“Impossible! a man must be made of marble, who could see you as I have seen you, know you as I have known you, and not do more than like you. Are you sure――but no, I have no right to doubt, to expect, to fancy even, that you returned my passion; but I may hope for the future; perhaps now you know my heart, you will pity me. Let me try to make you love me; give me leave to devote myself to that; if I might look forward to one day making you my wife; oh, Hilary, it is for you I have worked at ‘the Ferns,’ in the dear hope of placing you there, where, surrounded by all that could reward your virtue, and enhance your charms, I might see my idol the center of worship, the admiration of the neighborhood――let me hope.” “I hardly know what to say to you in answer; you think of me a great deal too well, but yet I must thank you, and feel grateful to you for your good opinion and your kind wishes, and your love; and do not blame me, please, for not doing more, or not doing it rightly; I am very ignorant of what would be considered right to do or say; but indeed I only mean to be sincere and true, so if I speak too frankly, you must forgive me.” “You can not speak otherwise than rightly; like yourself, the very soul of innocence and modesty, and grace; be as frank as you please, I promise not to misunderstand you.” “Mr. Huyton, I can not be your wife, or the wife of any one, while my father and sisters require me with them. I believe the conviction of this was so strong in my mind, that I thought you must see it and know it too, and that was why I was so surprised at your talking as you do.” “But, Hilary, ‘the Ferns’ is not so far off, as to be called leaving them. If you give me no other objection, I need not despair; if your feeling for me would not prevent you giving me your hand, your feelings for them need not surely. I come here every day, so could you; the separation would be merely nominal, and how much more I could and would do for them, as _my_ father and _my_ sisters, than I could or might do now; what they lost in one way, might be more than compensated in another.” Hilary shook her head, and then, pointing to the grave before her, she said: “I promised her not to desert her children; I have since renewed the promise more than once, on this very spot; and for my father――oh, Mr. Huyton, what excuse could I have for leaving him? What selfishness to think of it?” Mr. Huyton bit his lip, and then answered: “If it is on their account you act, that need not prevent my hoping; if regard for them prevents your entertaining the thought of leaving them now, this reason will not always exist. In a very few years, Sybil will be able to take your place, and then――”