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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Helmet, Volume I, by Susan Warner
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Old Helmet, Volume I
+
+Author: Susan Warner
+
+Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26829]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HELMET, VOLUME I ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Daniel Fromont
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner (1819-1885), _The Old Helmet_ (1864),
+Tauchnitz edition 1864, volume 1]
+
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD HELMET.
+
+BY
+
+THE AUTHOR OF "WIDE, WIDE WORLD."
+
+
+
+AUTHORIZED EDITION.
+
+IN TWO VOLUMES
+
+VOL. I.
+
+
+
+LEIPZIG
+
+BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
+
+1864.
+
+
+
+NOTE TO THE READER.
+
+The incidents and testimonies given in this work as matters of fact,
+are not drawn from imagination, but reported from excellent
+authority--though I have used my own words. And in the cases of
+reported words of third parties, the words stand unchanged, without any
+meddling.
+
+
+THE AUTHOR.
+
+
+
+THE OLD HELMET.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE RUINS.
+
+
+  "She look'd and saw that all was ruinous,
+  Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern;
+  And here had fall'n a great part of a tower,
+  Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,
+  And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers,
+  And high above a piece of turret stair,
+  Worn by the feet that now were silent,
+  Bare to the sun."
+
+
+The first thing noticeable is a gleam of white teeth. Now that is a
+pleasant thing generally; yet its pleasantness depends, after all, upon
+the way the lips part over the ivory. There is a world of character
+discoverable in the curve of those soft lines. In the present case,
+that of a lady, as it is undoubtedly the very first thing you notice,
+the matter must be investigated. The mouth is rather large, with well
+cut lips however; and in the smile which comes not infrequently, the
+lips part freely and frankly, though not too far, over a wealth of
+white, beautiful teeth. So free is the curve of the upper lip, and so
+ready its revelation of the treasures beneath, that there is an instant
+suspicion of a certain frankness and daring, and perhaps of a little
+mischief, on the part of their possessor; so free, at the same time, as
+to forbid the least notion of consciousness or design in that beautiful
+revelation. But how fine and full and regular are those white treasures
+of hers! seeming to speak for a strong and perfect physical
+organisation; and if your eye goes further, for her flat hat is on the
+ground, you will see in the bountiful rich head of hair another token
+of the same thing. Her figure is finely developed; her colour clear and
+healthy; not blonde; the full-brown hair and eyes agree with the notion
+of a nature more lively than we assign to the other extreme of
+complexion. The features are not those of a beauty, though better than
+that, perhaps; there is a world of life and sense and spirit in them.
+
+It speaks for her good nature and feeling, that her smile is as frank
+as ever just now, and as pleasant as ever; for she is with about the
+last one of her party on whom she would have chosen to bestow herself.
+The occasion is a visit to some celebrated ruins; a day of pleasure;
+and Eleanor would a good deal rather be walking and talking with
+another much more interesting member of the company, in whose society
+indeed her day had begun; but Mr. Carlisle had been obliged suddenly to
+return home for an hour or two; and Eleanor is sitting on a grassy
+bank, with a gentleman beside her whom she knows very little and does
+not care about at all. That is, she has no idea he can be very
+interesting; and he _is_ a grave-looking personage, but we are not
+going to describe him at present.
+
+A word must be given to the place where they are. It is a little
+paradise. If the view is not very extended, it is rich in its parts;
+and the eye and the mind are filled. The grass is shaven smooth on the
+bank where the two are sitting; so it is all around, under trees which
+stand with wilful wildness of luxuriance, grouped and scattered
+apparently as they would. They are very old, in several varieties of
+kind, and in the perfect development and thrift of each kind. Among
+them are the ruins of an old priory. They peep forth here and there
+from the trees. One broken tower stands free, with ivy masking its
+sides and crumbling top, and stains of weather and the hues of lichen
+and moss enriching what was once its plain grey colour. Other portions
+of the ruins are seen by glimpses further on among the trees. Standing
+somewhat off by itself, yet encompassed by the congeners of those same
+trees, almost swallowed up among them, is a comfortable, picturesque
+little building, not in ruins; though it has been built up from the
+ruins. It is the parsonage, where the rector of the parish lives.
+Beyond this wood and these buildings, old and new, the eye can catch
+only bits of hills and woods that promise beauty further on; but nearer
+than they, and making a boundary line between the present and the
+distant, the flash of a little river is seen, which curves about the
+old priory lands. A somewhat doubtful sunlight is struggling over it
+all; casting a stray beam on the grass, and a light on the ivy of the
+old tower.
+
+"What a queer old place it must have been," said Eleanor.
+
+"How old is it?"
+
+"O I don't know--ages! Do you mean really how old? I am sure I can't
+tell; I never can keep those things in my head. If Dr. Cairnes would
+come out, he could tell you all about it, and more."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, the rector?"
+
+"Yes. He keeps it all in _his_ head, I know. The ruins are instead of a
+family to him."
+
+"They must date back pretty far, judging by those Norman arches."
+
+"Norman arches?--what, those round ones? O, they do. The priory was
+founded by some old courtier or soldier in the time of Henry the First,
+who got disgusted with the world. That is the beginning of all these
+places, isn't it?"
+
+"Do you mean, that it is the beginning of all religious feeling?"
+
+"I really think it is. I wouldn't tell Dr. Cairnes so however. How
+sweet these violets are. Dear little blue things!"
+
+"Do you suppose,", said the young man, stooping to pick one or two,
+"that they are less sweet to me than to you?"
+
+"Why should they be?"
+
+"Because, religion is the most precious thing in the world to me; and
+by your rule, I must be disgusted with the world, and all sweet things
+have lost their savour."
+
+He spoke with quiet gravity, and Eleanor's eye went to his face with a
+bright glance of inquiry. It came back with no change of opinion.
+
+"You don't convert me," she said. "I do not know what you have given up
+for religion, so I cannot judge. But all the other people I ever saw,
+grew religious only because they had lost all care about everything
+else."
+
+"I wonder how that discontented old soldier found himself, when he got
+into these solitudes?" said the young man, with a smile of his own
+then. It was sweet, and a little arch, and withal harmonised completely
+with the ordinary gravity of his face, not denying it at all. Eleanor
+looked, once and again, with some curiosity, but the smile passed away
+as quietly as it had come.
+
+"The solitude was not _this_ solitude then."
+
+"O no, it was very wild."
+
+"These were Augustine canons, were they not?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"The monks of this priory."
+
+"I am sure I don't know. I forget. What was the difference?"
+
+"You know there were many orders of religious houses. The Augustines
+were less severe in their rule, and more genial in their allowed way of
+life, than most of the others?"
+
+"What was their rule?"
+
+"Beginning with discontent of the world, you know, they went on with
+the principle that nothing worldly was good."
+
+"Well, isn't that the principle of all religious people now?"
+
+"I like violets"--said the young man, smiling again.
+
+"But do tell me, what did those old monks do? What was their 'rule?' I
+don't know anything about it, nor about them."
+
+"Another old discontented soldier, who founded an abbey in Wales, is
+said by the historian to have dismissed all his former companions, and
+devoted himself to God. For his military belt, he tied a rope about his
+waist; instead of fine linen he put on haircloth. And it is recorded of
+him, that the massive suit of armour which he had been used to wear in
+battle, to protect him against the arrows and spears and axes of the
+enemy, he put on now and wore as a defence against the wiles and
+assaults of the devil--and wore it till it rusted away with age."
+
+"Poor old soul!" said Eleanor.
+
+"Does that meet your ideas of a religious life?"
+
+Eleanor laughed, but answered by another question. "Was _that_ the rule
+of all the Augustine monks?"
+
+"It gives the key to it. Is that your notion of a religious life? You
+don't answer me."
+
+"Well," said Eleanor laughing again, "_it gives the key to it_, as you
+say. I do not suppose you wear a suit of armour to protect yourself."
+
+"I beg your pardon. I do."
+
+"_Armour?_" said Eleanor, looking incredulous. But her friend fairly
+burst into a little laugh at that.
+
+"Are you rested?" said he.
+
+And Eleanor got up, feeling a little indignant and a little curious.
+Strolling towards the ruins, however, there was too much to start
+conversation and too much to give delight, to permit either silence or
+pique to last.
+
+"Isn't it beautiful!" burst from both at once.
+
+"How exquisite that ivy is, climbing up that old tower!"
+
+"And what a pity it is crumbling away so!" said Eleanor. "See that
+nearer angle--it is breaking down fast. I wish it would stay as it is."
+
+"Nothing will do that for you. What is all that collection of rubbish
+yonder?"
+
+"That is where Mr. Carlisle is going to build a cottage for one of his
+people--somebody to take care of the ruins, I believe."
+
+"And he takes the ruins to build it with, and the old priory grounds
+too!"
+
+Eleanor looked again at her companion.
+
+"I think it is better than to have the broken stones lying all
+over--don't you?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+"Mr. Carlisle thinks so. Now here we are in the body of the
+church--there you see where the roof went, by the slanting lines on the
+tower wall; and we are standing where the congregation used to
+assemble."
+
+"Not much of a congregation," said her companion. "The neighbouring
+country furnished few attendants, I fancy; the old monks and their
+retainers were about all. The choir would hold most of them; the nave,
+where we are standing, would have been of little use except for
+processions."
+
+"Processions?" said Eleanor.
+
+"On particular days there were processions of the brotherhood, with
+lighted candles--round and round in the church. In the church at York
+twelve rounds made a mile, and there were twelve holes at the great
+door, with a little peg, so that any one curious about the matter might
+reckon the miles."
+
+"And so they used to go up and down here, burning their fingers with
+melted tallow!" said Eleanor. "Poor creatures! What a melancholy
+existence! Are you preparing to renounce the world yourself, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+He smiled, but it was a compound smile, light and earnest both at once,
+which Eleanor did not comprehend.
+
+"Why do you suspect me?" he asked.
+
+"You seem to be studying the thing. Are you going to be a white or a
+black monk--or a grey friar?"
+
+"There is a prior question. It is coming on to rain, Miss Powle."
+
+"Rain! It is beginning this minute! And all the umbrellas are nobody
+knows where--only that it is where we ought to be. I was glad just now
+that the old roof in gone--but I think I would like a piece of it back."
+
+"You can take shelter at the parsonage."
+
+"No, I cannot--they have got fever there."
+
+"Then come with me. I believe I can find you a piece of roof somewhere."
+
+Eleanor smiled to herself that he should think so, as all traces of
+beam and rafter had long since disappeared from the priory and its
+dependencies. However she followed her conductor, who strode along
+among the ruins at a pace which it taxed her powers to keep up with.
