lovely bud ?" said he, holding 
 up a half-blown camellia, whose delicate white 
 petals were just displaying the fringe which gives 
 them such an air of lightness and refinement. 
 " How I do love a pure, delicate, unostentatious 
 flower, which seems unconscious of its own 
 charms, and shrinks modestly from sight." 
 
 He placed it in her hand as he spoke ; the 
 only blossom he gave her, the rest he deposited 
 in a basket, to be carried to Hurstdene. 
 
 " I think you love flowers better than ever," 
 was her observation, very innocently made. 
 
 " I do," replied he, gravely, with eyes turned 
 away in another direction. " Take this little 
 peeping red and white bud to Nest with my 
 love, it is the very image of her dear little face. 
 See how coquettishly it half looks out, half 
 hides." He said this in a light and playful 
 tone, and she made him a smiling answer, and
 
 222 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 then Mrs. Paine, having concluded a dialogue 
 she had been holding with Mr. Allen, summoned 
 Hilary to the carriage. 
 
 As he helped her in, he said, but without 
 looking up at her 
 
 " Was not I right in saying my cousin has 
 nothing to do with lilies of the valley ? " 
 
 " She should wear the crown imperial," said 
 Mrs. Paine, laughingly ; and then they drove off, 
 whilst Hilary mused on the feeling he enter- 
 tained for his cousin, and what she wished that 
 feeling to be, now she had seen the lady. 
 
 She looked forward with a little anxiety to 
 this visit being returned. It made her uncom- 
 fortable to think of it ; there was something 
 in the quick glance of those very bright eyes 
 which discomposed her, and made her feel shy 
 and shrinking. It was not, however, half so 
 bad as she expected, when the visitors really 
 arrived, which they did in the course of a week. 
 Mrs. and Miss Fielding drove over, Mr. Huytor. 
 accompanied them on horseback. The ladies
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 223 
 
 made themselves very pleasant; the mother 
 conversing with Mr. Duncan, evidently and 
 sincerely interested by the courteous manners, 
 mild countenance, and quiet cheerfulness of the 
 blind clergyman ; Victoria devoting herself to 
 Hilary with a sweetness, complaisance, and air 
 of satisfaction, which, after her former reception, 
 quite astonished Miss Duncan. She was de- 
 lighted to meet her young acquaintance again ; 
 she was enraptured by the drive, enchanted with 
 the dear, picturesque old parsonage, captivated 
 by the charming antique room, with its old oak 
 wainscotting, and fine rare china vases, bequests 
 from Mr. Duncan's grandmother. She called 
 Nest to her, and kissed and caressed the beau- 
 tiful child, wanted to draw her portrait, begged 
 to have her to spend the day with her, to all 
 which requests Hilary replied with little more 
 than a smile, considering them too entirely ideal 
 to deserve a serious answer. But in the middle 
 of one of her most complimentary speeches, 
 Victoria was astonished to see Hilary suddenly
 
 224 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 start from her seat, stand one moment gazing 
 through the window, with clasped hands and 
 parted lips, and the next spring from the room, 
 and disappear altogether. 
 
 Charles Huyton, who had been chatting with 
 the other girls, rose, and looked after her with 
 an expression of anxiety and alarm, then ap- 
 proaching his cousin, asked if anything was the 
 matter with Miss Duncan. 
 
 " You, who know her so well," replied Vic- 
 toria, with a peculiar smile, " ought to be aware 
 if this is her usual manner to her guests. May 
 be, it is the perfection of English politeness !" 
 
 But little Nest ran after her sister, and throw- 
 ing open the door, disclosed to their view, in 
 the vestibule, Hilary clasped in the arms of her 
 brother Maurice. It was a pretty thing to see ; 
 and the sister was too completely absorbed in 
 her joy to be conscious there were spectators, as 
 he bent over her glowing face, and kissed her 
 again and again. The tall and manly figure, 
 the bronzed complexion, and fine countenance
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 225 
 
 of the sailor, forming a charming contrast to 
 the elegant girl, whose fair cheek rested on his 
 bosom, whilst her eyes spoke the welcome she 
 had not words to say. 
 
 Charles, however, cut short the amusement 
 of the spectators, by shutting the door, before 
 the younger sisters had seen what was passing 
 outside the room ; and a few minutes passed in 
 a sort of awkward silence between Victoria and 
 Charles, although Mr. Duncan, ignorant of what 
 had occurred, was comfortably talking to Mrs. 
 Fielding. 
 
 All thoughts of the visitors at that moment 
 in the drawing-room had gone from Hilary's 
 head ; she saw only her brother, and was con- 
 scious only of thankfulness to see him again, 
 and a pang of sorrow for the one who could not 
 see at all. After the first mute embraces, and 
 then the whispered words of love, and joy, 
 Maurice pronounced his father's name, and 
 Hilary, half-angry with herself for having even 
 during that short time engrossed all the delight 
 
 L 3
 
 226 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 of knowing him safe and well, placed her hand 
 in his, and led him into the room. 
 
 Then she remembered who was there, and 
 her colour came and went : delight, shyness, 
 pride, and embarrassment, mingling in her 
 feelings as she encountered the eyes within, and 
 recalled how abruptly she had quitted them. 
 
 The visitors drew back, and the exclamations 
 of the girls, the movement, the unusual step, 
 and a whisper or two around him, warned Mr. 
 Duncan something had occurred. 
 
 " What is it, Hilary ?" said he, rising and 
 stretching out his hand ; " Maurice my son !" 
 as his fingers closed upon those which so 
 warmly grasped his " Thank God !" 
 
 But Maurice could not speak. The sight 
 of his father's helplessness, the closed eyes, 
 the slow and cautious movement, and the 
 increased appearance of age which the last 
 three years had produced, overcame his forti- 
 tude, and the young man had to struggle 
 hard with the emotions of tenderness and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 227 
 
 grief before he could control his voice to 
 answer his father's greeting. 
 
 " Can we not go ?" whispered Mrs. Field- 
 ing to Charles ; " we are sadly in the way." 
 
 Victoria's eyes were fixed on the group, 
 with a thoughtful, longing expression ; but she 
 felt the propriety of her mother's proposal, and 
 turned to quit the room. 
 
 Hilary recollected herself and them, and 
 advanced to accompany them to the door, 
 whilst Maurice still saw nothing, and no one 
 but those so dear to him. 
 
 " I am sorry you should be driven away," 
 said she, gracefully, " though I cannot pre- 
 tend to be sorry for the cause. He is my only 
 brother." 
 
 " Do not apologise, my charming young 
 friend," replied Mrs. Fielding, with her gentle 
 accents, " you must be glad to get rid of us, 
 and I feel we have had a pleasure we do not 
 deserve, in witnessing so captivating a family-
 
 228 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 picture. I congratulate you with my whole 
 heart." 
 
 " If we have acquired knowledge we have 
 no right to," said Victoria, pausing before step- 
 ping into the carriage, and warmly clasping 
 Hilary's hand, " we have paid dear for the 
 acquisition ; at least, / have, for I have dis- 
 covered my own poverty. I could envy you, 
 Miss Duncan ; and of all the charming things 
 I have seen to-day, to love, and be loved like 
 you, appears to me, beyond comparison, the 
 best. What would I give for such a brother !" 
 
 She sprang into the carriage, not deigning 
 to accept her cousin's proffered assistance, and 
 turning on Hilary once more her bright eyes, 
 brighter for the tears that filled them, she 
 kissed her hand, and drove off. 
 
 " I will not stay now," said Charles, "to 
 intrude on a happiness in which I can well 
 sympathise ; but let me come to-morrow, and 
 welcome Maurice home tell him how sincerely 
 
 -
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 229 
 
 I congratulate him ; he is not looking ill, al- 
 though rather thin. Good-bye !" 
 
 He released her hand, which he had held in 
 a long, lingering clasp, gave her one look of 
 indescribable feeling, then mounting his horse, 
 cantered quickly away ; for when he turned to 
 wave his hand to her, ere he had gone two paces, 
 she was out of sight. 
 
 Hilary did not pause a moment indeed, to 
 watch his departure : she darted into the house, 
 and was again beside her brother, ere Charles 
 had looked round. And then, unrestrained 
 she could enjoy the full delight of seeing him 
 once more. Oh ! the kisses, the congratula- 
 tions, the smiles, the tears, the silent rapture, 
 and the joyous exclamations of that welcome. 
 It was long before they were rational enough to 
 ask how, or when he arrived in England, or to 
 remember his increase of rank they thought 
 only of himself; whilst he could hardly find 
 words to express his wonder and admiration at 
 the change the three years had made in his
 
 230 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 sisters. Hilary so improved, and yet so little 
 altered ; the same darling girl, and yet more 
 charming and dear than ever. And the others 
 too ! Sibyl as tall as Hilary ; Gwyneth not 
 much behind ; he could not believe they were 
 the same. Oh ! how glad he was to be here. 
 
 " And about your illness, Maurice ?" inquired 
 his father. 
 
 Then came the history of his fever, how it 
 was increased by over-exertion, how suddenly 
 it had come on, how bad it had been, and how, 
 so far as human agents were concerned, he owed 
 his life to the kindness of his commander. 
 
 "He is such a good fellow, father ; I hope 
 you will know him some day ; I am sure you 
 would like him, Hilary ; he has nursed me like 
 a brother ; he gave me up his cabin ; took care of 
 me day and night ; if it had not been for him, 
 I must have died, I should have been stifled in 
 my berth. How glad I am he is made ; more 
 glad than for my own promotion, which, by the 
 bye, I only heard yesterday at the Admiralty.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 231 
 
 Hepburn came home with me, you know : he 
 was promoted from home, and had to return 
 of course ; and as I had leave for my health, 
 we came in the same packet, and he promised 
 to come down and see us here, when he has 
 settled some business in town." 
 
 " God bless him !" said Mr. Duncan from his 
 heart ; " if a visit here could give him pleasure, 
 how gladly we will welcome him : you must 
 write to him in my name, Maurice, and repeat 
 the invitation." 
 
