Of course there was still considerable anxiety about Maurice’s health; and until the next account arrived from abroad, they were in a state of too great and trembling uneasiness, to dwell very much on the prospect of seeing him again; the certainty of the issue checked their anticipations, and it required no small exercise of patience and trust, on Hilary’s part, to go through her ordinary duties, at moments when her mind was tempted to wander off to the possible or the probable which might yet be in store for them. Mr. Paine’s society was a great comfort to her; she could talk freely to him and his wife of her fears as well as her hopes; while to her father, owing to the relief she thus obtained, she was able to maintain the same cheerful demeanor as ever, and to speak with far more confidence of her brother’s recovery, than she really felt. Mr. Duncan and his daughters were all seated one day in the little summer-house at the end of the terrace walk; one of the girls was reading aloud, while the rest were busy with their needles, when a shadow crossed the window which made them look up, and the next moment Charles Huyton turned the corner of the building, and stood in front of them. Down went Sybil’s book and Gwyneth’s work in a moment; while Nest, slipping from her father’s knee, made no scruple of throwing herself at once into the arms which were extended to take her. “It is Mr. Huyton,” said Hilary to her father, in explanation of the sudden cry of joy from her sisters; and Charles, putting aside the little one, advanced to the vicar, taking at the same time in his own, both the hand which was extended toward him, and that which guided and supported it. Excepting that one tender and prolonged pressure of her slight and trembling fingers, there was nothing in his greeting of Hilary which marked any peculiarity of feeling, and even at that moment he hardly looked at her; his attention was apparently given entirely to her father; his words, his looks, his smiles, half sad, half joyous, were devoted to him. He pressed _his_ hand again and again, inquired most affectionately after his health, and then turning to the others, greeted Sybil and Gwyneth, with looks of open, undisguised pleasure, remarked on their wonderful growth, and paid some little compliments to their personal appearance, which brought a still richer glow into their cheeks, all the deeper because the admiration was but half expressed in words, and much more unequivocally in looks and smiles. Then sitting down among them, he exclaimed at his pleasure in being there once more, glancing from the one to the other of the party with happy eyes, taking Nest upon his knee, and bidding Gwyneth sit beside him, almost as if he had been Maurice himself; and all with such an easy, disengaged air, and so entirely devoid of any appearance of a nature to alarm Hilary, that after the first half hour her heart ceased to flutter, her cheeks to