+Presently he plunged down into a wilderness of bushes and wild thorn
+and piled up stones which the crumbling walls had left in confusion
+strewn over the ground. It was difficult walking. Eleanor had never
+been there; for in that quarter the decay of the buildings was more
+entire, and the growth of shrubs and brambles had been allowed to mask
+the disorder. As they went on, the footing grew very rough; they were
+obliged to go over heaps and layers of the crumbling, moss-grown ruins.
+Eleanor's conductor turned and gave her his hand to help; it was a
+strong hand and quickened her progress. Presently turning a sharp
+corner, through a thicket of thorn and holly bushes, with young larches
+and beeches, a small space of clearance was gained, bounded on the
+other side by a thick wall, one angle of which was standing. On this
+clear spot the rain drops were falling fast. The hand that held
+Eleanor's hurried her across it, to where an old window remained sunk
+in the wall. The arch over the window was still entire, and as the wall
+was one of the outer walls and very thick, the shelter of a "piece of
+roof" was literally afforded. Eleanor's conductor seated her on the
+deep window sill, where she was perfectly screened from the rain; and
+apologising for the necessity of the occasion, took his place beside
+her. The window was narrow as well as deep; and the two, who hardly
+knew each other, were brought into very familiar neighbourhood. Eleanor
+would have been privately amused, if the first passing consciousness of
+amusement had not been immediately chased away by one or two other
+thoughts. The first was the extreme beauty of her position as a point
+of view.
+
+The ruins were all behind them. As they looked out of the window,
+nothing was seen but the most exquisite order and the most dainty
+perfection of nature. The ground, shaven and smooth, sloped away down
+to a fringe of young wood, amidst which peeped out a pretty cottage and
+above which a curl of smoke floated. The cottage stood so low, and the
+trees were so open, that above and beyond appeared the receding slopes
+and hills of the river valley, in their various shades of colour, grass
+and foliage. There was no sun on all this now, but a beautiful light
+under the rain cloud from the distant horizon. And the dark old stone
+window was the frame for this picture. It was very perfect. It was very
+rare. Eleanor exclaimed in delight.
+
+"But I never was here--I never saw this before! How did you know of it,
+Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I have studied the ruins," he said lightly.
+
+"But you have been at Wiglands only a few months."
+
+"I come here very often," he answered. "Happily for you."
+
+He might add that well enough, for the clouds poured down their rain
+now in torrents, or in sheets; the light which had come from the
+horizon a few minutes before was hidden, and the grey gloom of a summer
+storm was over everything. The little window seemed dark, with the two
+people sitting there. Then there came a blinding flash of lightning.
+Eleanor started and cowered, and the thunder rolled its deep tones over
+them, and under them, for the earth shook. She raised her head again,
+but only to shrink back the second time, when the lightning and the
+thunder were repeated. This time her head was not raised again, and she
+kept her hand covered over her eyes. Yet whenever the sound of the
+thunder came, Eleanor's frame answered it by a start. She said nothing;
+it was merely the involuntary answer of the nerves. The storm was a
+severe one, and when the severity of it passed a little further off,
+the torrents of rain still fell.
+
+"You do not like thunder storms"--Mr. Rhys remarked, when the
+lightnings had ceased to be so vivid or so near.
+
+"Does anybody like them?"
+
+"Yes. I like everything."
+
+"You are happy"--said Eleanor.
+
+"Why are not you?"
+
+"I can't help it," said the girl, lifting up her head, though she did
+not let her eyes go out of the window. "I cannot bear to see the
+lightning. It is foolish, but I cannot help it."
+
+"Are you sure it is foolish? Is there not some reason at the bottom of
+it?"
+
+"I think there is a reason, though still it is foolish. There was a man
+killed by lightning just by our door, once--when I was a child. I saw
+him--I never can forget it, never!"
+
+And a sort of shudder ran over Eleanor's shoulders as she spoke.
+
+"You want my armour," said her companion. The tone of voice was not
+only grave but sympathising. Eleanor looked up at him.
+
+"Your armour?"
+
+"You charged me with wearing armour--and I confessed it," he said with
+something of a smile. "It is a sort of armour that makes people safe in
+all circumstances."
+
+He looked so quiet, so grave, so cool, and his eye had such a light in
+it, that Eleanor could not throw off his words. He _looked_ like a man
+in armour. But no mail of brass was to be seen.
+
+"What _do_ you mean?" she said.
+
+"Did you never hear of the helmet of salvation?"
+
+"I don't know," said Eleanor wonderingly. "I think I have heard the
+words. I do not think I ever attached any meaning to them."
+
+"Did you never feel," he said, speaking with a peculiar deliberation of
+manner, "that you were exposed to danger--and to death--from which no
+effort of yours could free you; and that after death, there is a great
+white throne to meet, for which you are not ready?"
+
+While he spoke slowly, his eyes were fixed upon Eleanor with a clear
+piercing glance which she felt read her through and through; but she
+was fascinated instead of angered, and submitted her own eyes to the
+reading without wishing to turn them away. Carrying on two trains of
+thought at the same time, as the mind will, her inward reflection was,
+"I had no idea that you were so good-looking!"--the answer in words was
+a sober, "I have felt so."
+
+"Was the feeling a happy one?"
+
+Eleanor's lip suddenly trembled; then she put down that involuntary
+natural answer, and said evasively, looking out of the window, "I
+suppose everybody has such feelings sometimes."
+
+"Not with that helmet on"--said her companion.
+
+With all the quietness of his speech, and it was very unimpassioned,
+his accent had a clear ring to it, which came from some unsounded
+spirit-depth of power; and Eleanor's heart for a moment sunk before it
+in a secret convulsion of pain. She concealed this feeling, as she
+thought, successfully; but that single ray of light had shewed her the
+darkness; it was keen as an arrow, and the arrow rankled. And her
+neighbour's next words made her feel that her heart lay bare; so
+quietly they touched it.
+
+"You feel that you want something, Miss Powle."
+
+Eleanor's head drooped, as well as her heart. She wondered at herself;
+but there was a spell of power upon her, and she could by no means lift
+up either. It was not only that his words were true, but that he knew
+them to be so.
+
+"Do you know _what_ you want?" her friend went on, in tons that were
+tender, along with that deliberate utterance that carried so much force
+with it. "You know yourself an offender before the Lord--and you want
+the sense of forgiveness in your heart. You know yourself inclined to
+be an offender again--and you want the renewing grace of God to make
+your heart clean, and set it free from the power of sin. Then you want
+also something to make you happy; and the love of Jesus alone can do
+that."
+
+"What is the use of telling over the things one has not got?"--said
+Eleanor in somewhat smothered tones. The words of her companion came
+again clear as a bell--
+
+"Because you may have them if you want them."
+
+Eleanor struggled with herself, for her self-possession was endangered,
+and she was angry at herself for being such a fool; but she could not
+help it; yet she would not let her agitation come any more to the
+surface. She waited for clearness of voice, and then could not forbear
+the question,
+
+"How, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Jesus said, 'If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.' There
+is all fulness in him. Go to him for light--go to him for strength--go
+to him for forgiveness, for healing, for sanctification. 'Whosoever
+will, let him take of the water of life freely.'"
+
+"'Go to him?'" repeated Eleanor vaguely.
+
+"Ask him."
+
+Ask _Him!_ It was such a far-off, strange idea to her a heart, there
+seemed such a universe of distance between, Eleanor's face grew visibly
+shadowed with the thought. _She?_ She could not. She did not know how.
+She was silent a little while. The subject was getting unmanageable.
+
+"I never had anybody talk to me so before, Mr. Rhys," she said,
+thinking to let it pass.
+
+"Perhaps you never will again," he said. "Hear it now. The Lord Jesus
+is not far off--as you think--he is very near; he can hear the faintest
+whisper of a petition that you send to him. It is his message I bring
+you to-day--a message to _you_. I am his servant, and he has given me
+this charge for you to-day--to tell you that he loves you--that he has
+given his life for yours--and that he calls Eleanor Powle to give him
+her heart, and then to give him her life, in all the obedience his
+service may require."
+
+Eleanor felt her heart strangely bowed, subdued, bent to his words. "I
+will"--was the secret language of her thoughts--"but I must not let
+this man see all I am feeling, if I can help it." She held herself
+still, looking out of the window, where the rain fell in torrents yet,
+though the thunder and the lightning were no longer near. So did he; he
+added no more to his last words, and a silence lasted in the old ruined
+window as if its chance occupants were gone again. As the silence
+lasted, Eleanor felt it grow awkward. She was at a loss how to break
+it. It was broken for her then.
+
+"What will you do, Miss Powle?"
+
+"I will think about it"--she answered, startled and hesitating.
+
+"How long, before you decide?"
+
+"How can I tell?" she said.
+
+"You are shrinking from a decision already formed. The answer is given
+in your secret thoughts, and something is rising up in the midst of
+them to thwart it. Shall I tell my Master that his message is refused?"
+
+"Mr. Rhys!" said Eleanor looking up, "I never heard any one talk so in
+all my life! You speak as if--"
+
+"As if, what?"
+
+"You speak as if--I never heard any one speak as you do."
+
+"I speak as if I were in the habit of telling my Master how his message
+is received? I often do that."
+
+"But it seems superfluous to tell what is known already," said Eleanor,
+wondering secretly much more than she dared to say at her companion's
+talk.
+
+"Do you never, in speaking to those you love, tell them what is no
+information?"
+
+Eleanor was now dumb. There was too great a gulf of difference between
+her companion and herself, to try to frame any words or thoughts that
+might bridge it over. She must remain on one side and he on the other;
+yet she went on wondering.
+
+"Are you a clergyman, Mr. Rhys?" she said after a pause.
+
+"I am not what you would call such."
+
+"Do you not think the rain is over?"
+
+"Nearly, for the present; but the grass is as wet as possible."
+
+"O, I don't mind that. There is somebody now in the shrubbery yonder,
+looking for me."
+
+"He will not find you here," said Mr. Rhys. "I have this window all to
+myself. But we will find him."
+
+The rain-drops fell now but scatteringly, the last of the shower; the
+sun was breaking out, and the green world was all in a glitter of wet
+leaves. Wet as they were, Eleanor and Mr. Rhys pushed through the thick
+bramble and holly bushes, which with honeysuckles, eglantine, and
+broom, and bryony, made a sweet wild wilderness. They got plentifully
+besprinkled in their way, shook that off as well as they could, and
+with quick steps sought to rejoin their companions. The person Eleanor
+had seen in the shrubbery was the first one found, as Mr. Rhys had
+said. It was Mr. Carlisle. He at once took charge of Eleanor.
+
+"What has become of you?"
