Her sisters watched her with affectionate care, and forced her to take such bodily repose as her actual weakness required; playfully declaring, if she attempted to exert herself again, they would tell her father of her pale cheeks and heavy eyes; so she felt it her duty to lie still, although stillness of mind was for some time quite unattainable. But quiet and repose brought strength of body, and with it came back more command of her spirit also. She saw her way, she understood her duty, and right well she knew that duty was truly the safest, smoothest path that she could tread. To put away thoughts of the past, to bend her attention to her domestic cares, to control her memory and curb her fancy, this she resolved, Heaven helping her, to do. Could she not? Yes; the events of the last ten days had not surely robbed her of the mastery of her mind. She could govern it still! What else had she been learning all her life? and should she now give up the attempt because the task was less easy than heretofore? should the charioteer drop the reins because the road was narrow and rough; or the pilot abandon the helm, just when the vessel came amid the shoals and breakers? So argued Hilary; and if the expectation of a happy result, as men say it does, aids greatly in the performance of a difficult task, that, perhaps, was one source of the success which now attended her efforts. Her strength slowly returned, her equanimity came with it, and although she was somewhat paler and more languid than formerly, although she still had struggles against depression, and fits of painful recollection, they were not apparent to her companions, who only saw that she was more easily tired than formerly, rather more silent, and a good deal less excited when Maurice’s letters arrived. It was a very quiet week which followed. The Barhams left the Abbey, the master of “the Ferns” was also absent. He had accompanied his aunt and cousin to London, from whence, Victoria told Sybil when she called to take leave, the ladies were going on to the sea-side, perhaps, or possibly to the north of England, and it was by no means unlikely that Charles would go with them. Hilary did not see any of them again before they left; but when she was certain that event had taken place, she felt an unspeakable relief come over her, which made her troubles seem easier to bear. She was able now to leave her room, and stroll about the garden, wander on the green, or rest on her favorite seat by the chancel-window, without fear of meeting any one whom she would rather avoid. The calm summer air under the shady trees always did her good; and an afternoon spent in solitary reflection, or in quiet, half-cheerful, half-grave chat with her father, was a mental tonic which never lost its power.