“At any rate, you shall never be a soldier,” said the mother, catching him up in her arms and kissing him. “And you can’t marry that headstrong maid!” “I shall marry little Betty Brydges,” said the child, with decision, “and be Member of Parliament like Sir Robert Harley.” The sublime confidence of his tone made the parents laugh. “’Tis a great thing to know one’s own mind,” said the doctor, patting the child’s curly head. “We have had our troubles, but at any rate our two sons will not vex our souls by weak and unstable characters. There is grit in both of them.” “I would we had the choosing of their wives,” said Mrs. Harford, ruefully. “Yet you didn’t think that the best plan years ago,” replied Dr. Harford, with a mirthful glance. And recalling their own extremely early and rash marriage, his wife could but smile and own that he was right. Her heart relented a little towards Hilary, and when Dr. Coke told her from what peril Gabriel had that day rescued her, and spoke words of warm gratitude and praise as to her son’s courage and sterling character, her face brightened, and she watched the two riders mount their horses with a more hopeful spirit than might have been expected. Yet could Dr. Harford have looked at that moment into the tower room where his son lay, he would certainly have taken his wife with him. CHAPTER XLII. “Ruined love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.” --Romeo and Juliet, Act I., Scene I. As Hilary kept guard over her lover through those long hours of waiting, seeing the pain which she could do nothing to relieve, fearing, as she watched his failing strength, that the end was indeed drawing near, it seemed to her that the punishment of all her pride and perversity was falling on her with overwhelming force. When conscious, he lay absolutely still, too much exhausted to speak, and when drifting back into a semi-conscious state his moans tore her heart, and filled her, moreover, with terror lest some villager crossing the churchyard should possibly hear the sound. At last, when it was growing dusk, she heard horsemen on the road, and, after an interval, when doubtless the travellers were leaving their horses with Zachary in the stable-yard, came the welcome summons from below which had been agreed upon. Durdle clambered down the step-ladder and unbolted the door, and in another minute the Vicar and Dr. Harford made their way into the dim tower room. Looking up into the physician’s strong, calm face, Hilary felt as if a load of care had been suddenly lifted from her shoulders. He greeted her with more than his usual cordiality, understanding well enough how sore her heart must be. Then he knelt down beside the mattress and looked with keen anxiety at his son. “Will there be any risk in having a light?” he asked.