They rose from the table, and, as if by one consent, the guests betook themselves to the balcony overlooking the river, that the parting between the husband and wife might at least be undisturbed. None remained with them, save the blind father, who was sitting, as if in a reverie, in a large arm-chair. Hilary hung on her husband’s neck in speechless grief; ah! this was a different thing from parting two years ago; and yet why? now that he was all her own, why did it make it so infinitely harder to let him leave her? “My wife, my own dear wife! we shall meet again!” She tried to smile a “yes,” but tongue and lips alike disobeyed, and tears alone answered her best efforts to be calm. “Hilary, your brother-in-law will tell you about settlements, what, as my wife, your income will be; I can not speak of money now; only I am thankful that I can assure you an independence, which to your moderate wishes will be comfort, and almost wealth. Now farewell, my own, my best-beloved, my darling! GOD guide and bless you――once, and once more! and now farewell!” He placed her on a sofa, hurried to the balcony to see his other friends, whispered to Sybil to take care of her precious sister, and wrung the hands of all the bridesmaids in silent sorrow and repressed feeling; then he returned to the parlor. Hilary sat as he had left her, absorbed in an endeavor to conquer her despairing grief, by thoughts of hope and aspirations for patience. She heard her father call Captain Hepburn to him. She heard the warmest blessings invoked upon his head; she listened almost as if in a dream, as if it concerned some other than herself; but when her husband’s step again approached her, she roused herself at once; with a short exclamation, speaking of unutterable struggles within, she sprang up, threw herself into his arms, held him for one moment in silence, and then withdrawing calmly from his embrace, she said, with energy―― “Now go! I will never be a hinderance to you in the path of duty. Go, we shall meet again in happier times, and then!――” “And then: ah, Hilary!――” Eyes and lips finished the sentence, but not with words, and he was gone! Maurice must go next; there had been but little intercourse between him and Dora; he had seemed to shun her, and to devote himself to his younger sisters. This was very natural, perhaps, certainly very prudent; for Dora’s share of self-control was small, and she would easily have been betrayed into exhibitions of feeling, equally unwise and unsafe. But Dora could not reason calmly, and was as unwilling to allow that others had higher claims on Maurice than herself, as she would have been to admit her influence was declining. Foolish and excitable, she felt angry and ill-used, that he should shun her, or that when she had taken that early drive for his sake, he should have either looks or thoughts for his sisters in preference to herself.