She must, of course, have an interview with Charles eventually, and thank him for his share in saving her life, but she rather shrank from the thought; she hoped it was not ingratitude, she really did feel thankful to him; and had there been no recollections of former conversations and past professions to trouble her, she would have been ready and anxious to express her gratitude. But now she feared to say either too little or too much; she dreaded to raise hopes which she had once trusted were extinguished, and she had a vague foreboding that any sort of emotion would inevitably lead to painful and perplexing discoveries. As memory had resumed its power, a distinct impression of his words and tone when he reached her in the water, impressed itself on her mind with unaccountable accuracy and vividness; and though it was not usually her way to shrink from duty, even if painful, or to put off the evil day, with that weak procrastination which often trebles the suffering by unnecessary and prolonged anticipation, she determined to delay this interview to the very last, that escape to her own home might immediately follow. Her resolutions, however, were over-ruled, and her wishes set aside, by the stronger will, and less scrupulous determinations of others. Charles and Victoria were alike decided, that she should see him; and Hilary found herself actually without a choice, although nominally consulted on the occasion. It was in the afternoon; the family had returned from church, and Gwyneth, who had remained at home to read to Hilary, was persuaded by her to go down stairs, and if Maurice was at leisure, to ask him to come and sit with her. A knock at the door a few minutes afterward, made her suppose he was there; but in answer to her invitation, Victoria entered, inquired how she did, whether she was equal to conversation: and on Hilary’s cheerfully assuring her that she was going on nicely, Miss Fielding added, in a manner which left her almost without choice―― “You will not mind, then, seeing Charles for a moment, who is dying of impatience to kiss your hand.” As she said this, she admitted Mr. Huyton into the room, and then turned toward the toilette table, where she busied herself with her back to Hilary, in searching among caskets and drawers for unknown articles, with an evident determination not to see or hear any thing else; which was extremely distressing to her friend, however pleasant it might be to her cousin.