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"Sancta Hilaria, or a pro nobis!" "What language is that?" innocently asked Beatrice. "The holy tongue, of course." "It is not our holy tongue." "Have Jews a holy tongue?" responded Eularia, in surprise. "Yes, indeed, Hebrew." "I did not know they believed any thing to be holy. Have they any relics?" "I do not know what those are." Eularia led the way to the sacristy.
Thus it came about that, though in after years those stolen meetings between Hilaria and a ring of boys would flash into his memory as being romance in essence, at the time they held no more thrill for him than might be imparted by some new novel contraband in the perpetual war against grown-ups that she would bring to read aloud to them in some hollow of the moor.
If it had not been that Archelaus, the free-speaker and the vindictive One of the family, was still in Australia, and that Ishmael spent a large part of his holidays with friends of the Parson's in Devon and Somerset, the conspiracy of secrecy, wise or unwise, could not have lasted so long. He stared at Hilaria and his fingers dug into the turf at either side of him.
Even Judith, Carminow, and all the rest of the people who had impinged in greater or less degree, went to make the pattern, though not always, as with Killigrew, Hilaria, and Polkinghorne, could he see any one definite thing that they had been the means of making clear to his groping vision.
Killigrew and Moss minor and the Polkinghornes and Carminow not Doughty; I didn't like him last time I don't know why ..." She broke off and bent forward, her tones took on a thrill; "I've got it," she announced. "The new number of 'The Woman in White'? Oh, Hilaria!..." "It wasn't easy, I can tell you, and we shall have to hurry with it, but it's in my shoe-bag now." "Must you go home and change?
They mentioned neither Hilaria nor Blanche Grey again that night, but as Ishmael lay for a long time awake staring into the darkness he could not keep his mind from reverting with a sense of deep fear to what he had heard about Hilaria.
"I should say they were as different as it is possible for two persons of the same sex to be. Hilaria was like a boy; Miss Grey is most feminine." "Yes, she is," said Ishmael eagerly; "but there's the same frankness, that way of meeting you that other girls don't have." "I know what you mean," agreed Carminow, "though I don't think one notices it when one sees more of Miss Grey.
Oh, yes, Bunny, they're awfully different." "From you, perhaps ... I dunno ... I say, d'you really want the old bishop to lay his paws on your head?" "Yes," replied Ishmael, briefly. "Well, so does Hilaria. She read me some stuff out of a book ripping fine stuff it was by a chap called Mallory.
Ishmael said nothing; he was struck by a greater horror that it should have been those walks, which had so seemed to set Hilaria apart from her sex, on which he had so often accompanied her, of which even now he could recall the delight though he had not thought of them since.... Carminow went on: "But of course I don't agree with him; he only says that because he always disapproved of the way poor old Eliot brought her up.
They were preceded by fasting and began with lamentations, "the votaries gathering in sorrow around the bier of the dead divinity; then followed the resurrection, and the risen god gave hope of salvation to the mystic brotherhood, and the whole service closed with the feast of rejoicing, the Hilaria."
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