+
+"What has become of _you_, Mr. Carlisle?" Eleanor's gleaming smile was
+as bright as ever.
+
+"Despair, nearly," said he; "for I feared business would hold me all
+day; but I broke away. Not time enough to protect you from this shower."
+
+"Water will wet," said Eleanor, laughing; for the politeness of this
+speech was more evident than its plausibility. She was on the point of
+speaking of the protection that had been actually found for her, but
+thought better of it. Meantime they were joined by a little girl,
+bright and rather wild looking, who addressed Eleanor as her sister.
+
+"O come!" she said,--"where have you been? We can't go on till you
+come. We are going to lunch at Barton's Tower--and mamma says she will
+make Mr. Carlisle build a fire, so that we may all dry ourselves."
+
+"Julia!--how you speak!"
+
+"She did say so," repeated the child. "Come--make haste."
+
+Eleanor glanced at her companion, who met the glance with a smile. "I
+hope Mrs. Powle will always command me," he said, somewhat meaningly;
+and Eleanor hurried on.
+
+She was destined to long _tête-à-têtes_ that day; for as soon as her
+little party was seen in the distance, the larger company took up their
+line of march again. Julia and Mr. Rhys had fallen behind; and the long
+walk to Barton's Tower was made with Mr. Carlisle alone, who was in no
+haste to abridge it, and seemed to enjoy himself very well. Eleanor
+once or twice looked back, and saw her little sister, hand in hand with
+her companion of the old window, walking and talking in very eager and
+gay style; to judge by Julia's lively movements.
+
+"Who is that Mr. Rhys?" said Eleanor.
+
+"I have hardly the honour to know him. May I ask, why you ask?"
+
+"He is peculiar," said Eleanor.
+
+"He can hardly be worthy your study." And the question was dismissed
+with a coolness which reminded Eleanor of Mr. Rhys's own words, that he
+was not what she would call a clergyman. She would have asked another
+question, but the slight disdain which spoke in Mr. Carlisle's eye and
+voice deterred her. She only noticed how well the object of it and her
+sister were getting along. However, Eleanor's own walk was pleasant
+enough to drive Mr. Rhys out of her head. Mr. Carlisle was polished,
+educated, spirited, and had the great additional advantage of being a
+known and ascertained somebody; as he was in fact the heir of all the
+fine domain whose beauties they were admiring. And a beautiful heirdom
+it was. The way taken by the party led up the course of a valley which
+followed the windings of a small stream; its sides most romantic and
+woody in some places; in others taking the very mould of gentle beauty,
+and covered with rich grass, and sweet with broom; in others again,
+drawing near together, and assuming a picturesque wildness, rocky and
+broken. Sweet flowers grew by the way in profusion, on the banks and
+along the sides of the stream; and the birds were very jocund in their
+solitudes. Through all this it was very pleasant wandering with the
+heir of the land; and neither wet shoes nor wet shoulders were much
+remembered by Eleanor till they reached Barton's Tower.
+
+This was a ruin of a different character; one of the old strongholds of
+the rough time when men lived by the might of hand. No delicate arches
+and graceful mouldings had ever been here; all was, or had been, grim,
+stern strength and massiveness. The strength was broken long ago; and
+grace, in the shape of clustering ivy, had mantled so much of the harsh
+outlines that their original impression was lost. It could be recalled
+only by a little abstraction. Within the enclosure of the thick walls,
+which in some places gave a sort of crypt-like shelter, the whole
+rambling party was now collected.
+
+"Shall we have a fire?" Mr. Carlisle had asked Eleanor, just before
+they entered. And Eleanor could not find in her heart to deny that it
+would be good, though not quite prepared to have it made to _her_
+order. However, the word was given. Wood was brought, and presently a
+roaring blaze went up within the old walls; not where the old chimney
+used to be, for there were no traces of such a thing. The sun had not
+shined bright enough to do away the mischief the shower had done; and
+now the ladies gathered about the blaze, and declared it was very
+comfortable. Eleanor sat down on a stone by the side of the fire,
+willing to be less in the foreground for a little while; as well as to
+dry her wet shoes. From there she had a view of the scene that would
+have pleased a painter.
+
+The blazing fire threw a warm light and colour of its own upon the dark
+walls and on the various groups collected within them, and touched
+mosses and ferns and greensward with its gypsy glare. The groups were
+not all of one character. There was a light-hued gay company of muslins
+and scarfs around the burning pile; in a corner a medley of servants
+and baskets and hampers; and in another corner Eleanor watched Julia
+and Mr. Rhys; the latter of whom was executing some adventurous
+climbing, after a flower probably, or a fern, while Julia stood below
+eagerly following his progress. Mr. Carlisle was all about. It was a
+singularly pretty scene, and to Eleanor's eye it had the sharp painting
+which is given by a little secret interest at work. That interest gave
+particular relief to the figures of the two gentlemen whose names have
+been mentioned; the other figures, the dark walls and ivy, the servants
+and the preparing collation, were only a rich mosaic of background for
+those two.
+
+There was Mr. Powle, a sturdy, well-to-do, country gentleman; looking
+it, and looking besides good-natured, which he was if not crossed.
+There was Eleanor's mother, good-natured under all circumstances; fair
+and handsome; every inch of her, from the close fair curls on each side
+of her temples, to the tips of her neat walking shoes, shewing the
+ample perfection of abundant means and indulgent living. There were
+some friends that formed part of their household just then, and the
+young people of a neighbouring family; with the Miss Broadus's; two
+elderly ladies from the village who were always in everything. There
+was Dr. Cairnes the rector, and his sister, a widow lady who spent part
+of every year with him. All these Eleanor's eye passed over with slight
+heed, and busied itself furtively with the remaining two; the great man
+of the party, and the other, the one certainly of least consideration
+in it. Why did she look at him, Eleanor asked herself? Mr. Carlisle was
+a mark for everybody's eyes; a very handsome man, the future lord of
+the manor, knowing and using gracefully his advantages of many kinds.
+What had the other,--that tall, quiet man, gathering flowers with Julia
+in the angle of the old tower? He could not be called handsome; a dark
+thick head of hair, and somewhat marked features alone distinguished
+him; except a pair of very clear keen eyes, the penetrating quality of
+which Eleanor had felt that morning. "He has a good figure, though,"
+she said to herself, "a very good figure--and he moves well and easily;
+but what is there about him to make me think of him? What is the
+difference between his face and that other face?"
+
+"That other face" made frequent appeals for her attention; yet Eleanor
+could not forget the group in the corner, where her sister seemed to be
+having a time of more lively enjoyment than any one else of the
+company. No other person paid them any attention, even in thought; and
+when the collation was spread, Eleanor half wondered that her morning's
+friend neither came forward nor was for some moments asked to do so.
+She thought indeed she heard Julia ask him, but if so it was without
+effect. Mr. Rhys remained in the distant angle, studying the stones
+there; till Mr. Powle shouted to him and brought him into the company.
+Having done this good action, the squire felt benevolently disposed
+towards the object of his care, and entered into conversation with him.
+It grew so satisfactory to Mr. Powle, that it absorbed his attention
+from all but the meats and wines which were offered him, the enjoyment
+of which it probably heightened; the talk was prolonged, and seemed to
+grow more interesting as it went on. Eleanor could not hear what it was
+about, her own ear was so much engaged with business nearer at hand.
+The whole play had not escaped her, however; and between question and
+answer of the rattling gaiety going on about her ears, and indeed on
+her own tongue, she found time to wonder whether Mr. Rhys were shy, or
+kept back by a feeling of inferiority; so marked his conduct was by the
+absence of all voluntary self-assertion, She could not determine that
+he was either. No look or word favoured the one or the other
+supposition. And Eleanor could not look at those keen eyes, without
+feeling that it was extremely unlikely they would quail before anybody
+or anything. Very different from those fine hazel irids that were
+flashing fun and gallantry into hers with every glance. Very different;
+but what was the difference? It was something deeper than colour and
+contour. Eleanor had no chance to make further discoveries; for her
+father engrossed his new acquaintance all the way home, and only did
+not bring him to Ivy Lodge to tea because Mr. Rhys refused it; for the
+invitation was given.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+AT THE GARDEN-DOOR.
+
+
+  "To die--to sleep.
+  To sleep! perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub;
+  For in that sleep of death what dreams may come"--
+
+
+The family at Ivy Lodge gathered round the tea-table with spirits
+rather whetted, apparently for both talking and eating. Certainly the
+one exercise had been intermitted for some hours; the other however had
+gone on without cessation. It went on still. The party was now reduced
+to the home party, with the addition of Miss Broadus; which lady, with
+her sister, was at home at Ivy Lodge, as she was everywhere else.
+Elderly, respectable and respected old ladies they were; and though
+they dealt in gossip, would not willingly have hurt a fly. They dealt
+in receipts and in jellies too; in fashions, and in many kindnesses,
+both received and given by all the neighbourhood. They were daughters
+of a former rector of the parish, and poor, and asked nobody to help
+them; which indeed they had no need to ask.
+
+"You seemed to like your afternoon's acquaintance, papa?" said Eleanor.
+
+"He is a fine fellow," said the squire. "He's a fine fellow. Knows
+something. My dear, he teaches a small school at Wiglands, I hear."
+
+"Does he. I wonder who goes to it," said Mrs. Powle.
+
+"I don't know," said the squire; "but I mean to send Alfred."
+
+"My dear Mr. Powle! to such a school as that? Nobody can go to it but
+some of the farmers' children around--there is no one else."
+
+"It won't hurt him, for a little while," said the squire. "I like the
+master, and that's of more importance than the children. Don't you
+worry."
+
+"My dear Mr. Powle! But I never heard of such a thing in my life. I do
+not believe Dr. Cairnes will like it at all. He will think it very
+strange, your sending your boy to a man that is not a Churchman, and is
+not anything, that anybody knows of."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes be hanged!" said the squire,--"and mind his own affairs.
+He wouldn't want me to send Alfred to _him_."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Powle," said Miss Broadus, "I can tell you this for your
+comfort--there are two sons of Mr. Churchill, the Independent minister
+of Eastcombe--that come over to him; besides one or two more that are
+quite respectable."
+
+"Why does not Mr. Churchill send his boys to school it Eastcombe?"
+
+"O well, it doesn't suit him, I suppose; and like goes to like, you
+know, my dear."
+
+"That is what I think," said Mrs. Powle, looking at her husband,--"and
+I wonder Mr. Powle does not think so too."
+
+"If you mean me," said the squire, "I am not 'like' anybody--that I can
+tell you. A good schoolmaster is a good schoolmaster--I don't care what
+else he calls himself."
+
+"And Mr. Rhys is a good schoolmaster, I have no doubt," said Miss
+Broadus.
