Hilary thought she understood the secret of Dora’s extreme anxiety, and hardly knew whether to be most sorry or glad that Maurice and she should have the dangerous pleasure of another meeting. It seemed to her to be only laying up additional stores of sorrowful remembrance and hopeless regret. But the company of the sisters was offered and pressed in such a way as to leave little real choice to her on the occasion. Yet, why Isabel Barham should so wish to be present, as to propose taking the trouble of rising much earlier than usual, and driving all the way to Woolwich before ten o’clock, was a little incomprehensible. Sybil said privately that Isabel liked a freak as well as any body where it did not compromise her dignity, and that this little exertion had a degree of novelty about it which made it irresistible to one weary with the platitudes of polite society and elegant decorums. Even Isabel had her portion of romance in her character, and though she would never do any thing incorrect herself, she yet enjoyed the sort of secrecy and mystery which naturally attended the present affair. Mr. Barham made no objection to his daughters’ plans, and according to the latest arrangements, the carriage from Eaton-place brought the two young ladies over to Mrs. Farrington’s in very good time to take an early, though rather hurried breakfast, with the bridal party, before starting on their long drive to Woolwich. It all seemed unreal and strange to Hilary, as she sat by her father’s side during that drive. Her thoughts were very busy, and yet would not settle on any thing steadily. The purpose of the present meeting, the engagement she was about to contract, occupied her less than the parting which must immediately follow. Happiness was very far from her heart; patience and hope were what she needed. The most unwavering confidence, the most perfect dependence and trust prevented her having any misgivings as to the step she was taking. She had no hesitation in bestowing her hand where her heart had long preceded it. Up to that point her path was easy and bright, and could he but have remained with her she would not have had a shadow to dim her serenity. But that inevitable absence, what a chasm, what a dark, impenetrable abyss it seemed; what an abrupt termination to the sunshiny road she had been lately treading; how uncertain its length and its depth? All she knew of it was that it was dark and dreary in prospect, and that she must pass it as best she could, bridging it over with hope, and faith, and patience, and an earnest steady perseverance in daily duties. These would bring her to that other side, which now seemed so dim, so uncertain, so distant, and yet which appeared to the fancy, through all the mists of futurity, fair and pleasant in prospect.