Mrs. Hepburn smiled, and soothed and caressed her, and whispered her own joy and congratulations, and led her to the other room; and there the blushing and trembling Gwyneth had her hand placed in her suitor’s by the feeble fingers of her brother-in-law, while in few, but affectionate words, he assured her of his satisfaction, his good wishes, and his fraternal regard for both. Maurice too kissed and caressed her, but he said little; it was impossible to feel otherwise than deeply touched by the strong contrast between the look and the situation of those two sisters. Gwyneth’s black eyes were bent down and bright drops trembled on the long lashes; her color came and went like the flashes of the northern lights in the clear winter sky. She was excited, hoping, fearing, trembling between present pain and future joy; looking forward with a shy gladness into the prospect just opening, and then hurriedly calling back the glance, because to her dearest companions the hopeful view was closed; she could scarcely welcome the possible happiness which they might not share. Hilary, on the contrary, stood by, with her calm, serene eyes fixed on her sister with a quiet but heartfelt pleasure; a satisfaction springing from the very depths of the soul, at the hope that Gwyneth might, perchance, have one long, plentiful draught of that cup of happiness of which her own short taste had been so sweet. She knew the full luxury of loving and being beloved, and what was denied to herself she rejoiced in anticipating for another. And when she had gone over in her mind all the bright visions which the future presented to Gwyneth, and joyed in her promised joy, she turned her eyes once more on her husband, and the thought flashed across her how great had been the blessings of her own lot, and how the privilege of having been his friend, companion, and solace during the last two months, was well worth the purchase, even though it were to be followed by a long life of solitary bereavement. She was happy: not the happiness of this world, not the happiness which those of this world can understand; a happiness above all selfish joy, such as words could vainly endeavor to depict, unspeakable in its depth and purity: for in her earnest anticipation of peace and rest for him, she forgot herself; she saw him to her fancy encircled with the crown of martyrdom; and would she have robbed him of one ray of that future glory for her own selfish indulgence, or her transitory comfort? Oh no! But to others, to the eyes of observers, her feelings were a mystery; and to outward view she stood there, another proof of the fading nature of all earthly happiness. Hers was the deepening gloom of twilight, Gwyneth’s the rising of the glorious day-break. Life is full of such sharp contrasts, ever telling of change and decay to such thoughtful minds as can raise their eyes beyond their own footsteps.