+
+"I know what he is," said Julia; "he is a nice man, I like him."
+
+"I saw he kept you quiet," said Eleanor. "How did he manage it?"
+
+"He didn't manage it. He told me about things," said Julia; "and he got
+flowers for me, and told me about ferns. You never saw such lovely
+ferns as we found; and you would not know where to look for them,
+either. I never saw such a nice man as Mr. Rhys in my life."
+
+"There, my dear," said her mother, "do not encourage Julia in talking.
+She is always too ready."
+
+"I am going to walk with him again, to get flowers," said the child.
+
+"I shall invite him to the Lodge," said the squire. "He is a very
+sensible man, and knows what he is about."
+
+"Do you know anything more about him, Mr. Powle?"
+
+"He does more than teach three or four boys," said Miss Broadus. "He
+serves a little Dissenting Chapel of some sort, over at Lily Vale."
+
+"Why does he not live there then?" said Mrs. Powle. "Lily Vale is two
+and a half miles off. Not very convenient, I should think."
+
+"I don't know, my dear. Perhaps he finds living cheap at Wiglands, and
+I am sure he may. Do you know, I get butter for less than one-half what
+I paid when I was in Leicester?"
+
+"It is summer time now, Miss Broadus," said the squire.
+
+"Yes, I know, but still--I am sure Wiglands is the nicest, easiest
+place for poor people to live, that ever was."
+
+"Why you are not poor, Miss Broadus," said the squire.
+
+Miss Broadus chuckled. The fact was, that the Miss Broadus's not being
+poor was a standing pleasant joke with them; it being well known that
+they were not largely supplied with means, but contrived to make a
+little do the apparent work of much more than they had. A way of
+achieving respectability upon which they prided themselves.
+
+"Eleanor," said her mother as they left the table, "you look pale. Did
+you get your feet wet?"
+
+"Yes, mamma--there was no helping that."
+
+"Then you'll be laid up!"
+
+"She must not, just now, my dear," said Miss Broadus smilingly.
+
+Eleanor could not laugh off the prophecy, which an internal warning
+told her was well founded. She went to bed thinking of Mr. Rhys's
+helmet. She did not know why; she was not given to such thoughts;
+neither did she comprehend exactly what the helmet might be; yet now
+the thought came uneasily across her mind, that just such a cold as she
+had taken had been many a one's death; and with that came a strange
+feeling of unprotectedness--of want of defence. It was very
+uncomfortable to go to bed with that slight sensation of sore throat
+and feverishness, and to remember that the beginning of multitudes of
+last sicknesses had been no other and no greater; and it was most
+unlike Eleanor to have such a cause make her uncomfortable. She charged
+it upon the conversation of the morning, and supposed herself nervous
+or feverish; but this, if an explanation, was no cure; and through the
+frequent wakings of a disturbed night, the thought of that piece of
+armour which made one of her fellow creatures so blessedly calm, came
+up again and again to her mind.
+
+"I am feverish--this is nightmare," said Eleanor to herself. But it
+must be good to have no such nightmare. And when the broad daylight had
+come, and she was pronounced to be very ill, and the doctor was sent
+for, Eleanor found her night's visions would not take their departure.
+She could not get up; she was a prisoner; would she ever be free?
+
+She was very ill; the fever gained head; and the old doctor, who was a
+friend of the family, looked very grave at her. Eleanor saw it. She
+knew that a battle was to be fought between the powers of life and
+death; and the thought that no one could tell how the victory would be,
+came like an ice wind upon flowers. Her spirit shrank and cowered
+before it. Hopes and pleasures and plans, of which she was so full
+yesterday, were chilled to the ground; and across the cleared pathway
+of vision, what appeared? Eleanor would not look.
+
+But the battle must be fought; and it had to be fought amid pain and
+fever and weariness and the anxious looks of friends; and it was not
+soon decided. And the wish for that helmet of shelter, whatever it
+might be, came at times bitterly strong over Eleanor's heart. Many a
+heavily drawn sigh, which her mother charged to the body's weariness,
+came from the mind's longing. And in the solitude of the night, when
+her breath was quick and her pulse was high and she knew everything was
+going wrong, the thought came with a sting of agony,--if there was such
+a helmet, and she could not have it. O to be well and strong, and need
+none!--or while lying before death's door to see if it would open, O to
+have that talisman that would make its opening peace! It was not at
+Eleanor's hand, and she did not know where to find it. And when the
+daylight came again, and the doctor looked grave, and her mother turned
+away the anxious face she did not wish Eleanor to read, the cold chill
+of fear crept over Eleanor's heart. She hid it there. No creature in
+the house, she knew, could meet or quiet it; if indeed her explanation
+of it could have been understood. She banished it as often as it was
+possible; but during many days that Eleanor lay on a sick bed, it was
+so frequent a visiter that her heart grew sore for its coming.
+
+There were June roses and summer sunshine outside; and sweet breaths
+came in at the open windows, telling the time of year. Julia reported
+how fine the strawberries were, and went and came with words about
+walks and flowers and joyous doings; while Eleanor's room was darkened,
+and phials of medicine and glasses stood on the table, and the doctor
+went and carne, and Mrs. Powle hardly left her by day, and at night
+tile nurse slept, and Eleanor tossed and turned on her pillow and
+thought of another "night" that "cometh."
+
+The struggle with fever and pain was over at last. Then came weakness;
+and though hope revived, fear would not die. Besides, Eleanor said to
+herself, though she should get entirely well of this sickness, who
+would guaranty her that another would not come? And must not one
+come--some time--that must be final? And how should that be met? Nay,
+though getting well again and out of present danger, she would have
+liked to have that armour of shelter still!
+
+"What are you crying for?" said her little sister coming suddenly into
+her room one day. Eleanor was so far recovered as to be up.
+
+"I am weak and nervous,--foolish."
+
+"I wouldn't be foolish," said Julia.
+
+"I do not think I am foolish," said Eleanor slowly.
+
+"Then why do you say you are? But what is the matter with you?"
+
+"Like all the rest of the world, child,--I want something I cannot get.
+What have you there?"
+
+"Ferns," said Julia. "Do you know what ferns are?"
+
+"I suppose I do--when I see them."
+
+"No, but when you _don't_ see them; that's the thing."
+
+"Do you, pray."
+
+"Yes! A fern is a plant which has its seeds come on the back of the
+leaf, and no flower; and it comes up curled like a caterpillar. Aren't
+those pretty?"
+
+"Where did you learn all that?"
+
+"I know more than that. This leaf is called a _frond_."
+
+"Who told you?"
+
+"Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Did you learn it from Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure I did, and a great deal more. He is going to teach me
+all about ferns."
+
+"Where do you see Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Why! wherever I have a mind. Alfred goes walking with him, and the
+other boys, and I go too; and he tells us things. I always go along
+with Mr. Rhys, and he takes care of me."
+
+"Does mamma know?"
+
+"Yes, but papa lets Mr. Rhys do just what he pleases. Papa says Mr.
+Rhys is a wonderful man."
+
+"What is he wonderful for?" said Eleanor languidly.
+
+"Well, _I_ think, because he is making Alfred a good boy."
+
+"I wonder how he has done it," said Eleanor.
+
+"So do I. He knows how. What do you think--he punished Alfred one day
+right before papa."
+
+"Where?" said Eleanor, in astonishment.
+
+"Down at the school. Papa was there. Papa told about it. Alfred thought
+he wouldn't dare, when papa was there; and Alfred took the opportunity
+to be impudent; and Mr. Rhys just took him up by his waistband and laid
+him down on the floor at his feet; and Alfred has behaved himself ever
+since."
+
+"Was not papa angry?"
+
+"He said he was at first, and I think it is likely; but after that, he
+said Mr. Rhys was a great man, and he would not interfere with him."
+
+"And how does Alfred like Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"He likes him--" said Julia, turning over her ferns. "I like him. Mr.
+Rhys said he was sorry you were sick. Now, _that_ is a frond. That is
+what it is called. Do you see, those are the seeds."
+
+Eleanor sighed. She would have liked to take lessons of Mr. Rhys on
+another subject. She half envied Julia's liberty. There seemed a great
+wall built up between her and the knowledge she wanted. Must it be so
+always?
+
+"Julia, when are you going to take a walk with Mr. Rhys again?"
+
+"To-morrow," was the quick answer.
+
+"I will give you something to ask him about."
+
+"I don't want it. I always have enough to ask him. We are going after
+ferns; we always have enough to talk about."
+
+"But there is a question I would like you to ask."
+
+"What is it? Why don't you ask him yourself?"
+
+Eleanor was silent, watching Julia's uncompromising business-like air
+as she turned over her bunch of ferns. The little one was full of her
+own affairs; her long locks of hair waving with every turn of her busy
+head. Suddenly she looked up.
+
+"What is your question, Eleanor?"
+
+"You must not ask it as if from me."
+
+"How then?"
+
+"Just ask it--as if you wanted to know yourself; without saying
+anything."
+
+"As if I wanted to know what?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated, and Mrs. Powle came into the room.
+
+"What, Eleanor--what?" Julia repeated.
+
+"Nothing. Study your ferns."
+
+"I _have_ studied them. This is the rachis--and down here below this,
+is the rhizoma; and the little seed places that come on the back of the
+frond, are thecae. I forget what Mr. Rhys called the seeds now. I'll
+ask him."
+
+"What nonsense is that you are talking, Julia?"
+
+"Sense, mamma. Or rather, it is knowledge."
+
+"Mamma, how do _you_ like Mr. Rhys? Julia says he is often here."
+
+"He is a pleasant man," said Mrs. Powle. "I have nothing against
+him--except that your father and the children are crazy about him. I
+see nothing in him to be crazy about."
+
+"Alfred is a good deal less crazy than he used to be," remarked Julia;
+"and I think papa hasn't lost anything."
+
+"You are a saucy girl," said her mother. "Mr. Carlisle is very anxious
+to know when you will be down stairs again, Eleanor."
+
+Julia ran off with her ferns; Eleanor went into a muse; and the
+conversation ceased.
+
+It happened a few days after this, that the event about which Mr.
+Carlisle was anxious came to pass. Eleanor was able to leave her room.
