“Certainly,” said the Bishop, with decision. “And I must tell you, Hilary, that his offer is not to be lightly refused. I cannot approve of any betrothal between you and Gabriel Harford, though very naturally some idle thoughts of love may have arisen from your being so much together.” Hilary’s breath came fast. There was a choking feeling in her throat, nothing but pride kept her from tears--pride and a determination that, cost what it might, she would never yield. “My lord,” she said, quietly; “I will certainly see Mr. Geers if it is your wish, but do not lead him to think that I shall accept his offer--that were impossible.” “I very much wish you to accept the offer, but of course, I will not compel you, my child,” said the Bishop. “As to this other offer, however, I altogether disapprove of the notion, and I beg that you will discontinue all intercourse with Gabriel Harford.” “My lord, he is the man my father wished me to marry,” said Hilary. “Does that count for nothing? He is the man to whom I have given my heart, does that weigh nought with you?” There was a break in her voice, and a quivering of her lip as she spoke. The Bishop took her hand caressingly. “Child, you are young--you are young,” he said, tenderly. “’Tis an easy matter to let the heart go to the first handsome face and the first flattering tongue that appeals to you. Believe me you have not yet seen enough of the world to judge. Gabriel Harford has a winsome way with him, but he is as yet wholly unformed, you cannot tell what he will grow into.” “I love him--and can afford to trust the future,” said the girl, confidently. The old Bishop shook his head sadly; nevertheless, the depth and reality of Hilary’s love had touched his heart. “Let us leave it in this way,” he said. “See no more of the young man while he remains in Hereford. Give Mr. Geers a fair and unprejudiced hearing, and let us see what time will bring forth.” He rose to take leave of them, pausing at the door to counsel Mrs. Unett to send a letter without delay to Dr. Harford, acquainting him with their decision. “It is better so, my child,” said the mother, when once more the two were by themselves. “Your grandfather is no doubt right. Gabriel is very young, and you cannot tell what manner of man he will be. I must write to his father. To do that does not rob you of all hope, it merely means that we must have good proof of Gabriel’s constancy before making promises as to the future.” “We can wait,” said Hilary, firmly. But then she remembered the rapture of the morning, and the confident tone of Gabriel’s voice, as he said: “This is the joy that lasts.”