CHAPTERIX.“In the hall, with sconces blazing,Ladies waiting round her seat,Clothed in smiles beneath the dais,Sat the Duchess Marguerite.”The Church of Beou.Victoria was fortunate in her arrangements. The weather, that great object of interest, because 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 dispersed them all, and smiled out graciously on the many anxious eyes turned toward it.Pretty and elegant as Hilary looked when dressed for the fête, I do not believe that she gained any thing in Captain Hepburn’s eyes by her more elaborate toilette; he would have preferred 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 ribbon, and formed her only ornament as abouquet de corsage. Hilary herself had no very overpowering 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 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 expectations 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 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 satisfaction 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 fingers, and raised an intense desire to dash them immediately on the ground.The hot blood mounted to her cheeks, and her eyes were bent on the beautiful blossoms with an intentness which seemedto indicate a serious study of their botanical peculiarities; but she could not have told of what they consisted, 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 recall 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 aunt; you know how much I trust to you when I place them under your care.”Hilary’s cheeks were still glowing, as the elderly lady embraced her in foreign fashion, and expressed 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 attaching Hilary immediately to herself, she said they would go round and take a survey of the decorations. 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 description, would be procurable in the pavilion, between three and six o’clock, so that the most dainty young lady, or most hungry young gentleman 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 toproduce 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 company while 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 banqueting-room, to be preceded, if they liked, by dancing, in the house; and singing from some professional performers, who had come from London for the occasion.“In short,” said Victoria, “I hope to illustrate my name in the country, and be remembered with gratitude for a half year at least.”She seemed in high spirits, and went about singing to herself, as she pointed out one ornament or another toHilary—“Voi che sapeteChe cosa él’ amor.”Hilary did not feel very glad herself; for the sight of Victoria had reminded her of Mr. Huyton’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 meditate how it happened that she could have imagined 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 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 whichcould 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 approaching down the avenue, and ask her whether she would not return to the house.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 amid the expected crowds. The room soon began to fill with company, and after a while, Victoria, finding that although 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, however, 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 dispersed.Isabel, after speaking to the Duncans, and other of her acquaintance, wanted to draw Dora away, as their chaperon, Lady Margaret, 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 willful 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 appearance brought hot, quick, pretty blushes to her cheeks. It was impossible not to perceive her emotion, although the reason and object of it, amid such a varying assembly, might have been doubtful to those who had no clew to guide them. Maurice and Captain Hepburn entered together, and advancing at once toward Mrs. Fielding, to whom the latter had to beintroduced, of course, came immediately afterward 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. 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 haughtiness.Captain Hepburn came up with an eagerness not often shown by him, although not to be compared with the glow of satisfaction 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 was restored to her; for she felt that his look and tone said openly alike that she wasfirstwith him, and that each look and tone was truth.His conversation, after he had smilingly 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 mentioned 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!”“Yes, I believe they came from Mr. Huyton’s hot-houses, which are always beautiful.”“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 peculiarities.He seemed very happy, and perhaps was rendered still more so, by an observation of Hilary’s in reply to his remarks. As he returned her flowers, he said, with a sort of subdued 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 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 amid a crowd of gayer forms and brighter colors, are too dear to me, to be in danger of neglect. Should you consider 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 yourself,” said he, earnestly; “give them to me when faded and withered; they will still be sweet.”Hilary was conscious that she had no intention whatever of throwing them away; but she did not wish to tell him so; she colored 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, Ithink it ungenerous to wish to take back from me what you bestowed unasked, unless you saw me neglecting or undervaluing the gift.”“Unsolicited gifts are sometimes not much prized,” replied he, softly; “might I flatter myself that you fixed any value toallI 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 engrossed to be conscious of aught beyond them, “Victoria has sent me to conduct you to her; I am not to return without you, on any account.”He offered his arm to Hilary, who started and colored exceedingly at the sudden interruption to a sentence, which from its tone and manner, she was particularly anxious to hear completed.Mr. Huyton looked inquiringly at her companion, 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 forbear 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 bolder in his own advances; and the contradiction 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?” inquired 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 absenceof mind, deepened the color in her cheeks, and she glanced apprehensively 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! don’t leave me! I have not the least notion where my sister and Lady Margaret are.”“You must come with us then, Miss Barham,” replied their host; “for Miss Duncan must go—Victoria wants her.”