+However, feeling yet very wanting in strength, and not quite ready to
+face a company of gay talkers, she shunned the drawing-room where such
+a company was gathered, and betook herself to a small summer-parlour in
+another part of the house. This room she had somewhat appropriated to
+her own use. It had once been a school-room. Since the misbehaviour of
+one governess, years ago, Mr. Powle had vowed that he would never have
+another in the house, come what would. Julia might run wild at home; he
+should be satisfied if she learned to read, to ride, and to walk; and
+when she was old enough, he would send her to boarding-school. What the
+squire considered old enough, did not appear. Julia was a fine child of
+eleven, and still practising her accomplishments of riding and walking
+to her heart's content at home; with little progress made in the other
+branches to which reading is the door. The old schoolroom had long
+forgotten even its name, and had been fitted up simply and pleasantly
+for summer occupation. It opened on one side by a glass door upon a gay
+flower-garden; Eleanor's special pet and concern; where she did a great
+deal of work herself. It was after an elaborate geometrical pattern;
+and beds of all sorts of angles were filled and bright with different
+coloured verbenas, phloxes, geraniums, heliotrope, and other flowers
+fit for such work; making a brilliant mosaic of scarlet, purple and
+gold, in Eastern gorgeousness, as the whole was seen from the glass
+door. Eleanor sat down there to look at it and realise the fact that
+she was getting well again; with the dreamy realization that goes along
+with present weakness and remembered past pain.
+
+On another side the room opened to a small lawn; it was quite shut off
+by its situation and by the plantations of shrubbery, from the other
+part of the house; and very rarely visited by the chance comers who
+were frequent there. So Eleanor was a good deal surprised this evening
+to see a tall strange figure appear at the further side of her flower
+garden; then not at all surprised to see that it was Mr. Rhys
+accompanied by her sister, Julia. Julia flitted about through the
+garden, in very irregular fashion, followed by her friend; till their
+wanderings brought them near the open door within which Eleanor sat. To
+the door Julia immediately darted, drawing her companion with her; and
+as soon as she came up exclaimed, as if she had been armed with a
+search warrant and had brought her man,--
+
+"Here's Mr. Rhys, Eleanor. Now you can ask him yourself whatever you
+like."
+
+Eleanor felt startled. But it was with such a pleasant face that Mr.
+Rhys came up, such a cordial grasp of the hand greeted her, that the
+feeling vanished immediately. Perhaps that hand-clasp was all the
+warmer for Eleanor's changed appearance. She was very unlike the girl
+of superb health who had wandered over the old priory grounds a few
+weeks before. Eleanor's colour was gone; the blue veins shewed
+distinctly on the temples; the full lips, instead of their brilliant
+gay smile, had a languid and much soberer line. She made quite a
+different impression now, of a fair delicate young creature, who had
+lost and felt she had lost the proud strength in which she had been so
+luxuriant a little while before. Mr. Rhys looked at her attentively.
+
+"You have been very ill, Miss Powle."
+
+"I suppose I have--some of the time."
+
+"I am rejoiced to see you well again."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Julia has been leading me over the garden and grounds. I did not know
+where she was bringing me."
+
+"How do you like my garden?"
+
+"For a garden of that sort--it seems to me well arranged."
+
+He was very cool, certainly, in giving his opinion, Eleanor thought.
+Her gardening pride was touched. This was a pet of her own.
+
+"Then you do not fancy gardens of this sort."
+
+"I believe I think Nature is the best artist of all."
+
+"But would you let Nature have her own way entirely?"
+
+"No more in the vegetable than I would in the moral world. She would
+grow weeds."
+
+The quick clear sense and decision, in the eye and accent, were just
+what Eleanor did not want to cope with. She was silent. So were her two
+companions; for Julia was busy with a nosegay she was making up. Then
+Mr. Rhys turned to Eleanor,
+
+"Julia said you had a question to ask of me, Miss Powle."
+
+"Yes, I had,"--said Eleanor, colouring slightly and hesitating. "But
+you cannot answer it standing--will you come in, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Thank you--if you will allow me, I will take this instead," said he,
+sitting down on one of the steps before the glass door. "What was the
+question?"
+
+"That was the other day, when she brought in her ferns--it was a wish I
+had. But she ought not to have troubled you with it."
+
+"It will give me great pleasure to answer you--if I can."
+
+Eleanor half fancied he knew what the question was; and she hesitated
+again, feeling a good deal confused. But when should she have another
+chance? She made a bold push.
+
+"I felt a curiosity to ask you--I did not know any one else who could
+tell me--what that 'helmet' was, you spoke of one day;--that day at the
+old priory?"
+
+Eleanor could not look up. She felt as if the clear eyes opposite her
+were reading down in the depth of her heart. They were very unflinching
+about it. It was curiously disagreeable and agreeable both at once.
+
+"Have you wanted it, these weeks past?" said he.
+
+The question was unexpected. It was put with a penetrating sympathy.
+Eleanor felt if she opened her lips to speak she could not command
+their steadiness. She gave no answer but silence.
+
+"A helmet?" said Julia looking up. "What is a helmet?"
+
+"The warriors of old time," said Mr. Rhys, "used to wear a helmet to
+protect their heads from danger. It was a covering of leather and
+steel. With this head-piece on, they felt safe; where their lives would
+not have been worth a penny without it."
+
+"But Eleanor--what does Eleanor want of a helmet?" said Julia. And she
+went off into a shout of ringing laughter.
+
+"Perhaps you want one," said Mr. Rhys composedly.
+
+"No, I don't. What should I want it for? What should I cover my head
+with leather and steel for, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"You want something stronger than that."
+
+"Something stronger? What do I want, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"To know that, you must find out first what the danger is."
+
+"I am not in any danger."
+
+"How do you know that?"
+
+"Am I, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Let us see. Do you know what the Lord Jesus Christ has done for us
+all?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you know whether God has given us any commandments?"
+
+"Yes; I know the ten commandments. I have learned them once, but I
+don't remember them."
+
+"Have you obeyed them?"
+
+"Me?"
+
+"Yes. You."
+
+"I never thought about it."
+
+"Have you disobeyed them then?"
+
+Eleanor breathed more freely, and listened. It was curious to her to
+see the wayward, giddy child stand and look into the eyes of her
+questioner as if fascinated. The ordinary answer from Julia would have
+been a toss and a fling. Now she stood and said sedately, "I don't
+know."
+
+"We can soon tell," said her friend. "One of the commandments is, to
+remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. Have you always done that?"
+
+"No," said Julia bluntly. "I don't think anybody else does."
+
+"Never mind anybody else. Have you always honoured the word and wish of
+your father and mother? That is another command."
+
+"I have done it more than Alfred has."
+
+"Let Alfred alone. Have _you_ always done it?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Have you loved the good God all your life, with all your heart?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You have loved to please yourself, rather than anything else?"
+
+The nod with which Julia answered this, if not polite, was at least
+significant, accompanied with an emphatic "Always!" Mr. Rhys could not
+help smiling at her, but he went on gravely enough.
+
+"What is to keep you then from being afraid?"
+
+"From being afraid?"
+
+"Yes. You want a helmet."
+
+"Afraid?" said Julia.
+
+"Yes. Afraid of the justice of God. He never lets a sin go unpunished.
+He is _perfectly_ just."
+
+"But I can't help it," said Julia.
+
+"Then what is to become of you? You need a helmet."
+
+"A helmet?" said Julia again. "What sort of a helmet?"
+
+"You want to know that God has forgiven you; that he is not angry with
+you; that he loves you, and has made you his child."
+
+"How can I?" said the child, pressing closer to the speaker where he
+sat on the step of the door. And no wonder, for the words were given
+with a sweet earnest utterance which drew the hearts of both bearers.
+He went on without looking at Eleanor; or without seeming to look that
+way.
+
+"How can you what?"
+
+"How can I have that?"
+
+"That helmet? There is only one way."
+
+"What is it, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+They were silent a minute, looking at each other, the man and the
+child; the child with her eyes bent on his.
+
+"Suppose somebody had taken your punishment for you? borne the
+displeasure of God for your sins?"
+
+"Who would?" said Julia. "Nobody would."
+
+"One has."
+
+"Who, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"One that loved you, and that loved all of us, well enough to pay the
+price of saving us."
+
+"What price did he pay?"
+
+"His own life. He gave it up cruelly--that ours might be redeemed."
+
+"What for, Mr. Rhys? what made him?"
+
+"Because he loved us. There was no other reason."
+
+"Then people will be saved"--said Julia.
+
+"Every one who will take the conditions. It depends upon that. There
+are conditions."
+
+"What conditions, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Do you know who did this for you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"It is the Lord himself--the Lord Jesus Christ--the Lord of glory. He
+thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but he made himself of no
+reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in
+the likeness of men; and being found in fashion as a man, he humbled
+himself and became obedient unto death--even the death of the cross. So
+now he is exalted a Prince and a Saviour--able to save all who will
+accept his conditions."
+
+"What are the conditions, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"You must be his servant. And you must trust all your little heart and
+life to him."
+
+"I must be his servant?" said Julia.
+
+"Yes, heart and soul, to obey him. And you must trust him to forgive
+you and save you for his blood's sake."
+
+Doubtless there had been something in the speaker himself that had held
+the child's attention so fast all this while. Her eyes had never
+wandered from his face; she had stood in docile wise looking at him and
+answering his questions and listening, won by the commentary she read
+in his face on what her friend was saying. A strange light kindled in
+it as he spoke; there were lines of affection and tenderness that came
+in the play of lips and eyes; and when he named his Master, there had
+shined in his face as it were the reflection of the glory he alluded
+to. Julia's eyes were not the only ones that had been held; though it
+was only Julia's tongue that said anything in reply. Standing now and
+looking still into the face she had been reading, her words were an
+unconscious rendering of what she found there.
+
+"Mr. Rhys, I think he was very good."
+
+The water filled those clear eyes at that, but he only returned the
+child's gaze and said nothing.
+
+"I will take the conditions, Mr. Rhys," Julia went on.
+
+"The Lord make it so!" he said gravely.
+
+"But what is the helmet, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"When you have taken the conditions, little one, you will know." He
+rose up.
+
+"Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor rising also, "I have listened to you, but I do
+not quite understand you."
+
+"I recommend you to ask better teaching, Miss Powle."
+
+"But I would like to know exactly what you mean, and what you meant, by
+that 'helmet' you speak of so often?"
+
+He looked steadily now at the fair young face beside him, which told so
+plainly of the danger lately passed through. Eleanor could not return,
+though she suffered the examination. His answer was delayed while he
+made it.
+
+"Do you ask from a sense of need?" he said.
+
+Eleanor looked up then and answered, "Yes."
+
+"To say, 'I know that my Redeemer liveth'--that is it," he said. "Then
+the head is covered--even from fear of evil."
+
+It was impossible that Eleanor ever should forget the look that went
+with the words, and which had prevented her own gaze from seeking the
+ground again. The look of inward rejoicing and outward fearlessness;
+the fire and the softness that at once overspread his face. "He was
+looking at his Master then"--was the secret conclusion of Eleanor's
+mind. Even while she thought it, he had turned and was gone again with
+Julia. She stood still some minutes, weak as she was. She was not sure
+that she perfectly comprehended what that helmet might be, but of its
+reality there could be no questioning. She had seen its plumes wave
+over one brow!
