He could stand still no longer. Advancing from the porch, he met her on the lawn. She was stooping over her sister when he turned the corner of the house, but she raised her head at the sound of his feet, and stood still. She really could not take one step toward him, and had not her hand rested on little Nest’s shoulder, perhaps she could hardly even have stood at all. There was a beating at her heart, a throbbing in every pulse, which seemed to suffocate her; there was a mist and confusion before her eyes which, for a moment, blended sky and earth, trees, shadows, and Captain Hepburn, in one wavering cloud of darkness. She had no thought or feeling, except a wish to stand upright, and a sensation that to speak was impossible. How they met she did not know. The warm clasp of his hand on hers was the first thing of which she was quite aware; he was by her, he was looking at her, but he was silent as herself. The first words he spoke were not those of greeting, but as if they formed a part of a long preceding conversation, and in a tone that implied a whole world of tenderness and anxiety. “Come in now and sit down; I grieve to see you are still so weak!” He drew her hand within his arm and led her toward the porch, while she revived to the comforting conclusion that perhaps he thought her agitation was the effect alone of bodily, not mental weakness. She yielded to his guidance, wishing heartily that she could speak, but doubting her power too much to make the effort. When he saw her safe in a large easy chair, he sat down by her, and said, in a quiet voice: “I left Maurice quite well yesterday, very busy and enthusiastic about his ship.” “Happy, too,” ejaculated Hilary, her thoughts instantly reverting to her brother’s cares and troubles, and forgetting at once all her own embarrassments. “How are his spirits?” “Variable, perhaps; at least I fancied so, when he was not actually employed; but better than at first.” She looked at him, anxious to try and ascertain what he knew or suspected of Maurice’s feelings; but meeting his grave, dark eyes, she was recalled to a recollection of herself and him; she colored again, hesitated, and broke off a half-uttered word abruptly. He waited to allow her time to recover, then finding she was silent, he said:――“Were you going to ask how long we should be fitting out? I think in three weeks more we shall report ourselves ready for sea!” The easiest thing for her to do was to repeat his words, “Three weeks!” “Come here, Nest,” said the Captain, “Maurice sent you his love, and a great many kisses. Shall I give them to you?” “Did Maurice give them to _you_ first?” inquired Miss Nest, with a look half coquettish, half demure, and holding back from him. Even Hilary smiled at the idea, but he went on. “He wants you to send him some of those double violets which grow in your garden. You are to put them in a letter which is to go by post.”