With him departed, not all Hilary’s peace or faith or courage of heart, for to all who love truly, while the best beloved lives, and lives worthily, no parting is hopeless and no grief overwhelming; but all the brightness of her youth, all the sense of joy that young people have in loving, and in being beloved again, in fond meetings and fonder partings, in endless walks and talks, in sweet kisses and clinging arms.  Such happiness was not for her:  when she saw it the lot of others, she said to herself sometimes with a natural sharp sting of pain, but oftener with a solemn acquiescence, “It is the will of God; it is the will of God.”

Johanna, too, who would have given her life almost to bring some color back to the white face of her darling, of whom she asked no questions, and who never complained nor confessed any thing, many and many a night when Hilary either lay awake by her side, or tossed and moaned in her sleep, till the elder sister took her in her arms like a baby—­Johanna, too, said to herself, “This is the will of God.”

I have told thus much in detail the brief sad story of Hilary’s youth, to show how impossible it was that Elizabeth Hand could live in the house with these two women without being strongly influenced by them, as every person—­especially every woman—­influences for good or for evil every other person connected with her, or dependent upon her.  Elizabeth was a girl of close observation and keen perception.  Besides, to most people, whether or not their sympathy be universal, so far as the individual is concerned, any deep affection generally lends eyes, tact, and delicacy.

Thus when on the Monday morning at breakfast Miss Selina observed, “What a fine day Mr. Lyon was having for his journey; what a lucky fellow he was; how he would be sure to make a fortune, and if so, she wondered whether they should ever see or hear any thing of him again”—­Elizabeth, from the glimpse she caught of Miss Hilary’s face, and from the quiet way in which Miss Leaf merely answered, “Time will show;” and began talking to Selina about some other subject—­Elizabeth resolved never in any way to make the smallest allusion to Mr. Robert Lyon.  Something had happened, she did not know what; and it was not her business to find out; the family affairs, so far as she was trusted with them, were warmly her own, but into the family secrets she had no right to pry.

Yet, long after Miss Selina had ceased to “wonder” about him, or even to name him—­his presence or absence did not touch her personally, and she was always the centre of her own small world of interest—­the little maidservant kept in her mind, and pondered over at odd times every possible solution of the mystery of this gentleman’s sudden visit; of the long wet Sunday when he sat all day talking with her mistresses in the parlor; of the evening prayer, when Miss Leaf had twice to stop, her voice faltered so; and of the night when, long after all the others had gone to bed, Elizabeth, coming suddenly into the parlor, had found Miss Hilary sitting alone over the embers of the fire, with the saddest, saddest look! so that the girl had softly shut the door again without ever speaking to “Missis.”