+
+"I know that my Redeemer liveth"--Eleanor sat down and mused over the
+words. She had heard them before; they were an expression of somebody's
+faith, she was not sure whose; but what faith was it? Faith that the
+Redeemer lived? Eleanor did not question that. She had repeated the
+Apostle's Creed many a time. Yet a vague feeling from the words she
+could not analyze--or arising perhaps from the look that had
+interpreted them--floated over her mind, disturbing it with an
+exceeding sense of want. She felt desolate and forlorn. What was to be
+done? Julia and Mr. Rhys were gone. The garden was empty. There was no
+more chance of counsel-taking to-night. Eleanor felt in no mood for gay
+gossip, and slowly mounted the stairs to her own room, from whence she
+declined to come down again that night. She would like to find the
+settlement of this question, before she went back into the business of
+the world and was swallowed up by it, as she would soon be. Eleanor
+locked the door, and took up a Bible, and tried to find some good by
+reading in it. Her eyes and head were tired before her mind received
+any light. She was weak yet. She found the Bible very unsatisfactory;
+and gave it up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+IN THE DRAWING-ROOM.
+
+
+  "Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
+  And he that might the vantage best have took,
+  Found out the remedy."
+
+
+"You can come down stairs to-night, Eleanor," said Mrs. Powle the next
+morning.
+
+"I was down stairs last night--in the afternoon, I mean--mamma."
+
+"Yes, but you did not stay. I want you in the drawing-room this
+evening. You can bear it now."
+
+"I am in no hurry, mamma."
+
+"Other people are, however. If you wear a white dress, do put a rose or
+some pink ribbands somewhere, to give yourself a little colour."
+
+"Have you invited any one for this evening?"
+
+"No, but people have promised themselves without being asked. Dr.
+Cairnes wants to see you; he said he would bring Mrs. Wycherly. Miss
+Broadus will be here of course; she declared she would; both of them.
+And Mr. Carlisle desired my permission to present himself."
+
+"Mr. Rhys is coming," said Julia.
+
+"I dare say. Mr. Powle wants him here all the time. It is a mercy the
+man has a little consideration--or some business to keep him at
+home--or he would be the sauce to every dish. As it is, he really is
+not obtrusive."
+
+"Are all these people coming with the hope and intent of seeing me,
+mamma?"
+
+"I can only guess at people's hopes, Eleanor. I am guiltless of
+anything but confessing that you were to make your appearance."
+
+"Mr. Rhys is not coming to see you," said Julia. "He wants to see the
+books--that is what he wants."
+
+There was some promise for Eleanor in the company announced for the
+evening. If anybody could be useful to her in the matter of her late
+doubts and wishes, it ought to be Dr. Cairnes, the rector. He at least
+was the only one she knew whom she could talk to about them; the only
+friend. Mr. Rhys was a stranger and her brother's tutor; that was all;
+a chance of speaking to him again was possible, but not to be depended
+on. Dr. Cairnes was her pastor and old friend; it is true, she knew him
+best, out of the pulpit, as an antiquarian; then she had never tried
+him on religious questions. Nor he her, she remembered; it was a
+doubtful hope altogether; nevertheless the evening offered what another
+evening might not in many a day. So Eleanor dressed, and with her slow
+languid step made her way down stairs to the scene of the social
+gayeties which had been so long interrupted for her.
+
+Ivy Lodge was a respectable, comfortable, old house; pretty by the
+combination of those advantages; and pleasant by the fact of making no
+pretensions beyond what it was worth. It was not disturbed by the rage
+after new fashions, nor the race after distant greatness. Quiet
+respectability was the characteristic of the family; Mrs. Powle alone
+being burdened with the consciousness of higher birth than belonged to
+the name of Powle generally. She fell into her husband's ways, however,
+outwardly, well enough; did not dislodge the old furniture, nor
+introduce new extravagances; and the Lodge was a pleasant place. "A
+most enjoyable house, my dear,"--as Miss Broadus expressed it. So the
+gentry of the neighbourhood found it universally.
+
+The drawing-room was a pretty, spacious apartment; light and bright;
+opening upon the lawn directly without intervention of piazza or
+terrace. Windows, or rather glass doors, in deep recesses, stood open;
+the company seemed to be half in and half out. Dr. Cairnes was there,
+talking with the squire. In another place Mrs. Powle was engaged with
+Mr. Carlisle. Further than those two groups, Eleanor's eye had no
+chance to go; those who composed the latter greeted her instantly. Mrs.
+Powle's exclamation was of doubtful pleasure at Eleanor's appearance;
+there was no question of her companion's gratification. He came forward
+to Eleanor, gave her his chair; brought her a cup of tea, and then sat
+down to see her drink it; with a manner which bespoke pleasure in every
+step of the proceedings. A manner which had rather the effect of a
+barrier to Eleanor's vision. It was gratifying certainly; Eleanor felt
+it; only she felt it a little too gratifying. Mr. Carlisle was getting
+on somewhat too fast for her. She drank her tea and kept very quiet;
+while Mrs. Powle sat by and fanned herself, as contentedly as a mother
+duck swims that sees all her young ones taking to the water kindly.
+
+Now and then Eleanor's eyes went out of the window. On the lawn at a
+little distance was a group of people, sitting close together and
+seeming very busy. They were Mr. Rhys, Miss Broadus, Alfred and Julia.
+Something interesting was going forward; they were talking and
+listening, and looking at something they seemed to be turning over.
+Eleanor would have liked to join them; but here was Mr. Carlisle; and
+remembering the expression which had once crossed his face at the
+mention of Mr. Rhys's name, she would not draw attention to the group
+even by her eyes; though they wandered that way stealthily whenever
+they could. What a good time those people were having there on the
+grass; and she sitting fenced in by Mr. Carlisle. Other members of the
+party who had not seen Eleanor, came up one after another to
+congratulate and welcome her; but Mr. Carlisle kept his place. Dr.
+Cairnes came, and Eleanor wanted a chance to talk to him. None was
+given her. Mr. Carlisle left his place for a moment to carry Eleanor's
+cup away, and Dr. Cairnes thoughtlessly took the vacated chair; but Mr.
+Carlisle stationed himself on the other side in the window; and she was
+as far from her opportunity as ever.
+
+"Well my dear," said the doctor, "you have had a hard time, eh? We are
+glad to have you amongst us again."
+
+"Hardly," put in Mrs. Powle. "She looks like a ghost."
+
+"Rather a substantial kind of a ghost," said the doctor, pinching
+Eleanor's cheek; "some flesh and blood here yet--flesh at least;--and
+now the blood speaks for itself! That's right, my dear--you are better
+so."
+
+Mr. Carlisle's smile said so too, as the doctor glanced at him. But the
+momentary colour faded again. Eleanor remembered how near she had come
+to being a ghost actually. Just then Mr. Carlisle's attention was
+forcibly claimed, and Mrs. Powle moved away. Eleanor seized her chance.
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, I want your instruction in something."
+
+"Well, my dear," said the doctor, lowering his tone in imitation of
+Eleanor's--"I shall be happy to be your instructor. I have been that,
+in some sort, ever since you were five years old--a little tot down in
+your mother's pew, sitting under my ministrations. What is it, Miss
+Eleanor?"
+
+"I am afraid I did not receive much in those days, sir."
+
+"Probably not. Hardly to be expected. I have no doubt you received as
+much as a child could, from the mysteries which were above its
+comprehension. What is it now, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"Something in your line, sir. Dr. Cairnes, you remember the helmet
+spoken of in the Bible?"
+
+"Helmet?" said the doctor. "Goliath's? He had a helmet of brass upon
+his head. Must have been heavy, but I suppose he could carry it. The
+same thing essentially as those worn by our ancestors--a little
+variation in form. What about it, my dear? I am glad to see you smiling
+again."
+
+"Nothing about that. I am speaking of another sort of helmet--do you
+not remember?--it is called somewhere the helmet of salvation."
+
+"_That?_ O!--um! _That_ helmet! Yes--it is in, let me see--it is in the
+description of Christian armour, in a fine passage in Ephesians, I
+think. What about that, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"I want to know, sir, what shape that helmet takes."
+
+It was odd, with what difficulty Eleanor brought out her questions. It
+was touching, the concealed earnestness which lingered behind her
+glance and smile.
+
+"Shape?" said the doctor, descending into his cravat;--"um! a fair
+question; easier asked than answered. Why my dear, you should read a
+commentary."
+
+"I like living commentaries, Dr. Cairnes."
+
+"Do you? Ha, ha!--well. Living commentaries, eh? and shapes of helmets.
+Well. What shape does it take? Why, my dear, you know of course that
+those expressions are figurative. I think it takes the shape of a
+certain composure and peace of mind which the Christian soul feels, and
+justly feels, in regarding the provision made for its welfare in the
+gospel. It is spoken of as the helmet of salvation; and there is the
+shield of faith; and so forth."
+
+Eleanor felt utterly worried, and did not in the least know how to
+frame her next question.
+
+"What has put you upon thinking of helmets, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"I was curious--" said Eleanor.
+
+"You had some serious thoughts in your illness?" said the doctor.
+"Well, my dear--I am glad of it. Serious thoughts do not in the least
+interfere with all proper present enjoyments; and with improper ones
+you would not wish to have anything to do."
+
+"May we not say that serious thoughts are the _foundation_ of all true
+present enjoyment?" said another voice. It was Mr. Rhys who spoke.
+Eleanor started to hear him, and to see him suddenly in the place where
+Mr. Carlisle had been, standing in the window.
+
+"Eh? Well--no,--not just that," said Dr. Cairnes coolly. "I have a good
+deal of enjoyment in various things--this fair day and this fair
+company, for example, and Mrs. Powle's excellent cup of tea--with which
+I apprehend, serious thoughts have nothing to do."
+
+"But we are commanded to do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus."
+
+"Well--um! That is to be taken of course in its rational significance.
+A cup of tea is a cup of tea--and nothing more. There is nothing at the
+bottom of it--ha, ha!--but a little sugar. Nothing more serious."
+
+Mr. Rhys's figure standing in the window certainly hindered a part of
+the light. To judge by the doctor's face, he was keeping out the whole.
+
+"What do you suppose the apostle means, sir, when he says,
+'Henceforward know I no man after the flesh?'"
+
+"Hum!--Ah,--well, he was an apostle. I am not. Perhaps you are?"
