How Mrs. James Ufford had borne the recovery of her husband’s elder brother, the sisters did not know: people do not like to have their predictions falsified, and Isabel had confidently expected that he would die; but, as she had never even mentioned the subject of his return to Hilary in a very recent letter, they were only able to draw what conclusions they thought most probable from her silence. Lord Dunsmore told them he was settled at Southampton for a few weeks, for the accommodation of yachting, which he intended to pursue as soon as the weather permitted, and he hoped during that time Mrs. Hepburn would allow him occasionally to visit at her house. He looked with great interest at the traces of recent illness on Gwyneth’s face, and on her leaving the room he inquired with a degree of particularity as to the commencement, the duration, and the cause of her loss of health, that compelled Hilary to own it was sorrow and over-exertion which had been the origin of her nervous attack. Lord Dunsmore made no further comment on that topic; but observed, that of all remedies for such complaints, sea-air was the most efficacious; and he hoped Mrs. Hepburn and Miss Duncan would try what effect a few excursions in his yacht would have toward bringing back the color to her cheek, and the symmetry to her figure, which he had once before so much admired. Hilary smiled at what she considered an idle compliment, and let the matter drop. With a little hesitation of manner, he then mentioned that he had been to Hurstdene; he was almost afraid to enter on the topic; but Hilary was not overpowered by the reference, and gladly questioned him of her old home and neighborhood. He told her all by degrees. The Vicarage had been entirely pulled down, and a modern house was now erecting on the spot; why, Lord Dunsmore said he could not imagine, he was sure his sister-in-law would never live there when it was built; she would not like to give up the importance of being mistress of the Abbey; which eventually would, in all probability, be her own property. He paused, and a shadow passed over his face. “Poor Dora!” sighed he, presently. She looked up at him, and then averted her eyes; but he read the glance. “No, I do not need your pity, Mrs. Hepburn,” said he, with a half smile, and then immediately resuming his grave and feeling air; “the sentiments which would have given me a personal interest in her melancholy fate, died out long ago. Before I went to Italy you must have seen that I was cured of that complaint. No one with an ordinary human heart can do otherwise than pity a creature so young, so fair, so interesting, struck down by such a fearful blow; but I have no regret for her which the wife of Charles Huyton might not justly inspire.”