“Mustis 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 the 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 opportunities of conversing with him.Victoria was standing amid the grandest and most important of the guests, receiving and returning courteous speeches, taking admiration 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 Hepburn. Her attention to a party almost unknown to the whole of the surrounding circle, and the position Hilary occupied on Mr. Huyton’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 inquiries passed round, as to who they were.Criticism and satire were, however, unable to find any thing for observation in the quiet grace and refined simplicity of Miss Duncan, who was much too unconscious of the observation 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 toward her,she naturally concluded that they were attracted by the appearance of their host; and if she had been observing enough to discover 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 ourhomecircle, and must not get away. I can not do without you.”She then turned and drew Captain Hepburn into conversation; Maurice and Dora joined his sisters who were a little behind, and although Hilary would gladly have disengaged herself from Charles, she could not do so immediately, without an appearance of awkwardness, which she wished to avoid.The grand luncheon, or breakfast, or whatever 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, with her own family, and Captain Hepburn beside her. They were, however, close to Victoria, and, in spite of all the Lord Williams and Honorable 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 afterward 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. Although, therefore, Hilary would rather he should have stayed near her, she was not much disturbed at Victoria’s preference for his society; and when she saw them slowly walking together, gradually disengaging themselves from the company, and finally disappearing behind a thicket of evergreens, she felt no jealousy, although she did wish to join them. The company then gradually scattered themselves about; some went to the lake, and entered the boats; some strolled through the conservatoriesand forcing-houses; some visited the stables; some wandered amid the wild scenery of the park; there was a game of bowls going on between some lively parties, while others were content to remain still and listen to the music. An air of general content and satisfaction appeared; every body 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 among 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 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 branches, intertwined over head, formed a gloomy aisle, which reminded 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 inclosing them, was a double row of gigantic 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; all was gloomy and somber as a neglected church-yard.“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 andsomber 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, worshiped here their Thor and Friga?”“It is very strange and wild, truly, Miss Fielding; do you delight in such violent contrasts? 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 acquiescence with my fancies.”“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 colored a little as she said this, and, after a moment’s pause, sheadded—“Do you know the county of Cheshire, Captain 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.“I had heard that Miss Fielding had done one of my countrymen the honor of promising to take his name and adopt his nation!” he answered, in a sort of tone which, however, implied a dissatisfied or uncertain mind.“Then why are you surprised at my mentioning it? perhaps that shocks British prejudices; but with us a betrothal is not a secret! Was that what astonished you?”“No, to say the truth, it was at discovering a mistake ofmine. I had fancied ‘the Ferns’ had been the future home which you had selected,” was his reply.“Oh!” said Victoria, coloring and laughing, “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 havenotseen any thing. But Hilary did not tell you that, did she?”“Miss Duncan mentioned no names 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 myfutur. Perhaps if you had seen them together, you would have known it too.”“Seen who together?” asked Captain Hepburn, with a countenance of extreme self-command, 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 forever; and though one has no right to speculate on a young lady’s feelings, in spite of her sayingno, I suspect Charles’s constancy is making way with her, and will meet with its reward in 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 influence he exercised over those about him, was that he had learned, before commanding others, to command himself. Whatever his feelings were on hearing this declaration from his companion, 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, Isuspect and hope, a gradual change working since that. She was very young then, and had never thought of marrying, and her father’s blindness was just ascertained, and was a great shock to her, so she thought she should never leave him, and would 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, in 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 fancied 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 thorough appreciation of the honor his love did its object, would alter her opinions, and change her tone.His value she hoped to assist in demonstrating by showing him to Hilary as the center of attraction, the admired, courted, popular master of “the Ferns;” and the distinction which his 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 penetrated his secret, then gained his confidence, and warmly taken up his cause. The appearance 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 determined to give himsuch information on the subject as would probably occasion him to draw back, and leave the ground open.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 evident to her and others. To draw back, therefore, because he had a rival was not to be thought of; it would compromise his own character for truth and honor. She might refuse him; of course, if she preferred Charles Huyton, 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 honor, 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 ingenuous eyes, no thrilling tone in her voice, which might give him ground 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 drawbacks, were now advantages to support his claim. His own freedom 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 was, that, instead of exhibiting depression and uneasiness at Victoria’s observations, he showeda calm face and a self-possessed manner, which induced her to believe he, at least, was indifferent on the subject.“Where does this path lead?” inquired 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 ungallant 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. ‘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.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 mammas and elder sisters, looking on, and admiring.Victoria was close enough to recognize 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, apparently watching Maurice’s boat, which was slowly approaching them.When they had descended a few yards further, 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 recognized 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 terror from many voices, a plunge in the water, and a silence.Captain Hepburn sprang forward, and in a moment had cleared the underwood, and obtained 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.
“In the hall, with sconces blazing,Ladies waiting round her seat,Clothed in smiles beneath the dais,Sat the Duchess Marguerite.”The Church of Beou.
“In the hall, with sconces blazing,Ladies waiting round her seat,Clothed in smiles beneath the dais,Sat the Duchess Marguerite.”The Church of Beou.
