Presently, however, gathering courage and firmness, she turned to her host, and said: “I have no doubt that my father has conveyed the thanks I sent by him, Mr. Huyton; but let me now for myself, thank you again for your share in the exertions which saved my life. I was too weak to say so yesterday. I hope you believe that I am grateful.” “If ever an action brought its own reward,” said he, in a low voice, and placing his hand on the fingers which rested on the arm of her chair; “it was mine, when I bore you from the water, and laid you safely on the bank. I can conceive only one degree of happiness greater than that.” “My strength was so completely exhausted,” said Hilary, drawing away her hand to pass it across her forehead, “that had I not been relieved from the weight of Nest, and released from her struggles, I must have sunk in another moment.” “Poor little thing! she was unconscious how she increased your danger,” replied Charles; he could not bring himself to say the words of praise to his rival’s presence of mind, which were his due, and which Hilary half hoped to hear. Presently he added, looking up suddenly: “And you _will_ go to-day! is that kind, Miss Duncan, to hurry away the moment you can move; at any risk to leave my house, rather than oblige me?” “You know, Mr. Huyton,” replied Hilary, “we have sometimes other things to consider, besides obliging our friends; but it can not justly be called unkindness to do our duty; and mine takes me home to-day.” “Of course, if your _duty_ takes you away,” was his answer, “my pleasure or happiness must not interfere with it; they have no right to be considered for a moment.” “I am sure my father would tell you that the two can not really be at variance,” answered Hilary, earnestly. “If we both follow the road of duty, we may be certain that we shall not come into dangerous collision. They are lines which never clash, except through carelessness or mistake. They may diverge widely, they may run parallel, but they will have no unsafe crossings, if we take conscience for our engineer.” “True, dear child,” said Mr. Duncan, “as your favorite poet says: “‘Duty, like a strict preceptor, Sometimes frowns or seems to frown;’ still, when we have the courage to look her calmly in the face, we shall find the frown is our mistake; a mere shadow cast by fear or over-anxious wishes.” Mr. Huyton make no further objections, and the family were permitted to return to the Vicarage, as had been proposed. Nobody, however, could prevent his riding beside the carriage the whole way, or to forbid his being there to hand Hilary out when she descended from it; it was very disagreeable to her, but he would not see that; and even when she entered the house, he appeared extremely reluctant to take his leave, and allow her to rest in peace.