+
+There was a degree of covert disdain in this speech, which Eleanor
+wondered at in so well-bred a man as Dr. Cairnes. Mr. Rhys answered
+with perfect steadiness, with no change of tone or manner.
+
+"Without being inspired--I think, in the sense of _messenger_, every
+minister of Christ is his apostle."
+
+"Ah! Well!--I am not even apostolic," said the doctor, with one or two
+contented and discontented grunts. Eleanor understood them; the content
+was his own, the discontent referred to the speaker whose words were so
+inopportune. The doctor rose and left the ground. Mr. Rhys had gone
+even before him; and Eleanor wondered anew whether this man were indeed
+shy or not. He was so little seen and heard; yet spoke, when he spoke,
+with such clearness and self-possession. He was gone now, and Mr.
+Carlisle was still busy. Up came Miss Broadus and took the vacant seat.
+
+It is impossible to describe Miss Broadus's face. It was in a certain
+sense fair, and fat, and fresh-coloured; but the "windows of her soul"
+shewed very little light from within; they let out nothing but a little
+gleam now and then. However, her tongue was fluent, and matter for
+speech never wanting. She was kindly too, in manner at least; and
+extremely sociable with all her neighbours, low as well as high; none
+of whose affairs wanted interest for her. It was in fact owing to Miss
+Broadus's good offices with Mrs. Powle, that Mr. Rhys had been invited
+to join the pleasure party with which the adventures of this book
+begin. The good lady was as neat as a pink in her dress; and very fond
+of being as shewy, in a modest way.
+
+"Among us again, Eleanor?" she said. "We are glad to see you. So is Mr.
+Carlisle, I should judge. We have missed you badly. You have been
+terribly ill, haven't you? Yes, you shew it. But _that_ will soon pass
+away, my dear. I longed to get in to do something for you--but Mrs.
+Powle would not let me; and I knew you had the best of everything all
+the while. Only I thought I would bring you a pot of my grape jelly;
+for Mrs. Powle don't make it; and it is so refreshing."
+
+"It was very nice, thank you."
+
+"O it was nothing, my dear; only we wanted to do something. I have been
+having such an interesting time out there; didn't you see us sitting on
+the grass? Mr. Rhys is quite a botanist--or a naturalist--or something;
+and he was quite the centre of our entertainment. He was shewing us
+ferns--fern leaves, my dear; and talking about them. Do you know, as I
+told him, I never looked at a fern leaf before; but now really it's
+quite curious; and he has almost made me believe I could see a certain
+kind of beauty in them. You know there is a sort of beauty which some
+people think they find in a great many things; and when they are
+enthusiastic, they almost make you think as they do. I think there is
+great power in enthusiasm."
+
+"Is Mr. Rhys enthusiastic?"
+
+"O I don't know, my dear,--I don't know what you would call it; I am
+not a philosopher; but he is very fond of ferns himself. He is a very
+fine man. He is a great deal too good to go and throw himself away."
+
+"Is that what he is going to do?"
+
+"Why yes, my dear; that is what I should call it. It is a great deal
+more than that. I never can remember the place; but it is the most
+dreadful place, I do suppose, that ever was heard of. I never heard of
+such a place. They do every horrible thing there--my dear, the accounts
+make your blood creep. I think Mr. Rhys is a great deal too valuable a
+man to be lost there, among such a set of creatures--they are more like
+devils than men. And Eleanor," said Miss Broadus, looking round to see
+that nobody was within hearing of her communication,--"you have no idea
+what a pleasant man he is. I asked him to tea with Juliana and me--you
+know one must be kind and neighbourly at any rate--and he has no
+friends here; I sometimes wonder if he has any anywhere; but he came to
+tea, and he was as agreeable as possible. He was really excellent
+company, and very well behaved. I think Juliana quite fell in love with
+him; but I tell her it's no use; she never would go off to that
+dreadful place with him."
+
+And Miss Broadus laughed a laugh of simple amusement; Miss Juliana
+being, though younger than herself, still very near the age of an old
+lady. They kept the light-hearted simplicity of young years, however,
+in a remarkable degree; and so had contrived to dispense with wrinkles
+on their fresh old faces.
+
+"Where is that place, Miss Broadus?"
+
+"My dear, I never can remember the name of it. They do say the country
+is beautiful, and the fruit, and all that; it is described to be a
+beautiful place, where, as Heber's hymn says, 'only man is vile.' But
+he is as vile as he can be, there. And I am sure Mr. Rhys would be a
+great loss at Wiglands. My dear, how pleasant it would be, I said to
+Juliana this morning, how pleasant it would be, if Mr. Rhys were only
+in the Church, and could help good Dr. Cairnes. 'Tisn't likely they
+will let him live long out there, if he goes."
+
+"When is he going?"
+
+"O I don't know when, my dear; he is waiting for something. And I never
+can remember the name of the place; if a word has many syllables I
+cannot keep them together in my memory; only I know the vegetables
+there grow to an enormous size, and as if that wasn't enough, men
+devour each other. It seems like an abusing the gifts of providence,
+don't it? But there is nothing they do not abuse. I am afraid they will
+abuse poor Mr. Rhys. And his boys would miss him very much, and I am
+sure we all should. I have got quite acquainted with him, seeing him
+here; and now Juliana has taken a fancy to ask him to our cottage--and
+I have come to quite like him. What a different looking man he is from
+Mr. Carlisle--now look at them talking together!--"
+
+"Where did you learn all this, Miss Broadus? did Mr. Rhys tell you?"
+
+"No, my dear; he never will talk about it or about himself. He lent me
+a pamphlet or something.--Mr. Rhys is the tallest--but Mr. Carlisle is
+a splendid looking man,--don't you think so, Eleanor?"
+
+Miss Broadus's energetic whisper Eleanor thought fit to ignore, though
+she did not fail to note the contrast which a moment's colloquy between
+the two men presented. There was little in common between them; between
+the marked features and grave keen expression of the one face, and the
+cool, bright, somewhat supercilious eye and smile of the other. There
+was power in both faces, Eleanor thought, of different kinds; and power
+is attractive. Her eye was held till they parted from each other. Two
+very different walks in life claimed the two men; so much Eleanor could
+see. For some time after she was obliged to attend exclusively to that
+walk of life which Mr. Carlisle represented, and to look at the views
+he brought forward for her notice.
+
+They were not so engrossing, however, that Eleanor entirely forgot the
+earlier conversation of the afternoon or the question which had
+troubled her. The evening had been baffling. She had not had a word
+with Mr. Rhys, and he had disappeared long since from the party. So had
+Dr. Cairnes. There was no more chance of talk upon that subject
+to-night; and Eleanor feeling very feeble still, thought best to cut
+short Mr. Carlisle's enjoyment of other subjects for the evening. She
+left the company, and slowly passed through the house, from room to
+room, to get to her own. In the course of this progress she came to the
+library. There, seated at one of the tables and bending over a volume,
+was Mr. Rhys. He jumped up as she passed through, and came forward with
+extended hand and a word of kindly inquiry. His "good night" was so
+genial, his clasp of her hand so frank and friendly, that instead of
+going on, Eleanor stood still.
+
+"Are you studying?"
+
+"Your father has kindly given me liberty to avail myself of his
+treasures here. My time is very scanty--I was tempted to seize the
+moment that offered itself. It is a very precious privilege to me, and
+one which I shall not abuse."
+
+"Pray do not speak of abusing," said Eleanor; "nobody minds the books
+here; I am glad they are good to anybody else.--I am interrupting you."
+
+"Not at all!" said he, bringing up a great chair for her,--"or only
+agreeably. Pray sit down--you are not fit to stand."
+
+Eleanor however remained standing, and hesitating, for a moment.
+
+"I wish you would tell me a little more about what we were talking of,"
+she said with some effort.
+
+"Do you feel your want of the helmet?" he said gravely.
+
+"I feel that I haven't it," said Eleanor.
+
+"What is it that you are conscious of wanting?"
+
+She hesitated; it was a home question; and very unaccustomed to speak
+of her secret thoughts and feelings to any one, especially on religious
+subjects, which however had never occupied her before, Eleanor was
+hardly ready to answer. Yet in the tones of the question there was a
+certain quiet assurance and simplicity before which she yielded.
+
+"I felt--a little while ago--when I was sick--that I was not exactly
+safe."
+
+Eleanor spoke, hesitating between every few words, looking down, and
+falling her voice at the end. So she did not see the keen intentness of
+the look that was fixed upon her.
+
+"You felt that there was something wanting between you and God?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+His accent was as deliberately clear as her's was hesitating. Every
+word went into Eleanor's soul.
+
+"Then you can understand now, that when one can say, joyfully, 'I know
+that my Redeemer liveth';--when he is no vague abstraction, but felt to
+be a _Redeemer;_--when one can say assuredly, he is _my_ Redeemer; I
+know he has bought back my soul from sin and from the punishment of
+sin, which is death; I feel I am forgiven; and I know he liveth--my
+Redeemer--and according to his promise lives to deliver me from every
+evil and will preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom;--do you see, now,
+that one who can say this has on his head the covering of an infinite
+protection--an infinite shelter from both danger and fear?--a helmet,
+placed on his head by his Lord's own hand, and of such heavenly temper
+that no blows can break through it."
+
+Eleanor was a little time silent, with downcast eyes.
+
+"You do not mean to say, that this protection is against _all_ evil; do
+you? sickness and pain are evils are they not?"
+
+"Not to him."
+
+"Not to him?"
+
+"No. The evil of them is gone. They can do him no harm; if they come,
+they will do good. He that wears this helmet has absolutely no evil to
+fear. All things shall work good to him. There shall no evil happen to
+the just. Blessed be the Lord, who only doeth wondrous things!"
+
+Eleanor stood silenced, humbled, convinced; till she recollected she
+must not stand there so, and she lifted her eyes to bid good-night.
+Then the face she met gave a new turn to her thoughts. It was a changed
+face; such a light of pure joy and deep triumph shone over it, not
+hiding nor hindering the loving care with which those penetrating eyes
+were reading herself. It gave Eleanor a strange compression of heart;
+it told her more than his words had done; it shewed her the very
+reality of which he spoke. Eleanor went away overwhelmed.
+
+"Mr. Rhys is a happy man!" she said to herself;--"happy, happy! I
+wish,--I wish, I were as happy as he!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+IN THE SADDLE.
+
+
+  "She has two eyes, so soft and brown,
+  Take care!
+  She gives a side-glance and looks down,
+  Beware! beware!"