 The girls were never weary of hearing Mau- 
 rice talk, and the history of the last two months 
 had to be gone over and over again ; whilst 
 every variation of praise which could be be- 
 stowed on Captain Hepburn was poured out 
 by the grateful young lieutenant on his late 
 commander. He was true as steel, brave as 
 a hero of romance, firm as a rock in duty, 
 tender as a girl of others, where feeling only 
 was concerned ; indifferent to his own comfort, 
 careful of his men's, devoted to his profession,
 
 232 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 a first-rate sailor, a pattern of an officer, a 
 thorough gentleman in conduct, a true Christian 
 in principle, and to crown all, in the imagina- 
 tion of the girls, he was tall, dark, good-looking, 
 of an old, historic family, and comparatively 
 poor ! This was the climax to the interest in 
 his favour; for Maurice knew that Captain 
 Hepburn's family had been unfortunate, had 
 lost their property in a lawsuit, and that he had, 
 by much self-denial and economy, succeeded in 
 paying debts left by his father, and honourably 
 discharging every claim, far beyond what law 
 alone required of him. 
 
 Allowances must, of course, be made in this 
 bright picture for the favourable prejudices of 
 Maurice's feelings, seeing his senior officer's 
 character through the beautiful vista of his 
 three years of agreeable command, crowned 
 eventually by the extreme personal kindness, 
 which had largely contributed to save the young 
 man's life ; but if the brother, in his strong 
 partiality, over-rated the worth and merits of his
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 233 
 
 friend, it was not likely that the young sisters 
 would curb their female fancy, and estimate 
 him in their imaginations by a juster scale, or 
 a cooler feeling for his virtues. Captain Hep- 
 burn was established as an indisputable hero, 
 in the minds of Sybil and Gwyneth ; and even 
 Hilary gave more of her leisure moments to 
 forming ideal pictures of him, than it was at 
 all her custom to do, with regard to unknown 
 individuals, or circumstances which did not 
 immediately connect themselves with her daily 
 duties.
 
 234 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "'And women things that live and move 
 
 Min'd by the fever of the soul 
 t They seek to find in those they love, 
 / Stern strength and promise of control. 
 
 ' They ask not kindness gentle ways 
 
 These they themselves have tried and known ; 
 They ask a soul that never sways 
 
 With the blind gusts that shake their own." 
 
 AKNOLD. 
 
 CHARLES HUYTON kept his word, and came 
 over in the morning, as he had promised, to 
 see Maurice. There was not much doing in 
 the way of study, or regular employment, that 
 day ; even Hilary was unsettled by her joy, and 
 after two or three vain attempts to promote 
 reading, or engage in their usual occupations. 

 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 235 
 
 she had given it up, and the whole family were 
 clustered together round Mr. Duncan's chair 
 on the lawn, who, whilst enjoying the warmth 
 of a spring morning, was also delighted to be 
 surrounded by the happy voices, and caressed 
 by the soft hands which seemed continually 
 flitting about him. 
 
 The happiness of her feelings, and her con- 
 viction that Victoria Fielding was destined to be 
 Charles's wife, made Hilary more than usually 
 cheerful and disengaged in her manners to the 
 visitor ; and his looks and his words were in 
 general so carefully guarded, that she had no- 
 thing to alarm her into coldness or reserve. 
 Frank and friendly to Maurice, as usual, more 
 so, perhaps, even than formerly, he was ; but 
 he must have been a very close observer, who 
 could have detected from any thing which 
 passed, that he regarded Hilary with a different 
 feeling from her sisters. The only thing which 
 could have indicated peculiar and strong at- 
 tachment, indeed, was his extreme warmth and
 
 236 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 affection of manner to her father and brother ; 
 and this might also arise from other causes un- 
 connected with her. So Hilary was happy and 
 at ease ; Maurice was with her, and Charles, as 
 she supposed, grown so rational, as to be con- 
 tent to give up a woman who did not love him, 
 and seek one who did, in her place. 
 
 Whilst Mr. Huyton was there, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Paine walked in, having just come up from 
 the village school ; that being one of the duties 
 of which they -had relieved Hilary, since her 
 father's infirmity had required so much more of 
 her time and attention. When pleasant people 
 know one another well by name and report, 
 they do not take long in becoming acquainted 
 
 on meeting ; so half an hour had scarcely gone 
 
 | 
 
 by, before they were all on the most comfortable 
 and easy terms imaginable. 
 
 " Only think, Hilary," said Mrs. Paine, 
 "Dora Barham has carried her point, and is 
 coming down here next week ; let me see, this 
 is Wednesday ; yes, she is coming on Monday 
 

 
 * 
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 237 , 
 
 next, to stay with me, for change of air. I 
 never thought Mr. Barham would have allowed 
 her to give up the chances of a London 
 season." 
 
 " The chances to her, I really believe, would 
 have been a severe fit of illness," replied Hilary. 
 " She is very delicate, and I have no doubt 
 Primrose Bank will be more beneficial to her 
 than Bryanstone Square in every respect." 
 
 " Who is going to be your visitor ?" inquired 
 Charles of his cousin's wife. 
 
 " Oh, Dora Barham, my pretty little cousin ; 
 you remember her, I dare say, when you were* 
 in England last year. You used to visit at the 
 Abbey, I know." 
 
 " I remember your cousins very well," re- 
 plied he, expressively ; " very agreeable women 
 in society. Some of those girls who are reared 
 entirely in a forcing-house, and brought out as 
 fashionable ladies, when they ought to be only 
 children. I used to think her rather idle and 
 weak, but amiable enough if she were only
 
 238 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 allowed to be so. With such an education, 
 one must not look for simplicity, or real refine- 
 ment of mind, but be thankful for unaffected 
 and elegant manners, when one can meet 
 them." 
 
 "You are unjust, Mr. Huyton," exclaimed 
 Hilary, with animation ; " Dora Barham is 
 much more than that ; she has most genuine 
 kindness of heart, and sweetness of disposition. 
 No one must say a word against Dora Barham 
 in my hearing, on pain of my intense displea- 
 sure. Maurice, I appeal to you be her cham- 
 pion." 
 
 " I am convinced," replied Maurice ; " I 
 have been for some months convinced of her 
 excellence ; ever since she first formed your ac- 
 quaintance, I have been prejudiced in her 
 favour ; and though I have never seen her, there 
 is no lady in the land to whom I am so per- 
 fectly ready to swear allegiance, and devote my- 
 self as her champion." 
 
 Mrs Paine laughed.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 239 
 
 " Well, you will have the opportunity soon, 
 1 believe ; I shall be curious to know whether 
 she will answer your expectations." 
 
 Mr. Huyton looked puzzled at the enthusi- 
 asm of Hilary and Maurice ; he was not aware 
 of the cause of this interest. The young lieu- 
 tenant had learnt his obligation from his sister, 
 and although his pride might have been more 
 gratified had promotion been the unsolicited 
 reward of merit, his feelings were excited and 
 warmed towards the girl, whose love for Hilary 
 had chosen so judicious a way of exhibiting 
 itself. 
 
 " I was charged with a commission from my 
 aunt and cousin," said Charles, after a while, 
 " which I hope to execute successfully, or the 
 consequences will be, I cannot venture to say 
 what. Will you all come over and spend to- 
 morrow at ' the Ferns ?' Excuse the shortness 
 of the invitation ; it is not to be a formal visit, 
 but a friendly one. Pray say yes !" 
 
 Some excuses were urged by Hilary, but
 
 240 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Mr. Huyton would not accept them. He asked 
 Mr. Duncan first; he appealed to every mem- 
 ber of the family ; and from each, especially 
 from Nest, obtained a ready assurance that 
 each would like very much to go to ' the 
 Ferns ' to spend the day. Hilary could not 
 contend against such an overwhelming ma- 
 jority, and was forced to yield. Charles only 
 urged Victoria's wishes to her it was her in- 
 vitation, her earnest desire ; she wished to see 
 more of them all ; everything should be ar- 
 ranged to suit the hours and the tastes of the 
 various members of the family. There were 
 plenty of amusements for little Nest, and 
 another little girl, a very nice child, had been 
 invited to meet her; the carriage should be 
 sent to fetch them, and should take them back 
 in the evening, and Mrs. Fielding hoped that 
 she should be allowed the pleasure of devoting 
 herself entirely to the entertainment and care of 
 Mr. Duncan, who so strongly reminded her of 
 her own father, now some years deceased, that
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 241 
 
 she longed to see him again, and see more of 
 him. 
 
 To resist such an invitation was impossible ; 
 and Hilary, mentally wondering why Victoria 
 should be so anxious for her acquaintance, and 
 yet gratified at seeing the kindness extended to 
 her whole family, and not confined exclusively 
 to herself, was on the whole much pleased at 
 the idea. 
 
 The next morning proved as warm and 
 bright as could have been desired by any of 
 the party ; and twelve had hardly struck from 
 the church clock, when the carriage drove up to 
 the door. Nothing could exceed the warm 
 welcome, and the undisguised pleasure with 
 which they were all received at ' the Ferns.' 
 The ladies and Mr. Huyton were loitering on 
 the lawn, in front of the conservatory, and Mrs. 
 Fielding immediately proved her sincerity, by 
 gently taking possession of Mr. Duncan, to 
 whom she devoted herself so unremittingly, 
 that Hilary found nothing to do for him. 
 
 VOL. i. M
 
 242 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 The luncheon and children's dinner occupied 
 a considerable time, and after that, whilst Mr. 
 Duncan was driven out round the park in a 
 low garden chair, by his indefatigable compa- 
 nion, and amused by her lively and interesting 
 conversation, the rest of the party adjourned to 
 the bowling green. This, which was most 
 beautifully kept, was surrounded by a double 
 row of limes, whose long bare branches were 
 already showing the bright crimson buds which 
 precede the leaves, whilst they, as yet, afforded 
 but a partial interruption to the sunshine, which 
 in April, in England, is not often too hot. 
 
 Charles, Maurice, Gwyneth, and Sybil en- 
 tered into a spirited game at bowls ; whilst 
 Victoria and Hilary paced up and down on the 
 broad walk under the trees, partly observing 
 the game, partly engrossed in conversation. 
 Miss Fielding seemed particularly interested in 
 the details of her companion's daily life, about 
 which she asked innumerable questions ; she 
 also admired Maurice very much and very
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 243 
 
 openly, to Hilary, who was as much pleased at 
 this, as she was amused and surprised at her 
 companion's entire ignorance of English habits, 
 and domestic life. 
 
 " Yes, I know little enough about my father's 
 country'," replied Victoria, " but I want to un- 
 derstand it better ; and I do not think my 
 cousin's house or customs, are at all a rule for 
 real Englishmen ; he is, like myself, half 
 German." 
 
 " 1 do not think he would be a bad speci- 
 men," replied Hilary, " let his country be what 
 it may ; he is so very kind and considerate to 
 every one about him." 
 
