“Ah! I know to what you allude,” said Isabel, with a sweet smile; “but if I remember rightly, Captain Hepburn was not the only one who displayed courage and daring on that occasion. Even Hilary must admit that there was another strong arm and bold heart then and there. The spectators at least saw both performers, although the immediate actors in the scene were, perhaps, only conscious of a part of what passed.” Hilary again looked up timidly at Mr. Huyton. She felt that thus appealed to, she ought to make some response; but she hardly knew what it would be safe to say. There was a shade on his brow, a sort of frown, as if Isabel’s words called up some bitter thought――as if he were struggling with painful feelings. “You are quite right, Isabel, it was an occasion when it would be invidious to draw comparisons, or to do any thing but give equal thanks to the one who saved my sister, and to the one who saved myself.” Hilary’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke. “If that had been the only occasion on which Captain Hepburn had shown his courage and dauntless spirit,” replied Charles, “I should still say that he was first in honor, for he led the way; I did but follow his example. But I know this is not the case; I know that it is only one of several such instances. I have heard that he has dared a leap into a wild tossing sea, in a dark and stormy day, to save a helpless fellow-creature. Is not that the fact, Miss Duncan?” With glowing cheeks and quivering eyelids, Hilary assented. “Perhaps,” said Isabel, “there are braver acts done quietly and almost unnoticed even than that, heroic as it seems. Acts which require a more generous heart and noble nature than the human courage which would lead a sailor to dare the storm, to help a shipmate in distress.” Mr. Huyton rather looked than asked for an explanation. Isabel went on. “To throw oneself from the pedestal of glory in order to place another there, to refuse the honorable distinction due to courage that it may be transferred to a companion in exertion, is a quiet heroism, a generous self-devotion, which requires a firmer and braver heart than the mere defiance of bodily danger.” Mr. Huyton bent down his eyes upon the damask table-cloth, and only showed, by the silence that followed, that he understood the lady’s meaning. Hilary could not avoid looking at him; she knew better than Isabel the extent of generosity which could induce him to praise a successful rival. No words which he could have spoken could have so moved her heart toward him as this commendation of one whom she had supposed him to dislike. It was noble, candid, high-minded; she had not given him credit for such feelings; she had been unjust to him in her imagination; she wished to make amends. She gave him a look which expressed some part of her feeling; and while with lips trembling with emotion, and eyes sparkling with pleasure, she glanced at him, he suddenly raised his own eyes, met hers, and read her heart.