“In the hall, with sconces blazing,
Ladies waiting round her seat,
Clothed in smiles beneath the dais,
Sat the Duchess Marguerite.”
The Church of Beou.
Victoria was fortunate in her arrangements. The weather, that great object of interest, because 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 dispersed them all, and smiled out graciously on the many anxious eyes turned toward it.
Pretty and elegant as Hilary looked when dressed for the fête, I do not believe that she gained any thing in Captain Hepburn’s eyes by her more elaborate toilette; he would have preferred 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 ribbon, and formed her only ornament as abouquet de corsage. Hilary herself had no very overpowering 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 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 expectations 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 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 satisfaction 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 fingers, and raised an intense desire to dash them immediately on the ground.
The hot blood mounted to her cheeks, and her eyes were bent on the beautiful blossoms with an intentness which seemedto indicate a serious study of their botanical peculiarities; but she could not have told of what they consisted, 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 recall 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 aunt; you know how much I trust to you when I place them under your care.”
Hilary’s cheeks were still glowing, as the elderly lady embraced her in foreign fashion, and expressed 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 attaching Hilary immediately to herself, she said they would go round and take a survey of the decorations. 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 description, would be procurable in the pavilion, between three and six o’clock, so that the most dainty young lady, or most hungry young gentleman 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 toproduce 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 company while 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 banqueting-room, to be preceded, if they liked, by dancing, in the house; and singing from some professional performers, who had come from London for the occasion.
“In short,” said Victoria, “I hope to illustrate my name in the country, and be remembered with gratitude for a half year at least.”
She seemed in high spirits, and went about singing to herself, as she pointed out one ornament or another toHilary—
“Voi che sapeteChe cosa él’ amor.”
“Voi che sapeteChe cosa él’ amor.”
“Voi che sapete
Che cosa él’ amor.”
Hilary did not feel very glad herself; for the sight of Victoria had reminded her of Mr. Huyton’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 meditate how it happened that she could have imagined 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 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 whichcould 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 approaching down the avenue, and ask her whether she would not return to the house.
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 amid the expected crowds. The room soon began to fill with company, and after a while, Victoria, finding that although 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, however, 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 dispersed.
Isabel, after speaking to the Duncans, and other of her acquaintance, wanted to draw Dora away, as their chaperon, Lady Margaret, 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 willful 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 appearance brought hot, quick, pretty blushes to her cheeks. It was impossible not to perceive her emotion, although the reason and object of it, amid such a varying assembly, might have been doubtful to those who had no clew to guide them. Maurice and Captain Hepburn entered together, and advancing at once toward Mrs. Fielding, to whom the latter had to beintroduced, of course, came immediately afterward 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. 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 haughtiness.
Captain Hepburn came up with an eagerness not often shown by him, although not to be compared with the glow of satisfaction 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 was restored to her; for she felt that his look and tone said openly alike that she wasfirstwith him, and that each look and tone was truth.
His conversation, after he had smilingly 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 mentioned 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!”
“Yes, I believe they came from Mr. Huyton’s hot-houses, which are always beautiful.”
“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 peculiarities.
He seemed very happy, and perhaps was rendered still more so, by an observation of Hilary’s in reply to his remarks. As he returned her flowers, he said, with a sort of subdued 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 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 amid a crowd of gayer forms and brighter colors, are too dear to me, to be in danger of neglect. Should you consider 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 yourself,” said he, earnestly; “give them to me when faded and withered; they will still be sweet.”
Hilary was conscious that she had no intention whatever of throwing them away; but she did not wish to tell him so; she colored 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, Ithink it ungenerous to wish to take back from me what you bestowed unasked, unless you saw me neglecting or undervaluing the gift.”
“Unsolicited gifts are sometimes not much prized,” replied he, softly; “might I flatter myself that you fixed any value toallI 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 engrossed to be conscious of aught beyond them, “Victoria has sent me to conduct you to her; I am not to return without you, on any account.”
He offered his arm to Hilary, who started and colored exceedingly at the sudden interruption to a sentence, which from its tone and manner, she was particularly anxious to hear completed.
Mr. Huyton looked inquiringly at her companion, 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 forbear 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 bolder in his own advances; and the contradiction 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?” inquired 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 absenceof mind, deepened the color in her cheeks, and she glanced apprehensively 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! don’t leave me! I have not the least notion where my sister and Lady Margaret are.”
“You must come with us then, Miss Barham,” replied their host; “for Miss Duncan must go—Victoria wants her.”
“Mustis 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 the 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 opportunities of conversing with him.