 " Charles ! yes, he is a good sort of person," 
 said Victoria, smiling. " Lets me have quite 
 my own way here ; has given me carte-blanche 
 to do as I please ; a liberty I cannot always ex- 
 pect, so I mean to make the most of it, whilst 
 it lasts." 
 
 " I dare say it will last," observed Hilary. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ; you English wives are 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 
 
 so very domesticated and subdued ; you seem to 
 me to give up all will and way of your own ; 
 one's own identity is lost in the unity of the 
 marriage state ; one is merged into another's 
 being ; and so becomes nobody, in fact as well 
 as deed." 
 
 " Perhaps it may be better, where such is 
 the case," said Hilary ; " but it is not invari- 
 able." 
 
 " Well, I like to do things well," said Vic- 
 toria ; " and when I am an English wife, I 
 mean to behave as is expected of women of 
 fortune and family. Upon the whole, I do not 
 think it will be bad." 
 
 " You are going to marry then ?" said Hilary, 
 a little hesitatingly, yet anxious for the an- 
 swer. 
 
 " I am to be married in the autumn," replied 
 Victoria ; " meantime I intend to enjoy myself, 
 and Charles lets me reign here en princesse. 
 He certainly is good nature itself, with regard 
 to me."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 245 
 
 " He told me at first, how anxious he was to 
 make England pleasant to you," observed Hilary, 
 recollecting the wonder she had felt when he 
 had mentioned it to her. 
 
 " Now I want to consult you," continued 
 Victoria, "about some of my plans. Ha! well 
 bowled, Mr. Duncan ; do you see, your brother 
 plays well ; I think we will weave a crown for the 
 victor, shall we, or at least give him a sprig of 
 myrtle to stick in his coat as a trophy ? Charles, 
 you will be beat entirely. I wonder you do not 
 exert yourself more, for the sake of your part- 
 ner." 
 
 " I suspect Miss Gwyneth rejoices more in 
 her brother's prowess than she would in mine," 
 replied Charles, pausing before he sent off his 
 bowl, which had been driven by Maurice's last 
 stroke close to the edge where the ladies were 
 standing. " My defeat excites no sympathy, 
 and my victory would raise no exultation, so 
 long as one of the family lost by what I 
 gained."
 
 246 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 He was gravely considering the bowl, which 
 he held in his hand as he spoke, and did not 
 raise his eyes, although Victoria bent hers on 
 him with a most expressive glance, as she an- 
 swered in her native language ; but what was 
 the nature of her observation, Hilary was not 
 sufficiently mistress of German to understand ; 
 she only saw that the few words brought a 
 deeper glow to his cheek, and a sort of sup- 
 pressed smile to the corners of his mouth, both 
 which spoke no ordinary sense of gratification. 
 It was the first time she had observed anything 
 like emotion in his intercourse with his cousin, 
 and she concluded that it was some expression 
 of affection or encouragement which had called 
 up that look of pleasure. 
 
 Victoria turned away, and drew her compa- 
 nion on also ; resuming the topic which had in- 
 terested her before this little interruption, namely, 
 a party which she wished to give in her cousin's 
 house. It was to be a sort of fte, uniting a 
 day-light and an evening party, a dejeune in a
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 247 
 
 marquee on the lawn, and out-of-door amuse- 
 ments for the afternoon a hand of music in the 
 gardens, flowers, fish-ponds, a boat on the lake, 
 and any other diversions they could devise or 
 invent. All the country should he asked, 
 and no expense or trouble spared, to make it 
 delightful. 
 
 " But, Miss Fielding, consider the time of 
 year," exclaimed Hilary ; "we are but just at 
 the end of April, and May is often so cold a 
 month with us, that we cannot reckon on fine 
 weather for an out-of-doors party." 
 
 " Stupid climate then ; what, not after the 
 twelfth ? I thought of the fifteenth, which would 
 be a Wednesday ; surely the weather by that 
 time must be fine." 
 
 " May be," replied Hilary, laughing ; " when 
 you have been a little longer amongst us, you 
 will find there is no must for an English climate 
 at any time of year. Sometimes we have snow 
 in May ; but by the fifteenth, perhaps, there 
 may be sunshine and green leaves."
 
 248 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " I shall trust to that, and plan accordingly," 
 replied Victoria ; " there is nothing like hope. 
 There goes your brother again ; how he plays ; 
 ah ! Charles is completely conquered." 
 
 The girls were tired, and the gentlemen too 
 were willing to rest, so they all went into the 
 conservatory, and seated themselves there ; Vic- 
 toria beginning a very lively conversation with 
 Maurice, who was far too much of a sailor not to 
 be ready to admire any handsome young woman, 
 and quite able to make himself agreeable to 
 her. 
 
 On the whole, the visit passed off most plea- 
 santly ; they dined rather early, and after coffee, 
 were allowed to return home in sufficiently rea- 
 sonable time to prevent Nest falling asleep before 
 getting into the carriage. Hilary, whose mind 
 was now quite easy regarding Mr. Huyton, for 
 she never doubted but that Victoria was engaged 
 to him, though she had not mentioned his name, 
 was quite cheerful and happy ; no longer afraid 
 of addressing Charles, nor shrinking from his
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 249 
 
 notice ; and delighted to think that his future 
 wife was so pleasant, and so well disposed towards 
 herself and family. 
 
 From this time, there was a great deal of in- 
 tercourse between the two young ladies, some- 
 times carried on by notes, which Charles most 
 frequently brought over, but more often by visits 
 from the cousins to their friends at the Vicarage ; 
 for Hilary could not again be tempted to ' the 
 Ferns,' and therefore Victoria, who was always 
 wanting her advice, had to seek her at home. 
 
 Often the elder lady accompanied them, and 
 insisted on taking out the clergyman for a drive, 
 whilst the young people settled their concerns 
 together : half the notes of invitation, at least, were 
 written by Hilary's hand, and plans for orna- 
 ment or amusement suggested by her head. 
 
 The younger girls were wild at the prospect 
 of such an unexpected pleasure ; and as there 
 were to be numbers of children of the party, 
 Nest was included amongst the visitors. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs, Paine necessarily often came in 
 
 M 3
 
 250 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 for these conferences, although they did not in- 
 tend to have any share in the grand fete, Mrs. 
 Paine's health at the time affording her a 
 rational excuse for avoiding excitement and 
 fatigue. 
 
 Their domestic party at Primrose Bank was 
 in due time reinforced by the promised visit of 
 Dora Barham, who made her appearance at the 
 Vicarage the next day ; and whatever might have 
 been the state of her health on leaving London, 
 she certainly was glowing enough when intro- 
 duced to her darling Hilary's tall brother. 
 
 The handsome young officer, with the frank 
 gratitude natural to him, made a little advance 
 towards shaking hands with the pretty young 
 woman, to whom he was so essentially obliged ; 
 an advance which would have been instantly 
 checked and cut short by recollections of what 
 cold courtesy required, had she not perceived 
 both the first motion and the subsequent impulse. 
 More anxious to save him from awkward feelings? 
 than scrupulous about etiquette, she gave him
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 251 
 
 her hand with a charming grace, and a bewitch- 
 ing smile, from the powerful effect of which 
 Maurice did not recover for the rest of the morn- 
 ing at least. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards, the party was scat- 
 tered considerably ; Mr. Duncan and Gwyneth, 
 out driving with Mrs. Fielding ; Maurice, Sybil, 
 and Dora, sauntering along the terrace in the 
 garden ; Mr. and Mrs. Paine, quietly at work in 
 the school ; and Hilary seated between Victoria 
 and Charles, talking over plans, smoothing dif- 
 ficulties, and showing how impossibilities even 
 might be conquered or set aside. 
 
 Several days slipped by, much in the same 
 way. Dora was a heedless girl, and more than 
 once left a bracelet or a handkerchief at the 
 Vicarage, which made it indispensable that Mau- 
 rice should go over to Primrose Bank, to re- 
 turn it, on those mornings when she did not 
 intend to come to the Vicarage ; and this inter- 
 course was carried on to such an extent, that 
 Mrs. Paine became seriously alarmed for the
 
 252 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 result. She knew Mr. Barbara well, and was 
 perfectly certain that any attachment to a poor 
 lieutenant, on his daughter's part, must be as 
 little to his taste as aloes to a child. To remon- 
 strate with Dora, would infallibly make matters 
 
 t 
 worse, if she had any inclination in his favour ; 
 
 and poor Mrs. Paine most heartily wished that 
 she had never undertaken a charge of so delicate 
 and difficult a nature, as the care of her young 
 cousin. 
 
 To her great relief, however, before ten days 
 had passed, Mr. Barham and Isabel came down 
 for a few days to the Abbey, and Dora was sum- 
 moned home immediately. Maurice regretted 
 it much ; but poor Dora, who had permitted 
 her imagination to be most unwisely occupied 
 by the charms of her new acquaintance, felt it 
 a great deal more ; and now looked forward to 
 the grand fte at ' the Ferns ' as a day of possible 
 felicity, because it would throw her once more 
 into his society. She made some effort to go 
 over to the Vicarage once or twice ; but Isabel
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 253 
 
 seemed backward to do it, observing, that now 
 Hilary had her brother, it made a difference ; 
 and poor Dora, only too conscious that it did 
 make a most important difference, dared not 
 press a proposal of the kind, from this very 
 consciousness. Whether Isabel knew of her 
 frequent interviews with Maurice Duncan, she 
 did not discover, and could not decidedly guess ; 
 the only motive avowed for the visit to the coun- 
 try, was to be present at Mr. Huy ton's grand 
 party ; and. as several friends accompanied Isabel 
 from London, their abstaining from their former 
 frequent visits at the Vicarage whilst engaged 
 with visitors, appeared too natural to require an 
 excuse. 
 
 As I said, Dora felt the separation more 
 acutely than Maurice, partly because he knew his 
 own admiration to be so very presumptuous that 
 he could no more wonder at her being removed 
 from his society, than he could at the setting of 
 the sun or moon ; and partly because he had 
 another engagement, which necessarily engrossed
 
 254 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 his time and occupied his thoughts. This was 
 a visit from Captain Hepburn, who came down 
 in answer to the pressing invitations he had re- 
 ceived both from Maurice and his father. 
 
 His arrival in itself was rather a disappoint 
 ment to the younger girls ; he came down in so 
 very unheroic a style, as little accorded with their 
 romantic fancies regarding him. In the first 
 place, he did not take them by surprise, but 
 having written to announce his intention, after- 
 wards came just when he had promised, and 
 might have been expected. Then he drove up 
 in a gig, and brought a portmanteau and hat- 
 box ; he wore a black coat, and an ordinary hat, 
 and seemed to have met neither misfortunes nor 
 adventures on his journey. 
 
