“So you are determined to leave us,” said Victoria, as she entered the dressing-room, where Hilary had breakfasted; “however, if you are so well, you will, I trust, come down stairs before quitting the house; you could surely give us your company in the saloon.” “I shall be better at home,” replied Miss Duncan; “I am very anxious to be there on Maurice’s account, for he will want a hundred things done and arranged, and it would be much less anxiety to me to see to it all, than to remain absent, and trust to the chance of others doing right. I can keep quiet at home, you know.” “Yes; I can understand how quiet you will be, from what I know of your usual habits; you will only wait on your father incessantly, see to your brother’s having every comfort, teach Nest, look after your servants, attend to the housekeeping, and listen to every old man, sick woman, or unhappy child, who may choose to come and drawl out their long story to you. That is your quiet.” Hilary laughed. “Well, if all that is to be done, the sooner I get about it the better.” “Meantime,” said Victoria, “come down stairs.” Hilary seemed inclined to demur. “You must,” continued Miss Fielding, urgently, “or I shall conclude it is want of will, not want of power, prevents you.” “I will come down by-and-by,” said Hilary, gently, “but I dare not exhaust myself before I take this little journey; and if you would be so very kind as to let me, I should like to lie down and rest now.” Victoria really could not find in her heart to oppose Hilary’s meek petition, or to say any more at present about her own wishes; so giving her friend a kiss, she settled her comfortably on the sofa, and then left her to peace and solitude. “Will she not come down, Victoria?” asked Charles, eagerly, as he met her on the stairs. Victoria told him what had passed, and strongly recommended, under present circumstances, patience and caution on his part. His rival, if Captain Hepburn was his rival, was gone, and had left without an explanation; but although the field was thus open to him, it by no means followed, that he should rush forward hastily and unadvisedly. She was not in a state to bear it, and he might lose all, by hazarding too much. It was about half an hour before luncheon, when Hilary, leaning on Victoria’s arm, eventually entered the saloon, where Mr. Huyton had been passing the morning, in an uncontrollable state of restless impatience. How he sprang forward to meet her at the door, and how carefully he provided the easiest chair in the pleasantest corner of the room for her accommodation, may be imagined. His manners seemed scarcely to allow that any other person could have the least claim upon her; and his whole wish seemed to be to engross her himself. But Hilary would sit near her father, would give her principal attention to him, and would at first, when she spoke, whisper in her soft voice, words which marked her regard and consideration for him as her principal object.