“And how much would he give you if you married Mr. Duncan?” inquired Hilary, significantly. “Oh, I don’t know! The same I suppose! why not?” Hilary looked doubtful. Dora went on. “And then, after all, nobody in my station really is poor; it is all a romance of your imagination. I dare say Maurice would contrive as other people do, to get along and keep up a respectable appearance. I need not have bad servants, I would hire good ones; and I would manage my ménage so that it should be no trouble, and I should rather like the pleasure of ordering dinner, and contriving nice little surprises for him in the way of eating. I am sure I could be happy.” “Of one thing, Dora, we are quite sure; without your father’s consent, you will never try the experiment; and if he wishes you to marry Mr. Ufford, he is not likely to approve of your engaging yourself to Maurice.” “You dreadfully matter-of-fact girl! how you knock down all my delightful castles. Oh! Hilary, I wish you had been crossed in love, and then you would have had some pity for me.” And so the discussion ended. Hilary had not learned as yet, that to contradict a youthful passion, to argue against it, to overwhelm it with unanswerable reasons, and endeavor to extinguish it with detailed proofs of its absurdity or unfitness, is certain to strengthen and increase its power; so red-hot iron is hardened into tempered steel by plunging it suddenly into cold water. CHAPTER XVII. “In the woods where the gleams play On the grass under the trees, Passing the long summer’s day Idly as a mossy stone, In the forest depths.” TRISTRAM AND ISEULT. Time passed on, as time will do. Eighteen more months went by; Hilary hardly knew whether to say they went fast or slowly. Fast, very fast, it seemed, when she thought of the changes it had brought. It was only two years since they had first seen Mr. Farrington, and Sybil was now his wife. The child had grown up and loved, and married, and left her father’s house; and yet how short a time it seemed since she was yet a child, dependent on Hilary’s care. Now she was in another home, the center of her own system. She was very happy; so, though her absence caused a gap, it was not to be lamented. Very fast, too, time seemed to move with her father; how rapidly he had aged, how infirm he had grown in these two years. It saddened Hilary’s heart to look at him; he had always been old for his age, he might have been eighty in appearance now; and fear whispered to the daughter, that she could not, must not, hope for lengthened days for him. She dared not look forward, so she turned away her eyes.