It was necessary, therefore, to have a very painful interview with Hilda. Poor Sir Philip recoiled at the prospect; but it was not to be avoided; and at last he sent for her, and having taken her by both hands and kissed her, he opened his mouth to begin. But she suddenly and quietly laid her hand upon his lips. 'I know what you are going to say, father, and you need not say it.' 'You have given him up, then? That's my brave girl!' 'I have not given him up. He is the same to me as ever, and I to him. I feel that he is true. I should know if he was not. You need not be uneasy or angry, dear father; and above all you need not try to persuade me that this is not so. He will come back; and we shall be happier even than we thought of being before.' 'Has my mother spoken?' demanded Sir Philip, after a long pause. 'She believes as I do: but it is not from her belief that I believe; it is from myself.' 'I shall not contradict you, my daughter,' said Sir Philip, after another silence. 'I will even say that it is possible--as everything is possible--that you may be right. But one thing I must ask of you. How long do you mean to hope? What day will you call the last?' 'The last day of the month to be sure, father. That is the day on which he will come.' 'What makes you say that, my daughter?' 'Because that is the day on which he promised to come!' returned Hilda with an involuntary smile. 'Do you think Harold would not keep his promise?' The last day of the month came, and Hilda appeared with her best frock on, and with fresh flowers in her hair. 'He will be here at dinner,' she said; and she made her arrangements accordingly, setting a chair for him, and decorating that and his plate with leaves and blossoms. Sir Philip looked on with a heavy heart; but he held his peace. The faith of his child appalled him, but he dared not share it, and the moment was not yet come to repudiate it. His agitation was so great that he strove in vain to conceal it: but Hilda, though her colour was high and her eyes bright, was as calm and confident as if her lover had arrived the day before. Dinner time drew near; and, shortly before the hour struck, Harold appeared at the door as if by magic. Sir Philip started up from his chair with a great hoarse shout, and remained stationary. Hilda came up to her lover, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him heartily! As for Harold, he looked haggard and grim, and he made scarce a show of returning Hilda's caress. 'Come, now, sit down,' she said, in the most natural and sensible way in the world, 'and tell us why you have not written, and what all this trouble has been about!'