 He certainly was tall and handsome, but he 
 was also quiet and grave, with a complexion so 
 bronzed by weather, and an expression so 
 thoughtful and sedate, as to give him the appear- 
 ance of six or eight years more than his actual 
 age.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 255 
 
 The two girls were awed into silence and fear, 
 and even Hilary felt the regard she had already 
 imbibed for him, deepen into a respect almost 
 too strong to be compatible with ease, and which 
 produced an appearance of timidity and reserve 
 in her manners, not at all usual with her. This, 
 however, was only at first ; fear soon wore off 
 with him, for he was as simple as he was quiet 
 in his habits and manners, and as easily pleased 
 as Maurice himself. He arrived in time for 
 their early tea, and Maurice having once men- 
 tioned what their hours were, he appeared per- 
 fectly ready to conform to them. His friendly 
 regard for Maurice was indisputable, and his 
 pleasant and attentive manners to his father were 
 very conciliatory. To the young ladies he was 
 at first quietly civil, and Hilary learnt to appre- 
 ciate more correctly the anxious empressement 
 and extreme attention once so naturally received 
 from Charles Huyton, when she discovered that 
 politeness alone did not dictate such devotion. 
 Captain Hepburn had not been twenty-four
 
 256 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 hours in the house, before all the young ladies 
 learnt to regard him with composure as well as 
 respect. He was generally rather silent, and 
 much given to reading, in which occupation he 
 spent nearly his whole morning, in appearance 
 so profoundly engrossed by the page before him, 
 as to be unconscious of all else. This quiet 
 habit made it perfectly possible even on the first 
 morning, for the others to occupy themselves as 
 usual ; Sybil and Gwyneth read and wrote, 
 worked, drew or practised on the piano, as com- 
 fortably as if Captain Hepburn had been a 
 hundred miles off, instead of being seated at a 
 table only three yards from themselves ; and 
 Hilary went in and out, and attended to her 
 father's comforts, arranged her housekeeping, 
 worked for Maurice, overlooked her sister's ex- 
 ercises, or taught little Nest her arithmetic, ex- 
 actly as if there had been no visitor present, or 
 as if he had been there all her life. 
 
 When she appeared with her bonnet on, and 
 her youngest sister by her, and half- whispered to
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 257 
 
 Sybil that she was going down to take something 
 to Mary Clay on the Common, Captain Hep- 
 burn roused himself from his studies, much 
 to her surprise, and asked leave to go with 
 her. 
 
 Leave was granted, and the trio set out to- 
 gether ; Maurice was reading to his father, so 
 he did not accompany them. 
 
 It was a very pleasant walk, after Hilary had 
 conquered the first feeling of shyness which her 
 companion excited. He conversed so pleasantly 
 at first about the forest, and forest scenery in 
 England and abroad, then about Maurice ; and 
 of him he spoke so kindly and cordially, that 
 Hilary took courage to say what she had before 
 been longing to express, their extreme and heart- 
 felt gratitude for his kindness and attention to 
 their brother during his perilous illness. Captain 
 Hepburn would gladly at first have stopped her 
 thanks ; but she would not be stopped, and the 
 earnest eloquence, the trembling tones of deep 
 feeling, the glowing, grateful expressions, were
 
 258 . THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 of a nature to touch the heart of even a cold 
 or selfish man, and on him, who was neither, 
 produced a powerful effect. He looked at her 
 eyes glittering with tears, at the colour varying 
 in her cheeks, at the lips trembling with emotion, 
 and he thought he had never in his life seen 
 so interesting a picture of affection and sensi- 
 bility. 
 
 " You think a great deal too much of what I 
 did, Miss Duncan," said he, when she paused ; 
 " I only wish I deserved your thanks. Maurice is 
 as fine a fellow as ever lived, and one could not 
 do too much for him ; and now I see what his 
 home is, and whose hearts and happiness were 
 wrapped up in his welfare, I am doubly happy 
 to have been of any use. There is no need of 
 repaying me with thanks, it is more compensation 
 than I deserve." 
 
 " We cannot think so," replied Hilary, raising 
 her eyes to his face. 
 
 " To see your brother with your father is per- 
 fectly beautiful," continued Captain Hepburn,
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 259 
 
 well knowing how to return the pleasure which 
 Hilary's thanks had given him. 
 
 " Oh yes !" cried she artlessly, " is it not ? 
 we are so happy when he is at home." 
 
 They walked on in silence for some time, and 
 when he spoke again, it was to make some re- 
 mark on the advancing spring. 
 
 From that time all remains of shyness had 
 vanished from Hilary's manner to their guest, 
 and she became as perfectly at her ease with him 
 as with Maurice himself. The first week of 
 his visit was a very quiet one ; their visitors, ex- 
 cept the Paines, had deserted them, Mr. Huyton 
 had gone to London, and was not to return un- 
 til the fourteenth, and Victoria and her mother 
 had other engagements, which occupied them 
 during the same time. This week of repose 
 was very welcome to Hilary, it was a relief after 
 the unusual bustle and occupation which had 
 preceded it ; she was able to resume her old 
 -domestic habits, and although the party in pros- 
 pect must sometimes claim a thought, she was
 
 260 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 not obliged to give up all her leisure moments 
 to its concerns. 
 
 She read, and worked, and walked as in old 
 times, with one important exception, that she 
 had a companion such as she had never had be- 
 fore. There is an affinity between some minds, 
 which is inexplicable and incomprehensible to 
 those who have it not. That week had not 
 passed away, before Hilary had learnt to look 
 with interest, and something more indefinable 
 still, for the opinions of Captain Hepburn, as 
 she gave her own ; a glance told her how well 
 she was understood, even before the words of 
 agreement came, and then she felt she was right. 
 She learnt more, too ; she saw how those dark 
 eyes would fix themselves on her with an 
 expression which sent a strange thrill of 
 pleasure through her heart, even when it brought 
 a bright colour to her cheeks ; she discovered 
 how often when his head was bent over his 
 book, his glance was following her as she 
 moved about the room, and she was neither
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 261 
 
 annoyed nor frightened at the discovery. It was 
 so pleasant to find that this cultivated and in- 
 telligent man, as brave as he was good, and 
 as clever as he was kind, could take such 
 interest in her thoughts, her ways, her wishes. 
 She looked up to him as something so im- 
 measurably her superior, that his approbation 
 seemed an honour ; she felt she could trust him ; 
 that he would be one who would sacrifice all to 
 right, and that no selfish consideration would 
 induce him to forget her interests, or to en- 
 deavour to influence her to a questionable act. 
 
 There was some strange spell on her surely, 
 which made her confide to him so many of her 
 fancies and feelings ; thoughts which were hard 
 to put into words, but which he understood in- 
 tuitively, or from a hint, a few hesitating sen- 
 tences, or even an unfinished phrase. And then 
 when he talked, it was so delightful to hear him, 
 there was such a spirit of kindness, sincerity, 
 uprightness through all he said, that she uncon- 
 sciously ranked him as the first of human beings,
 
 262 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 and his occasional words of half-uttered com- 
 mendation as the most valuable praise she had 
 ever received. Captain Hepburn in that single 
 week had done what Charles Huyton in two 
 years had failed to accomplish ; he had, unknown 
 to herself, touched Hilary's heart, and won a 
 large share in her affections. 
 
 The day preceding the fte at ' the 
 Ferns,' brought Victoria over to the Vicarage 
 to make the final arrangements concerning 
 Hilary and her sisters. Mr. Duncan entirely 
 declining to be present, it had been settled, that 
 Mr. and Mrs Paine should spend the day with 
 him, whilst his daughters were all absent ; an 
 arrangement which Hilary was more than half in- 
 clined to contest, as hardly doing sufficient for his 
 comfort. She and her sisters were to be under the 
 especial care and chaperonage of Mrs Fielding, 
 who, since she could not persuade the father to 
 come, said she should find some compensation 
 in taking charge of his daughters. Victoria 
 came on Tuesday to propose that the sisters
 
 THE OLD VICAIIAGE. 263 
 
 should be fetched over rather early, that they might 
 be comfortably established before the general 
 assembly appeared ; and also, Miss Fielding said, 
 that Hilary might help her overlook the prepa- 
 rations, and see that all was complete and 
 appropriate. 
 
 Whilst she said this, Victoria's eyes were 
 glancing inquiringly at the tall, dark, handsome 
 stranger, who was seated, with a book in his 
 hand, at the other end of the room, but who, 
 she was sure, was listening attentively to her 
 discourse. After a moment's consideration, 
 Hilary asked leave for Maurice to bring a friend 
 with him, and then named Captain Hepburn to 
 Miss Fielding ; but the introduction was not 
 made without a slight blush, which Victoria's 
 keen eyes perceived. She received this new 
 acquaintance with equal grace and graciousness, 
 gave him a cordial invitation to her fte, and was 
 as pleasant as possible for a few minutes ; then 
 she turned again to Hilary, talked of Charles, 
 who was to return that evening ; his anxiety that
 
 264 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 all should be right, his confidence in Hilary's 
 taste, and his wishes that it should be con- 
 sulted, and some other remarks, of a kind which 
 she passed by as mere compliments, from the 
 woman who was engaged to Mr. Huyton ; but 
 which there was another person, whose igno- 
 rance of this fact made him view very differ- 
 ently. 
 
 When Victoria was gone, Captain Hepburn 
 rose, and after walking once or twice from the 
 window to the table, he suddenly asked Miss 
 Duncan if she was not intending to exchange 
 her thimble for her bonnet, and take some 
 exercise that afternoon. 
 
 Maurice and his father had gone on a long 
 expedition across the forest, the latter on a pony 
 which his son led, and Hilary had intimated an 
 intention of going out to meet them on their 
 return, which Captain Hepburn was evidently 
 anxious she should fulfil. Her sisters were at 
 Primrose Bank, and there was nothing to inter- 
 rupt the perfection of their t&te-a-tete, except a
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 265 
 
 slight and unusual shade of something in Cap- 
 tain Hepburn's eyes, which Hilary had never 
 seen before, and did not quite understand now. 
 
 Whatever might be the source of this change, 
 \\hether displeasure, anxiety, or weariness, it 
 somewhat awed and chilled her ; she looked up 
 to him with such reverence, and thought so 
 humbly of herself, that she did not venture to 
 seek an explanation. She fancied that either 
 he was secretly tired of her society, or that she 
 had said or done something which had appeared 
 to him silly or wrong ; and she felt ashamed of 
 her imaginary fault, although quite unable to 
 attach any definite name to her misdemeanour. 
 She walked on silently, and so did he by her 
 side; casting every now and then a longing, 
 sorrowful look at her face, which, had she ven- 
 tured to meet it, would have told her it was 
 neither anger nor contempt then occupying his 
 mind. 
 
