She was silent, but was visibly gratified by his warmth of manner. “What have I ever done or said, Miss Barham, which can justify your suspecting me of such hard-hearted, cynical want of feeling? Tears, which do honor to my sister’s worth; tears, which prove your disinterested regard for the dearest objects of my heart; tears, which show how nearly we sympathize in some of _our_ feelings and affections; if I do not honor and respect such――if I do not feel intensely and most humbly grateful for them, I do not deserve to be admitted into civilized society, far less into yours, Miss Barham.” “Please don’t talk in that way; I did not mean to imply you were any thing bad; how could I, when I know you love Hilary so?――but I am sure you give me credit for a great deal more good than I deserve.” “I do not think that possible.” “Amiable people always do give the sunshine of their own virtues to their companion’s character,” said Dora, somewhat thoughtfully. Maurice kept his gratification to himself, and wisely changing the subject to one less personal, began relating to Dora all the arrangements which had been made by Charles Huyton and Victoria for the accommodation of his sisters. This was followed by a warm eulogium from Dora of the virtues and amiability of Mr. Huyton, in which, as on most other subjects, there was a wonderful similarity in their opinions; and after lingering together in that pleasant retreat a longer time than it was at all prudent for a poor lieutenant to spend in the bewitching society of the co-heiress of the Abbey, they at length remembered that they might as well return to the world, unsympathizing and hard-hearted as Dora had just discovered it to be. On the whole, in spite of her tears and agitation, Dora felt, as she considered the circumstances of the afternoon, that the party had produced quite as much pleasure as she had anticipated; by no means a common occurrence. This was her conclusion, as she stationed herself by Sybil’s side, on the quiet sofa where she and Mr. Farrington were composedly conversing; and as Maurice had nothing to do more perfectly natural and justifiable than to seat himself close to his sister, and remain there to take care of her, Dora seemed likely to have a good deal more enjoyment. The shades of evening came down; and though dancing in the house had been given up, as the fireworks had not, in due time the company betook themselves once more to the park, where, under the shelter of the trees, they could conveniently view the display of cascades, bouquets, stars, serpents, and initial devices, with which the pyrotechnist was to delight them; the whole effect being doubled by the reflection in the waters. “I really can not go out again,” said Mrs. Fielding to Sybil; “perhaps, if you wish it, your brother will go with you to see these fireworks.” Sybil hesitated; she would rather have gone to Hilary.