Victoria was standing amid the grandest and most important of the guests, receiving and returning courteous speeches, taking admiration 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 Hepburn. Her attention to a party almost unknown to the whole of the surrounding circle, and the position Hilary occupied on Mr. Huyton’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 inquiries passed round, as to who they were.
Criticism and satire were, however, unable to find any thing for observation in the quiet grace and refined simplicity of Miss Duncan, who was much too unconscious of the observation 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 toward her,she naturally concluded that they were attracted by the appearance of their host; and if she had been observing enough to discover 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 ourhomecircle, and must not get away. I can not do without you.”
She then turned and drew Captain Hepburn into conversation; Maurice and Dora joined his sisters who were a little behind, and although Hilary would gladly have disengaged herself from Charles, she could not do so immediately, without an appearance of awkwardness, which she wished to avoid.
The grand luncheon, or breakfast, or whatever 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, with her own family, and Captain Hepburn beside her. They were, however, close to Victoria, and, in spite of all the Lord Williams and Honorable 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 afterward 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. Although, therefore, Hilary would rather he should have stayed near her, she was not much disturbed at Victoria’s preference for his society; and when she saw them slowly walking together, gradually disengaging themselves from the company, and finally disappearing behind a thicket of evergreens, she felt no jealousy, although she did wish to join them. The company then gradually scattered themselves about; some went to the lake, and entered the boats; some strolled through the conservatoriesand forcing-houses; some visited the stables; some wandered amid the wild scenery of the park; there was a game of bowls going on between some lively parties, while others were content to remain still and listen to the music. An air of general content and satisfaction appeared; every body 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 among 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 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 branches, intertwined over head, formed a gloomy aisle, which reminded 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 inclosing them, was a double row of gigantic 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; all was gloomy and somber as a neglected church-yard.
“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 andsomber 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, worshiped here their Thor and Friga?”
“It is very strange and wild, truly, Miss Fielding; do you delight in such violent contrasts? 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 acquiescence with my fancies.”
“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 colored a little as she said this, and, after a moment’s pause, sheadded—
“Do you know the county of Cheshire, Captain 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.
“I had heard that Miss Fielding had done one of my countrymen the honor of promising to take his name and adopt his nation!” he answered, in a sort of tone which, however, implied a dissatisfied or uncertain mind.
“Then why are you surprised at my mentioning it? perhaps that shocks British prejudices; but with us a betrothal is not a secret! Was that what astonished you?”
“No, to say the truth, it was at discovering a mistake ofmine. I had fancied ‘the Ferns’ had been the future home which you had selected,” was his reply.
“Oh!” said Victoria, coloring and laughing, “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 havenotseen any thing. But Hilary did not tell you that, did she?”
“Miss Duncan mentioned no names 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 myfutur. Perhaps if you had seen them together, you would have known it too.”
“Seen who together?” asked Captain Hepburn, with a countenance of extreme self-command, 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 forever; and though one has no right to speculate on a young lady’s feelings, in spite of her sayingno, I suspect Charles’s constancy is making way with her, and will meet with its reward in 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 influence he exercised over those about him, was that he had learned, before commanding others, to command himself. Whatever his feelings were on hearing this declaration from his companion, 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, Isuspect and hope, a gradual change working since that. She was very young then, and had never thought of marrying, and her father’s blindness was just ascertained, and was a great shock to her, so she thought she should never leave him, and would 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, in 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 fancied 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 thorough appreciation of the honor his love did its object, would alter her opinions, and change her tone.
His value she hoped to assist in demonstrating by showing him to Hilary as the center of attraction, the admired, courted, popular master of “the Ferns;” and the distinction which his 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 penetrated his secret, then gained his confidence, and warmly taken up his cause. The appearance 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 determined to give himsuch information on the subject as would probably occasion him to draw back, and leave the ground open.
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 evident to her and others. To draw back, therefore, because he had a rival was not to be thought of; it would compromise his own character for truth and honor. She might refuse him; of course, if she preferred Charles Huyton, 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 honor, 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 ingenuous eyes, no thrilling tone in her voice, which might give him ground 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 drawbacks, were now advantages to support his claim. His own freedom 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 was, that, instead of exhibiting depression and uneasiness at Victoria’s observations, he showeda calm face and a self-possessed manner, which induced her to believe he, at least, was indifferent on the subject.
“Where does this path lead?” inquired 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 ungallant 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. ‘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.
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 mammas and elder sisters, looking on, and admiring.Victoria was close enough to recognize 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, apparently watching Maurice’s boat, which was slowly approaching them.
When they had descended a few yards further, 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 recognized 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 terror from many voices, a plunge in the water, and a silence.
Captain Hepburn sprang forward, and in a moment had cleared the underwood, and obtained 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.