 At length he spoke. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 "That Miss Fielding! what is she to the 
 owner of ' the Ferns,' Miss Duncan ?" 
 
 " Cousin," replied Hilary ; she hesitated 
 whether she should add more, but thought it 
 best not to explain what she believed their re- 
 lative position to be. 
 
 " And this Mr. Huyton, of whom she speaks 
 so much ; is he married ?" said he, fixing an 
 anxious look on her face as he spoke. 
 
 " No, not yet," said Hilary ; almost uncon- 
 sciously betraying a little of the amusement at 
 the question, which she could not effectually 
 suppress. 
 
 " And you know them all very well, I sup- 
 pose," was his next observation. 
 
 " I have not known Miss Fielding very long, 
 but she is so kind and friendly, that I look for- 
 ward with pleasure to " she checked herself 
 with a blush, that she was so nearly owning 
 her expectations. 
 
 He saw it, and the momentary glow which
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 267 
 
 coloured his face, gave way to a deeper shade 
 and a paler hue than before. 
 
 " Mr. Huyton we have known nearly three 
 years," added Hilary, looking up ; "I think you 
 will like him. perhaps ; and yet I am not sure ; 
 there is a great difference between you." 
 
 " Very great," observed he, with assumed 
 philosophy ; " he has recommendations to which 
 I cannot aspire wealth and station are great 
 advantages ; and three years allows time for all 
 good qualities to become apparent ; so length- 
 ened a friendship is enough of itself to speak 
 for him." 
 
 Hilary was silent for some minutes, and then 
 raising her eyes timidly, she said 
 
 " There is always a debtor and creditor side 
 in all accompts, Captain Hepburn !" 
 
 " True, as a principle ; to what do you refer, 
 Miss Duncan ?" 
 
 " To what you just said," blushing deeply as 
 she spoke ; " I only wished to remind you, that 
 even Mr. Huyton may not have all the advan- 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 tages of life within his reach ; and there may be 
 grievances to be endured even by him, of which 
 we know nothing." 
 
 " True. I acknowledge we are more ready to 
 reckon our troubles than our blessings," replied 
 he, in a tone of self-correction. " And as we see 
 the bright parts of our neighbours' life, and not 
 those which are in shadow, we are apt to forget 
 how much may be concealed." 
 
 "Yes," replied Hilary, "we gaze at our 
 neighbours as we do at the moon; and often 
 forget their existence altogether, when they are 
 not lighted by the rays of prosperity. It re- 
 quires an effort of the reason to realize that our 
 lot in life, like the face of our planet, may seem 
 as bright to their view, as theirs does to us ; we 
 are so intimately aware of the roughnesses and 
 inequalities which surround our feet, and see so 
 little of the light of heaven on our own path." 
 
 He smiled, and answered, 
 
 " You are fond of picturesque analogy, Miss 
 Duncan."
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 269 
 
 " Distance alone, I think, often prevents our 
 judging with accuracy," continued Hilary ; 
 " what we take for an ornament, or a support, 
 may be simply a chain or a burden ; and what 
 we fancy a halo of glory, is, perhaps, the torturing 
 fire consuming its victim." 
 
 " You are exerting your fancy, I think, to 
 make me view my lot in life with complacency." 
 
 "No, I was trying to convince you of the in- 
 justice of the charge you brought by implication 
 against me just now," was Hilary's answer, half- 
 shyly given. 
 
 " What charge ?" enquired he, with some 
 eagerness ; "of what could you imagine I could 
 accuse you, to require any justification ?" 
 
 " By implying that the difference I alluded to, 
 as apparent between you and Mr. Huyton, must 
 necessarily be a comparison to the disadvantage 
 of either. Or supposing that the possession of 
 property had any influence on my likes or dis- 
 likes." 
 
 " Did I imply such injustice to you ? And
 
 270 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 yet, though theroretically we know of how little 
 importance wealth may be in attaining the great 
 end of life, it is difficult always to regulate our 
 wishes ; wealth gives so much power of doing 
 good, and making others happy." 
 
 " But often, too often, takes away the wish to 
 do so," returned Hilary. " But if the power 
 to oblige can be obtained only by wealth, Cap- 
 tain Hepburn must have valuable hoards of 
 available riches; for I know those who feel 
 themselves unable to repay what they owe him, 
 except by sentiments of gratitude which can 
 never grow cold." 
 
 He turned his eyes on her with a look of 
 pleasure which was unseen, for her eyes were 
 bent on the ground ; but he made no answer. 
 
 " Mr. Huyton's wealth will oblige the whole 
 neighbourhood to-morrow," continued she ; " but 
 who will remember it as a favour three months 
 hence ? Oh no, the obligations which wealth 
 alone enables one to bestow, can never be
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 271 
 
 the most highly prized, or gratefully acknow- 
 ledged." 
 
 " I admit it; at least by those whose gratitude 
 is worth having," replied he, giving her one of 
 those looks which she felt all over her, in every 
 nerve ; " the gratitude of the pure, unworldly, 
 high-toned, tender heart, is very different in 
 nature and quality from any which could count 
 the cost of a favour by pounds and shillings. 
 Our standard of worth is regulated, I suppose, 
 by our favourite possessions, and the minds which 
 value affection and truth the most, will often 
 esteem services springing from these motives, 
 far beyond their intrinsic merit. They affix an 
 imaginary importance to such acts, from certain 
 properties which they perceive through the mag- 
 nifying lens of a loving heart ; whilst the 
 ignorant and coarse-minded, seeing no token of 
 what may be below the rough surface, naturally 
 prefer a polished brilliant, even though it may 
 be paste." 
 
 It was Hilary's turn to be silent now.
 
 272 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " It is La Bruyre, I think, who says that 
 the way in which riches and honours are dis- 
 tributed in this world, shows of how little real 
 value they are in the sight of Heaven," added 
 Captain Hepburn, when they had walked on in 
 silence a short time. 
 
 " That seems to me too much of a discon- 
 tented sort of submission for poor people to 
 comfort themselves by," said Hilary ; " we know 
 that riches and honours are great trials and 
 temptations, but they may also be great blessings. 
 Those who have them may view them in the 
 light in which the satirist places them, and so 
 learn to value them less ; but I do not think it 
 does for those who have them not, to comfort 
 themselves with thinking that they are bestowed 
 because people are wicked. May be, it is their 
 possession which has hardened the heart, or 
 blinded the eyes, and so their owners are subjects 
 for our pity, not our censure. Don't you think 
 it is safer to view them as trials than as judg- 
 ments ?"
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 23 
 
 " You mean that we should be thankful, not 
 self-complacent, for being poor : grateful and also 
 fearful if we are rich," said he. 
 
 " Yes, and do not fancy from what I said, 
 that riches have spoilt Mr. Huyton. Papa thinks 
 very well of him, and I have no doubt his wealth 
 has hitherto proved a blessing to many." 
 
 The free and disengaged air with which she 
 spoke, would have carried the conviction of her 
 calm feelings regarding the owner of ' the 
 Ferns ' to any one but a lover, who felt his 
 worldly circumstances formed a painful contrast 
 to the individual in question. 
 
 After a little pause, Captain Hepburn began 
 again. 
 
 " You have afforded me a striking example of 
 your own theory, Miss Duncan, by showing that 
 it does not require more than a wish to do right, 
 to be able to confer favours. Your reproof for 
 my discontented allusion to my worldly circum- 
 stance, is an obligation, the value of which I 
 hope I am not too dull to appreciate." 
 
 N 3
 
 274 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " A reproof !" said Hilary, with a look of 
 alarm and crimson cheeks ; " indeed I am not 
 so presumptuous ; I did not mean it." 
 
 " Then was the presumption mine, in suppos- 
 ing myself a sufficient object of interest to you 
 to incur it," replied he, smiling. " I would 
 rather be judged worthy of a reproof than of 
 contempt." 
 
 " I see you are laughing at me," replied 
 Hilary, smiling also ; " and it was stupid of me 
 to believe you serious, when you talked in that 
 way ; but you looked so grave, I thought you 
 really meant it." 
 
 Whether Captain Hepburn might not have 
 succeeded in convincing her that he did mean a 
 great deal, and that his looks as weU as his 
 words could be depended on, cannot be known, 
 as just then Mr. Duncan and Maurice came in 
 sight, and their conversation concluded as the 
 others joined them.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 275 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " In the hall, with sconces blazing, 
 Ladies waiting round her seat, 
 Clothed in smiles beneath the dais, 
 Sat the Duchess Marguerite." 
 
 THE CHUECH OF BJROU. 
 
 VICTORIA was fortunate in her arrangements. 
 The weather, that great ohject of interest, be- 
 cause of uncertainty, in our island, beginning 
 with a little hesitation, settled into brilliancy and 
 warmth ; and the sun, after coquetting in the 
 morning with the earth, through the clouds 
 which it had called up round itself, finally dis- 
 persed them all, and smiled out graciously on 
 the many anxious eyes turned towards it.
 
 . 
 276 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Pretty and elegant as Hilary looked, when 
 dressed for the fete, I do not believe that she 
 gained anything in Captain Hepburn's eyes by 
 her more elaborate toilette ; he would have pre- 
 ferred seeing her in her usual morning gown ; 
 although he blamed himself for selfishness, at 
 the thought which would have deprived her, if 
 possible, of so great a pleasure. However, he 
 had an unexpected consolation, which more than 
 made up for the pain of helping her into Mr. 
 Huyton's carriage, when he perceived that the 
 little bunch of double violets he had taken such 
 pains to gather from under an exceedingly wild 
 and overhanging sweet-briar bush, were now 
 carefully arranged in a knot of white riband, 
 and formed her only ornament as a bouquet de 
 corsage. Hilary herself had no very over- 
 powering expectations of pleasure from the party. 
 Her principal emotion was curiosity, to witness 
 a scene from the gay world, such as she little 
 expected to find transported into their forest life. 
 For herself, she was far too insignificant in her
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 277 
 
 own opinion, to form more than one of the many 
 spectators of the festivity ; she hoped that from 
 behind Mrs. Fielding's chair, she might look on 
 quietly, and see how her friends were admired 
 and courted ; Victoria, of course, would be first, 
 and most prominent; perhaps the two sisters 
 from the Abbey might come next in importance. 
 She hoped Sybil and Gwyneth would enjoy 
 themselves; she was sure Mr. Huyton would 
 make it pleasant for them if he could, but he 
 would probably be too busy to attend to them ; 
 but then, Maurice, too, would be there, and 
 would certainly be kind and careful ; and if Nest 
 was happy, and her sisters pleased, and if Captain 
 Hepburn sometimes came and conversed with 
 her, she should be very well off. 
 
 Such were her reflections as they drove along 
 to ' the Ferns ;' and so she settled her expecta- 
 tions of amusement for the day. 
 
 Whatever other cares might have engrossed 
 the master of the house, there was nothing to 
 prevent his being ready to assist Hilary and
 
 278 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 her sisters from the carriage. He shook hands 
 warmly with the young ladies, caught Nest in 
 his arms, and kissed her affectionately, declaring 
 it was an age since he had seen her, and then 
 drawing Miss Duncan's arm under his, walked 
 with her into the house, with an air of satisfac- 
 tion and appropriation, which, perhaps, it was as 
 well for Captain Hepburn's peace of mind that 
 he did not see. 
 
 In the hall were a profusion of bouquets, 
 prepared, as Charles told Hilary, that any lady 
 might take one who liked ; he picked out the 
 two prettiest for her sisters himself, and gave 
 them with pleasant speeches and open friendly 
 looks ; but in the ante- chamber he stopped 
 again, and taking from a vase standing there, 
 a most exquisitely-arranged bunch of flowers, 
 far more rare and beautiful than any of the 
 others, he gave them to Hilary himself, without 
 a word, but with a look which made her feel 
 as if the flowers had burnt her ringers, and
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 279 
 
 raised an intense desire to dash them immedi- 
 ately on the ground. 
 
 The hot blood mounted to her cheeks, and 
 her eyes were bent on the beautiful blossoms 
 with an intentness which seemed to indicate a 
 serious study of their botanical peculiarities ; 
 but she could not have told of what they con- 
 sisted, nor have distinguished the moss-roses 
 from the Peristerium, or the Deletria from the 
 orange blossoms she held in her hand. She 
 was thinking how much she preferred the scent 
 of double violets ; or, perhaps, comparing the 
 glance which had accompanied each gift, and 
 wondering why the one should recal the other, 
 or why, if their expression was so much alike, 
 the impression on her own mind should be so 
 different. He led them on, without speaking, to 
 the saloon, where Mrs. Fielding was seated, and 
 then, as that lady rose to welcome them, he 
 said : 
 
 " I need not beg you to be kind to them, dear
 
 280 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 aunt ; you know how much I trust to you, when 
 I place them under your care." 
 
 Hilary's cheeks were still glowing, as the elder 
 lady embraced her in foreign fashion, and ex- 
 pressed her extreme pleasure at seeing her 
 there. Her manner to her sisters was hardly 
 less cordial, and Nest received immediately the 
 permission most valued by a child of her age, 
 to run about and look at every thing before the 
 company came. 
 
 A minute after, Victoria came in, and attach- 
 ing Hilary immediately to herself, she said they 
 would go round and take a survey of the deco- 
 rations. Every thing was equally complete and 
 beautiful ; flowers and evergreens, scattered 
 about in profusion on the lawn, in the house, 
 and in the pavilion in the garden where the 
 feast was to be served. Victoria went about 
 examining every thing, and explaining her plans 
 to Hilary ; how the band was to be stationed on 
 such a terrace, and what music they were to play ; 
 how refreshments in any quantity, and of every
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 281 
 
 description, would be procurable in the pavilion, 
 between three and six o'clock, so that the most 
 dainty young lady, or most hungry young gen- 
 tleman, might be perfectly satisfied. She pointed 
 out the boats which had been brought from the 
 boat-houses, and were now floating invitingly by 
 the side of the sheet of water, the boatmen in 
 a picturesque costume, lounging by them ; she 
 showed the glen where she intended to produce 
 a grand effect in the evening by a bugle, for she 
 had discovered there a most enchanting echo ; 
 and with this she hoped to surprise the com- 
 pany, whilst they were looking on at a grand 
 exhibition of fire-works, to be displayed on the 
 edge of the lake; then they might conclude 
 with a magnificent supper in the banquetting 
 room, to be preceded, if they liked, by dancing, 
 in the house ; and singing from some profes- 
 sional performers, who had come from London 
 for the occasion. 
 
 " In short," said Victoria, " I hope to illus- 
 trate my name in the country, and be remem-
 
 282 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 bered with gratitude for a half year at 
 least. 
 
 She seemed in high spirits, and went about 
 singing to herself, as she pointed out one orna- 
 ment or another to Hilary 
 
 " Voi che sapete 
 Che cosa Clamor." 
 
 Hilary did not feel very gay herself; the sight 
 of Victoria had reminded her of Mr. Huy ton's 
 supposed engagement, and she was shocked and 
 ashamed of herself, to think that she had even 
 for a moment imagined he had implied any 
 degree of devotion to herself by his manner. 
 She was angry at what she believed her own 
 unpardonable vanity, and wondered what could 
 make her so absurd. Then she began to medi- 
 tate how it happened that she could have ima- 
 gined any resemblance between the look of 
 Charles and that of Captain Hepburn ; could 
 they really think alike? were they actuated by 
 the same feelings, and if so, was the latter also
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 283 
 
 engaged to another woman? why did such an 
 idea give her pain ? what right had she to turn 
 so sick at heart as she contemplated it ? what was 
 it to her ? Oh, shame, shame on herself, that 
 she could have allowed such fancies to take 
 possession of her heart ; that she should be 
 actually unhappy at the notion of his loving 
 another ; she, who had home duties which ought 
 to exclude such feelings ; she, who had so firmly 
 resolved to devote herself to her father and 
 sisters ; she, who had never heard from him a 
 word which could imply a similar preference for 
 herself; could she have been indulging in such 
 a weak and foolish partiality ? 
 
 She could hardly attend to what her friend 
 was saying ; she was incapable of giving a 
 rational answer, and her only wish was to be 
 allowed to sit down in some remote corner, and 
 hide her blushes and her emotion. Charles 
 Huyton joined them as they stood on the lawn, 
 to tell Victoria that some carriages were ap- 
 proaching down the avenue, and ask whether 
 she would not return to the house. 
 

 
 284 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Hilary was most thankful for this relief; 
 they went back to the saloon together, and 
 she gladly retreated into a nook behind Mrs. 
 Fielding's chair, where she hoped to be quiet 
 and unobserved amidst the expected crowds. 
 The room soon began to fill with company, 
 and after a while, Victoria, finding that al- 
 though inconveniently crowded, nobody seemed 
 to like to go out first, led the way herself 
 to the lawn, and the band commencing at 
 the same time to perform their part, every- 
 body was ready enough to follow her example ; 
 Hilary, who was still standing with her sisters 
 in a recess of one of the windows, was, how- 
 ever, roused from her engrossing thoughts by 
 the rapturous greeting of Dora Barham, 
 whose party coming rather late, did not 
 arrive until the first crowd had greatly dis- 
 persed. 
 
 Isabel, after speaking to the Duncans, and 
 other of her acquaintance, wanted to draw 
 Dora away, as their chaperon, Lady Mar-
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 285 
 
 garet, had proposed going out on the terrace. 
 But Dora would not leave Hilary, whom she 
 had not seen for more than a week ; so Isabel 
 and her party passed on, only calling her a wil- 
 ful child as they went. 
 
 They had not been gone many minutes, 
 when the one arrived for whom Dora's eyes 
 had been anxiously searching, and whose ap- 
 pearance brought hot, quick, pretty blushes 
 to her cheeks. It was impossible not to per- 
 ceive her emotion, although the reason and 
 object of it, amidst such a varying assembly, 
 might have been doubtful to those who had 
 no clue to guide them. Maurice and Cap- 
 tain Hepburn entered together, and advancing 
 at once towards Mrs. Fielding, to whom the 
 latter had to be introduced, of course, came 
 immediately afterwards to join the little group 
 in the window behind her. 
 
 Perhaps it would not have been easy to 
 have found a more complete contrast than 
 those young friends exhibited at that moment.
 
 286 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 Dora glowing, smiling, dimpling, with pleasure, 
 and displaying, with a sincerity which her 
 education had been intended to repress and 
 contradict, the emotions which the sight of 
 Maurice called out ; and Hilary, pale and 
 cold, struggling to conceal a degree of most 
 unusual excitement, under a calmness which 
 gave her an air almost approaching to haugh- 
 tiness. 
 
 Captain Hepburn came up with an eager- 
 ness not often shown by him, although not 
 to be compared with the glow of satisfac- 
 tion which Maurice exhibited when he saw 
 who was his sister's companion ; and at 
 the first tones of his voice, the first glance 
 of his eye, Hilary's coldness vanished, her 
 fears were removed, and all her happiness 
 restored to her ; for she felt that his look 
 and tone alike said openly that she was first 
 with him, and that each look and tone was 
 truth. 
 
 His conversation, after he had smilingly
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 28? 
 
 satisfied her anxiety as to her father's being 
 comfortably settled with Mrs. Paine by his 
 side, turned on the house and scenery. It 
 was grand and beautiful ; he had not been 
 prepared for a mansion so fine, or a park so 
 picturesque ; she had never described it as 
 so very charming ; did she not think it so ? 
 
 " Had she not ? she thought she had men- 
 tioned how much she admired it ; perhaps 
 he had forgotten ; descriptions of unknown 
 places seldom made much impression." 
 
 That depended, he affirmed, on who gave the 
 description ; he did not think he had forgotten 
 any thing she had ever said, any conversation 
 they had ever held. 
 
 Hilary looked down at the bunch of exotics 
 she held in her hand. They caught his 
 eye also, and he remarked on their beauty, 
 taking them from her hand to examine 
 them. 
 
 " They are all foreigners," said he, " or raised 
 in a hot-house !"
 
 288 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " Yes, 1 believe they came from Mr. Huy- 
 ton's hot-houses, which are always beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " And what is that, and that, and that ?" 
 questioned he, still holding the flowers. He 
 made her tell him the names of each blossom, 
 and commented on them and their pecu- 
 liarities. 
 
 He seemed very happy, and perhaps was 
 rendered still more so, by an observation of 
 Hilary's in reply to his remarks. As he re- 
 turned her flowers, he said, with a sort of sub- 
 dued smile, 
 
 "You should give me my violets back 
 again, for they are quite put to shame by these 
 grand specimens of floriculture. They did 
 very well at the Vicarage, but here they seem 
 out of place, and it would be a charity to 
 hide them in their native obscurity again." 
 
 " Then they are exactly like their wearer," 
 replied she, blushing a little, and smiling at
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 289 
 
 the same time, "and sympathy forbids my 
 throwing them away." 
 
 " I had no intention of doing that," was his 
 answer; "the modest beauty and fragrance 
 which may be eclipsed amidst a crowd of gayer 
 forms and brighter colours, are too dear to me, 
 to be in danger of neglect. Should you con- 
 sider it throwing them away then, to return 
 them to me ?" 
 
 Hilary hesitated. 
 
 " I do not wish to part with them," said 
 she ; and then afraid lest he should consider her 
 refusal to do so, as the result of a regard for 
 the donor, she added, " I love real English- 
 grown violets better than the rarest exotics." 
 
 " At least, do not throw them away your- 
 self," said he, earnestly ; " give them to me 
 when faded and withered ; they will still be 
 sweet." 
 
 Hilary was conscious that she had no inten- 
 tion whatever of throwing them away ; but 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 she did not wish to tell him so ; she 
 coloured very much, and did not answer. 
 
 " Then you will not bestow on me even a 
 faded bouquet?" said he, looking at her with 
 smiling eyes, and not seeming much distressed 
 at her conscious hesitation. 
 
 " If I give you two or three flowers now, 
 will you leave me the rest in peace?" said 
 she, playfully ; " but I must say, I think it un- 
 generous to wish to take back from me what 
 you bestowed unasked, unless you saw me neg- 
 lecting or undervaluing the gift." 
 
 " Unsolicited gifts are sometimes not much 
 prized," replied he, softly ; " might I natter my- 
 self that you fixed any value to all I have 
 bestowed on you " 
 
 " Miss Duncan," said Mr. Huyton, advancing 
 to the corner where the little group stood, 
 forming two distinct pairs, each too much en- 
 grossed to be conscious of aught beyond 
 them, "Victoria has sent me to conduct you
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 291 
 
 to her ; I am not to return without you, on any 
 account." 
 
 He offered his arm to Hilary, who started 
 and coloured exceedingly at the sudden in- 
 teruption to a sentence, which, from its tone and 
 manner, she was particularly anxious to hear 
 completed. 
 
 Mr. Huyton looked inquiringly at her com- 
 panion, and then rousing Maurice from the 
 whispered conversation with Dora, which had 
 quite engrossed him, desired to be presented to 
 his friend. 
 
 Hilary's hand was under his arm, as he 
 made polite speeches to Captain Hepburn, and 
 he looked so very much as if he thought she 
 belonged to him, that the other could not for- 
 bear noticing it ; and a doubt shot through his 
 mind, whether the conjectures of Maurice 
 relative to his engagement to Miss Fielding, 
 could have the slightest foundation. 
 
 It had been this very announcement which 
 had raised his spirits, and made him 
 
 o 2
 
 292 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 bolder in his own advances ; and the con- 
 tradiction of all his hopes which his fancy 
 drew from Charles Huyton's manner, was 
 
 such as immediately to depress and silence 
 
 * 
 him. 
 
 " Where are my sisters ?" enquired Hilary, 
 looking round, now first aware that they had 
 left her. 
 
 Charles told her they had gone out on the 
 lawn with Mrs. Fielding some time before had 
 she not missed them ? he hoped, then, she had 
 been pleasantly engaged. It was said in a 
 simple and friendly tone ; but the thought of 
 betraying such absence of mind, deepened the 
 colour in her cheeks, and she glanced appre- 
 hensively at Captain Hepburn, to see if he had 
 noticed it. 
 
 Perhaps he had, for his eyes met hers, and 
 she hastily looked away. 
 
 " Are you going, Hilary ?" said Dora, now- 
 perceiving the movement around her ; " oh !
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 293 
 
 don't leave me ! I have not the least notion 
 where my sister and Lady Margaret are." 
 
 " You must come with us then, Miss Bar- 
 ham," replied their host ; " for Miss Duncan 
 must go Victoria wants her." 
 
 " Must is for the king, Mr. Huyton," said 
 Dora, in pretended indignation. " Please, 
 Hilary, do not let him dictate to you ! I 
 would not submit to such assumption of 
 authority." 
 
 Maurice offered to conduct her to her party, 
 wherever they might be; and Dora, caring 
 more for present pleasure than prudence, 
 took his arm, and walked happily after her 
 friend. 
 
 Hilary did not mind the interruption so 
 much, when she found Captain Hepburn still 
 accompanied them ; she hoped for other oppor- 
 tunities of conversing with him. 
 
 Victoria was standing amidst the grandest 
 and most important of the guests, receiving 
 and returning courteous speeches, taking admi-
 
 294 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 ration as her due, and flattery as the air she 
 breathed ; but she welcomed her friend with a 
 smile, shook hands cordially with Maurice, and 
 advanced with alacrity to greet Captain Hep- 
 burn. Her attention to a party almost un- 
 known to the whole of the surrounding circle, 
 and the position Hilary occupied on Mr. Huy- 
 ton's arm, roused a good deal of observation, 
 and many eyes and eye-glasses were turned on 
 them, and not a few whispered commentaries 
 and enquiries passed round, as to who they 
 were. 
 
 Criticism and satire were, however, unable 
 to find anything for observation in the quiet 
 grace and refined simplicity of Miss Duncan, 
 who was much too unconscious of the observa- 
 tion drawn on her, and too little engrossed by 
 thoughts of herself, to be shy, although she 
 was too humble not to be retiring in such a 
 group. If she noticed that people looked to- 
 wards her, she naturally concluded that they 
 were attracted by the appearance of their host ;
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 295 
 
 and if she had been observing enough to dis- 
 cover traces of admiration, she would still have 
 attributed it to his claims, or those of Dora, 
 who was close to her. 
 
 " You belong to us, Hilary," said Victoria, 
 quite loud enough to be heard by those near, 
 although in a sort of stage- aside ; " you are 
 part of our home circle, and must not get away. 
 I cannot do without you." 
 
 She then turned and drew Captain Hepburn 
 into conversation; Maurice and Dora joined 
 his sisters who were a little behind, and al- 
 though Hilary would gladly have disengaged 
 herself from Charles, she could not do so im- 
 mediately, without an appearance of awkward- 
 ness, which she wished to avoid. 
 
 The grand luncheon, or breakfast, or what- 
 ever name the meal deserved, obliged him to 
 quit her, for there were Countesses' and Earls' 
 daughters present, whose claims could not be 
 disregarded ; and when they were all seated at 
 table, Hilary found herself, much to her relief,
 
 296 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 with her own family, and Captain Hepburn 
 beside her. They were, however, close to Vic- 
 toria, and, in spite of all the Lord Williams and 
 Honourable Johns who courted her notice, when 
 they rose, she still seemed inclined to pay more 
 attention to the naval captain than to any of 
 the other gentlemen. 
 
 He had been admiring her in a low tone to 
 Hilary, during the repast, and she, with a sort 
 of satisfaction for which she was afterwards 
 ashamed of herself, informed him she was 
 going to be married and settled in England, 
 in the autumn, but without adding her own 
 idea as to who her future husband was. Al- 
 though, therefore, Hilary would rather he should 
 have stayed near her, she was not much dis- 
 turbed at Victoria's preference for his society ; 
 and when she saw them slowly walking together, 
 gradually disengaging themselves from the com- 
 pany, and finally disappearing behind a thicket 
 of evergreens, she felt no jealousy, although 
 she did wish to join them. The company then
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 297 
 
 gradually scattered themselves about; some 
 went to the lake, and entered the boats ; some 
 strolled through the conservatories and forcing 
 houses ; some visited the stables ; some wan- 
 dered amidst the wild scenery of the park ; 
 there was a game of bowls going on between 
 some lively parties, whilst others were content 
 to remain still, and listen to the music. An air 
 of general content and satisfaction appeared ; 
 everybody was determined to be pleased, and 
 a great many actually were so. The party of 
 a wealthy and single man, would naturally be 
 popular ; and as he took great pains to go about 
 and diffuse his civilities amongst all the young 
 ladies, introduce those who wished it to each 
 other, recommend amusements, suggest variety 
 to the dull, and encourage every kind of hilarity, 
 there was no outward symptom of discontent 
 or ennui ; all was as lively and harmonious as 
 the music on the lawn. 
 - Victoria had carried off Captain Hepburn, to
 
 298 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 show him what she considered the most curious 
 part of the park. Such was her excuse. 
 
 This was an avenue of very ancient yews, 
 whose large stems and branche s intertwined 
 overhead, formed a gloomy aisle, which re- 
 minded one of a cathedral crypt. It led to 
 a circle of still older trees of the same species, 
 surrounding a mound of earth; the trunks 
 were hollowed by time, the over-hanging boughs 
 were, many of them, blanched and bare, and 
 sprung out like huge skeleton arms, which 
 produced a ghastly spectral effect ; beyond, 
 and enclosing them, was a double row of gigan- 
 tic oaks, just now in all the glory of young 
 spring foliage ; but even their bright green was 
 unable to give a liveliness to a scene in which 
 such heavy and dark hues predominated. The 
 ground beneath their feet was dry and brown, 
 a thick carpet of the needle-shaped leaves of 
 the yews making it soft and slippery ; no green 
 plant could spring under their poisonous shade ; 
 there was neither leaf nor flower to be seen ;
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 299 
 
 all was gloomy and sombre as a neglected 
 churchyard. 
 
 " Now, is not this wild and strange, Captain 
 Hepburn ?" said the young lady. " I brought 
 you here alone, that you might enjoy the full 
 effect of contrast; we left light and music, 
 company and mirth here we have gloom and 
 silence, solitude and sombre thoughts. Tell me, 
 do you think this is the work of those ancient 
 Druids, who ruled your country before history 
 begins, or do you suppose the Saxons, my 
 countrymen, worshipped here their Thor and 
 Eriga?" 
 
 " It is very strange and wild, truly, Miss 
 Fielding ; do you delight in such violent con- 
 trasts ? Old as they are, however, I think 
 these trees are hardly old enough to be planted 
 by Druid hands : remember the lengthened 
 period nineteen hundred years at least." 
 
 "Horrid, to destroy my pleasant illusions; 
 I had hoped to awe you into immediate acqui- 
 escence with my fancies."
 
 300 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 ' And pass for Friga with the golden hair, 
 yourself, for you are more like a Saxon than 
 a British divinity of old ?" said he, with smiling 
 gallantry. 
 
 " I am Saxon on my mother's side," replied 
 she, " as you doubtless know ; so is my cousin 
 Charles ; but I believe we both intend to turn 
 English in our habits and homes for the 
 future." 
 
 She coloured a little as she said this, and, 
 after a moment's pause, she added, 
 
 " Do you know the county of Cheshire, Cap- 
 tain Hepburn?" 
 
 "Not at all do you?" 
 
 "Not yet, but I expect hereafter to get 
 pretty well acquainted with it. It is there my 
 future home is situated, and, of course, the 
 place excites some curiosity in my mind." 
 
 " Your future home !" repeated he, a little 
 surprised. 
 
 "Yes, did you not know? I thought Hilary 
 might have told you," replied she.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 301 
 
 " I had heard that Miss Fielding had done 
 one of my countrymen the honour of pro- 
 mising to take his name, and adopt his na- 
 tion !" he answered, in a sort of tone which, how- 
 ever, implied a dissatisfied or uncertain mind. 
 
 "Then why are you surprised at my men- 
 tioning it? perhaps that shocks British pre- 
 judices ; but with us a betrothal is not a 
 secret ! Was that what astonished you ?" 
 
 " No, to say the truth, it was at discover- 
 ing a mistake of mine. I had fancied ' the 
 Ferns' had been the future home which you 
 had selected," was his reply. 
 
 " Oh !" said Victoria, colouring and laugh- 
 ing, " that was your guess, was it ? I wonder 
 at your want of penetration. If this had been 
 my future home, I should not have been 
 visiting here now, and you must have seen 
 oh, by the way, Charles was not here before, 
 so you have not seen anything. But Hilary 
 did not tell you that, did she?"
 
 302 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 " Miss Duncan mentioned no name to me," 
 said he ; " she only informed me to-day, that 
 you were to be united to a countryman of 
 ours." 
 
 " Oh, Hilary, of all people, has reason to 
 know better; for though I never mentioned 
 Mr. Legh by name to her, she knew Charles 
 was not my futur. Perhaps if you had seen 
 them together, you would have known it 
 too." 
 
 " Seen who together ?" asked Captain Hep- 
 burn, with a countenance of extreme self-com- 
 mand, which baffled, by its quietness, the 
 scrutiny of Victoria's bright eyes. 
 
 " My cousin and Miss Duncan ! She will 
 not engage herself at present, because of her 
 father and sisters ; she devotes herself to them ; 
 but that kind of thing will not last for ever ; 
 and though one has no right to speculate on a 
 young lady's feelings, in spite of her saying no, 
 I suspect Charles's constancy is making way 
 with her, and will meet with its reward in
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 303 
 
 time. Meantime, I say nothing to her on the 
 topic." 
 
 Captain Hepburn was a brave man, one who 
 had met peril unflinchingly, and dared death in 
 a good cause. His nerves were under perfect 
 control, and one reason, probably, of the influ- 
 ence he exercised over those about him, was 
 that he had learnt, before commanding others, 
 to command himself. Whatever his feelings 
 were, on hearing this declaration from his com- 
 panion, he betrayed none of them ; and after a 
 little pause, he asked, in a quiet tone, devoid of 
 all trace of emotion, 
 
 " Do you mean that Miss Duncan refused 
 your cousin, when he offered his hand ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but that was nearly a year ago, and 
 there has been, I suspect and hope, a gradual 
 change working since that. She was very 
 young then, and had never thought of marry- 
 ing, and her father's blindness was just ascer- 
 tained, and was a great shock to her, so she 
 thought she should never leave him, and would
 
 304 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 not listen to Charles ; but he is very persevering 
 and patient, quite a model of a lover ; and as 
 her sisters get old enough to take her place, 
 and other feelings for other people arise, she 
 will retract. As to my cousin, he, I am sure, 
 will never change." 
 
 Victoria did not intend to do any harm by 
 what she had said : she really believed, that hi 
 promoting a union between her cousin and 
 Hilary, she was acting as kindly by one as the 
 other, and her assertions were strictly true. 
 She thought he was gaining ground, and fan- 
 cied that if she could only keep away rivals, his 
 interests would be safe ; time and constancy, a 
 better knowledge of his value, and a more tho- 
 rough appreciation of the honour his love did 
 its object, would alter her opinions, and change 
 her tone. 
 
 His value she hoped to assist in demonstrat- 
 ing, by showing him to Hilary as the centre of 
 attraction, the admired, courted, popular, master 
 of ' the Ferns ;' and the distinction which his
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 305 
 
 notice conferred on her in that party, would 
 perhaps induce her to consider that it would be 
 worth while to become his wife. It was very 
 natural that she should imagine this ; she 
 judged, as all must do, by her own feelings, and 
 set before her friend the temptations which 
 would have had most influence with herself. 
 
 She had, on first arriving at ' the Ferns,' 
 been a little vexed that she could not awaken 
 any visible partiality in her cousin's mind ; for 
 though betrothed, she had a strong taste for 
 admiration and flattery ; but she had soon pene- 
 trated his secret, then gained his confidence, 
 and warmly taken up his cause. The appear- 
 ance of Captain Hepburn, his manner to Hilary, 
 and her glances at him, had alarmed her ; and 
 desirous to prevent her young friend from 
 throwing away what she conceived to be the 
 substance, in grasping at a shadow, she deter- 
 mined to give him such information on the 
 subject, as would probably occasion him to draw 
 back, and leave the ground open.
 
 306 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 She did not know her companion's character, 
 and was quite mistaken in Hilary's also ; she 
 was, moreover, too late in her interference to do 
 any good. Captain Hepburn felt, as he heard 
 Victoria's suggestions, that he loved Hilary, and 
 he believed that he had made his partiality evi- 
 dent to her and others. To draw back, there- 
 fore, because he had a rival, was not to be 
 thought of; it would compromise his own cha- 
 racter for truth and honour. She might refuse 
 him ; of course, if she preferred Charles Huy- 
 ton, she would ; and he had as little taste for a 
 refusal as any other man in England ; but his 
 character required that he should take his 
 chance ; and his feelings of honour, nay, his 
 principles of integrity, were stronger than his 
 vanity and self-love. He had given her reason 
 to believe in his preference, he must give her 
 the opportunity of answering it, not so much 
 for her own sake, for she might not care, but 
 for his ! Then came fancy, whispering, would 
 she not care ? was there no soft glance in her
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 30 7 
 
 ingenuous eyes, no thrilling tone in her voice, 
 which might give him grounds of hope ? He 
 was poor, compared to his rival; but she did 
 not value riches ; he thought, if she would not 
 accept a man because he had them, neither 
 would she refuse another because he had them 
 not. His profession would probably soon call 
 him away, and perhaps he could not offer her 
 immediate marriage ; but then she, herself, 
 considered that incompatible with her family 
 bonds ; when these were lighter, would she not 
 consent to become his ? It seemed as if the 
 very circumstances which, in most cases, would 
 have been evils and draw-backs, were now ad- 
 vantages to support his claim. His own free- 
 dom from family ties, his having no settled 
 home, no landed property which bound him to 
 one spot ; all these would be no objection in 
 her case, whereas the reverse might have 
 formed impediments to his wishes. 
 
 It did not take very long to think all these 
 thoughts ; and the consequence of these ideas,
 
 308 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 was, that instead of exhibiting depression and 
 uneasiness at Victoria's observations, he showed 
 a calm face and a self-possessed manner, which 
 induced her to believe he, at least, was indiffer- 
 ent on the subject. 
 
 " Where does this path lead ?" enquired he, 
 ascending a slope on one side of the circle of 
 yews, and looking round him. 
 
 " We are just above the lake, and I thought 
 of going down that way," replied Victoria. 
 " Come along this winding path, and we shall 
 reach some of the company. I hear voices 
 down below. You are a sailor, will you not 
 take me out in a boat for a sail ? we will ask 
 Hilary, or one or two other ladies, to go with 
 us." 
 
 " I am afraid you will think me a very un- 
 gallant and disobliging sailor, Miss Fielding ; 
 but I must say, of all things in the world, I 
 dread a water-party of ladies, and never, if I can 
 help it, embark in one." 
 
 " Ah ! it has no charms for you, no novelty.
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 309 
 
 ' Too much water hast thou,' as the Queen says 
 to Ophelia. I daresay it is stupid." 
 
 " I may be stupid, perhaps, but I think it 
 dangerous, and willingly avoid the responsibility. 
 So few men understand how to sail a boat. 
 Unless you had heard as much as I have, you 
 could not imagine how often they upset ; and 
 when women are on board, what can be the 
 consequence but mischief?" 
 
 " Some people are not so cautious, for I see 
 a boat on the lake ; and, if I do not mistake, 
 Maurice Duncan and the two Barhams are in 
 it." 
 
 " Yes ; but they are only sculling along, and 
 a girl might do that. I really do not suppose 
 we could sail if we tried ; there is scarcely a 
 breath of wind, or only a puff at intervals." 
 
 The path down which they were descending 
 was so screened by shrubs, that although they 
 could catch a glimpse of the lake and its borders 
 here and there, they were unseen themselves by 
 those below.
 
 310 THE OLD VICARAGE. 
 
 There were a good many people on the bank ; 
 at a little distance, a group of children were 
 merrily dancing to a violin, which one of the 
 woodmen had produced ; near them were some 
 maqjmas and elder sisters, looking on, and ad- 
 miring. Victoria was close enough to recognise 
 some individuals ; they saw Charles Huyton, 
 encouraging the frolics of the children ; Mrs. 
 Fielding and Hilary were standing under a tree 
 at the edge of the lake, where a steep bank 
 formed a promontory above the water, appa- 
 rently watching Maurice's boat, which was 
 slowly approaching them. 
 
 When they had descended a few yards far- 
 ther, they entirely lost sight of the loiterers by 
 the lake, and, although so near as to catch 
 voices and laughter, were unable to discover 
 what was passing. They heard a child's voice 
 cry, "Hilary! Hilary!" and recognised the 
 merry tones of little Nest ; then some one, in 
 an accent of alarm, cried, "Take care!" and 
 then there was a shriek, an exclamation of
 
 THE OLD VICARAGE. 311 
 
 terror from many voices, a plunge in the water, 
 and a silence. 
 
 Captain Hepburn sprang forwards, and in a 
 moment had cleared the underwood, and ob- 
 tained sight of the bank and the water. Mrs. 
 Fielding stood where she had been, and many 
 had rushed to the water's edge, and were gazing 
 in. Hilary and Nest were both out of sight. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.

 
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