+
+
+A few days more saw Eleanor restored to all the strength and beauty of
+health which she had been accustomed to consider her natural
+possession. And then--it is likely to be so--she was so happy in what
+mind and body had, that she forgot her wish for what the spirit had
+not. Or almost forgot it. Eleanor lived a very full life. It was no
+dull languid existence that she dragged on from day to day; time
+counted out none but golden pennies into her hand. Every minute was
+filled with business or play, both heartily entered into, and pursued
+with all the energy of a very energetic nature. Study, when she touched
+it, was sweet to her; but Eleanor did not study much. Nature was an
+enchanted palace of light and perfume. Bodily exertion, riding and
+walking, was as pleasant to her as it is to a bird to use its wings.
+Family intercourse, and neighbourly society, were nothing but pleasure.
+Benevolent kindness, if it came in her way, was a labour of love; and a
+hundred home occupations were greatly delighted in. They were not
+generally of an exalted character; Eleanor's training and associations
+had not led her into any very dignified path of human action; she had
+led only a butterfly's life of content and pleasure, and her character
+was not at all matured; but the capabilities were there; and the energy
+and will that might have done greater things, wrought beautiful
+embroidery, made endless fancy work, ordered well such part of the
+household economy as was committed to her, carried her bright smile
+into every circle, and made Eleanor's foot familiar with all the
+country where she could go alone, and her pony's trot well known in
+every lane and roadway where she could go with his company.
+
+All these enjoyments of her life were taken with new relish and zeal
+after her weeks of illness had laid her aside from them. Eleanor's
+world was brighter than ever. And round about all of these various
+enjoyments now, circling them with a kind of halo of expectancy or
+possibility, was the consciousness of a prospect that Eleanor knew was
+opening before her--a brilliant life-possession that she saw Fortune
+offering to her with a gracious hand. Would Eleanor take it? That
+Eleanor did not quite know. Meanwhile her eyes could not help looking
+that way; and her feet, consciously or unconsciously, now and then made
+a step towards it.
+
+She and her mother were sitting at work one morning--that is to say,
+Eleanor was drawing and Mrs. Powle cutting tissue paper in some very
+elaborate way, for some unknown use or purpose; when Julia dashed in.
+She threw a bunch of bright blue flowers on the table before her sister.
+
+"There," she said--"do you know what that is?"
+
+"Why certainly," said Eleanor. "It is borage."
+
+"Well, do you know what it means?"
+
+"What it _means?_ No. What does any flower mean?"
+
+"I'll tell you what _this_ means"--said Julia.
+
+
+"I, borage Bring courage."
+
+
+"That is what people used to think it meant."
+
+"How do you know that."
+
+"Mr. Rhys says so. This borage grew in Mrs. Williams's garden; and I
+dare say she believes it."
+
+"Who is Mrs. Williams?"
+
+"Why!--she's the old woman where Mr. Rhys lives; he lives in her
+cottage; that's where he has his school. He has a nice little room in
+her cottage, and there's nobody else in the cottage but Mrs. Williams."
+
+"Do, Julia, carry your flowers off, and do not be so hoydenish," said
+Mrs. Powle.
+
+"We have not seen Mr. Rhys here in a great while, mamma," said Eleanor.
+"I wonder what has become of him."
+
+"I'll tell you," said Julia--"he has become not well. I know Mr. Rhys
+is sick, because he is so pale and weak. And I know he is weak, because
+he cannot walk as he used to do. We used to walk all over the hills;
+and he says he can't go now."
+
+"Mamma, it would be right to send down and see what is the matter with
+him. There must be something. It is a long time--mamma, I think it is
+weeks--since he was at the Lodge."
+
+"Your father will send, I dare say," said Mrs. Powle, cutting her
+tissue paper.
+
+"Mamma, did you hear," said Eleanor as Julia ran off, "that Mr. Rhys
+was going to leave Wiglands and bury himself in some dreadful place,
+somewhere?"
+
+"I heard so."
+
+"What place is it?"
+
+"I can't tell, I am sure. It is somewhere in the South Seas, I
+believe--that region of horrors."
+
+"Is it true he is going there, mamma?"
+
+"I am sure I can't tell. Miss Broadus says so; and she says, I believe,
+he told her so himself. If he did, I suppose it is true."
+
+"Mamma, I think Mr. Rhys is a great deal too fine a man to go and lose
+his life in such a place. Miss Broadus says it is horrible. Do you know
+anything about it?"
+
+"I have no taste for horrors," said Mrs. Powle.
+
+"I think it is a great pity," Eleanor repeated. "I am sorry. There is
+enough in England for such a man to do, without going to the South
+Seas. I wonder how anybody can leave England!"
+
+Mrs. Powle looked up at her daughter and laughed. Eleanor had suspended
+her drawing and was sending a loving gaze out of the open window, where
+nature and summer were revelling in their conjoined riches. Art shewed
+her hand too, stealthily, having drawn out of the way of the others
+whatever might encumber the revel. Across a wide stretch of wooded and
+cultivated country, the eye caught the umbrageous heights on the
+further side of the valley of the Ryth. Eleanor's gaze was fixed. Mrs.
+Powle's glance was sly.
+
+"I should like to ask your opinion of another place," she
+said,--"which, being in England, is not horrible. You see that bit of
+brown mason-work, high away there, peeping out above the trees in the
+distance?--You know what house that is?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"It is the Priory. The new Priory, it ought to be called; I am sure the
+old one is down there in the valley yet--beneath it." But Eleanor's
+colour rose.
+
+"What do you think of that place?"
+
+"Considering that the old priory and its grounds belong to it, I think
+it must be one of the loveliest places in England."
+
+"I should like to see it in your possession--" Mrs. Powle remarked,
+going on with her tissue paper.
+
+Eleanor also went on assiduously with her drawing, and her colour
+remained a rich tint. But she went on frankly with her words too.
+
+"I am not sure, mamma, that I like the owner of it well enough to
+receive such a valuable gift from him."
+
+"He likes you, quite well enough to bestow it on you, without asking
+any questions," said Mrs. Powle. "He hardly thinks it is worth having,
+unless you have it too."
+
+"That is inconvenient," said Eleanor.
+
+"It strikes me the other way," said her mother.
+
+"How do you know this, which you affirm so securely, mamma?"
+
+"How should I know it? The person in question told me himself."
+
+"Told you in so many words?"
+
+"No, in a great many more," said Mrs. Powle laughing. "I have merely
+presented a statement. He had a great deal more to do than that."
+
+The tissue paper rustled quietly for some time after this, and
+Eleanor's pencil could be heard making quick marks. Neither lady
+interrupted the other.
+
+"Well, Eleanor,--how does it seem to you?" began the elder lady, in a
+tone of quiet satisfaction.
+
+"Inconvenient, mamma,--as I said."
+
+"How?"
+
+But Eleanor did not say how.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle will be here for his answer this evening."
+
+"I like him very well, mamma," said Eleanor, after another pause,--"but
+I do not like him enough."
+
+"Nonsense! You would like to be Lady Rythdale, wouldn't you?"
+
+The silence which followed this was longer than that which had been
+before. Knife and pencil pursued their work, but Mrs. Powle glancing up
+furtively from her tissue paper saw that Eleanor's brow was knitted and
+that her pencil was moving under the influence of something besides
+Art. So she let her alone for a long time. And Eleanor's fancy saw a
+vision of fairy beauty and baronial dignity before her. They lay in the
+wide domains and stately appendages of Rythdale Priory. How could she
+help seeing it? The vision floated before her with point after point of
+entrancing loveliness, old history, present luxury, hereditary rank and
+splendour, and modern power. It was like nothing in Eleanor's own home.
+Her father, though a comfortable country gentleman, boasted nothing and
+had nothing to boast in the way of ancestry, beyond a respectable
+descent of several generations. His means, though ample enough for
+comfort and reasonable indulgence, could make no pretensions to more.
+And Ivy Lodge was indeed a pleasant home, and every field and hedgerow
+belonging to it was lovely to Eleanor; but the broad manors of Rythdale
+Priory for extent would swallow up many such, and for beauty and
+dignity were as a damask rose to a bit of eglantine. Would Eleanor be
+Lady Rythdale?
+
+"He will be here this evening for his answer, Eleanor--" Mrs. Powle
+remarked in a quiet voice the second time.
+
+"Then you must give it to him, mamma."
+
+"I shall do nothing of the kind. You must see him yourself. I will have
+no such shifting of your work upon my shoulders."
+
+"I do not wish to see him to-night, mamma."
+
+"I choose that you should. Don't talk any nonsense to me, Eleanor."
+
+"But, mamma, if I am to give the answer, I am not ready with any answer
+to give."
+
+"Tell Mr. Carlisle so; and he will draw his own conclusions, and make
+you sign them."
+
+"I do not want to be made to sign anything."
+
+"Do it of free-will then," said Mrs. Powle laughing. "It is coming,
+Eleanor--one way or the other. If I were you, I would do it gracefully.
+Is it a hard thing to be Lady Rythdale?"
+
+Eleanor did not say, and nothing further passed on the subject; till as
+both parties were leaving the room together, Mrs. Powle said
+significantly,
+
+"You must give your own answer, Eleanor, and to-night. I will have no
+skulking."
+
+It was beyond Mrs. Powle's power, however, to prevent skulking of a
+certain sort. Eleanor did not hide herself in her room, but she left it
+late in the afternoon, when she knew the company consisted of more than
+one, and entered a tolerably well filled drawing-room. Mrs. Powle had
+not wished to have it so, but these things do not arrange themselves
+for our wishes. Miss Broadus was there, and Dr. Cairnes, and friends
+who had come to make him and his sister a visit; and one or two other
+neighbours. Eleanor came in without making much use of her eyes, and
+sheltered herself immediately under the wing of Miss Broadus, who was
+the first person she fell in with. Two pairs of eyes saw her entrance;
+with oddly enough the same thought and comment. "She will make a lovely
+Lady Rythdale." All the baronesses of that house had been famous for
+their beauty, and the heir of the house remarked to himself that _this_
+would prove not the least lovely of the race. However, Eleanor did not
+even feel sure that he was there, he kept at such a distance; and she
+engaged Miss Broadus in a conversation that seemed of interminable
+resources. The sole thing that Eleanor was conscious of concerning it,
+was its lasting quality; and to maintain that was her only care.
+
+Would Eleanor be Lady Rythdale? she had made up her mind to nothing,
+except, that it would be very difficult for her to say either yes or
+no. Naturally enough, she dreaded the being obliged to say anything;
+and was ready to seize every expedient to stave off the moment of
+emergency. As long as she was talking to Miss Broadus, she was safe;
+but conversations cannot last always, even when they flow in a stream
+so full and copious as that in which the words always poured from that
+lady's lips. Eleanor saw signs at last that the fountain was getting
+exhausted; and as the next resort proposed a game of chess. Now a game
+of chess was the special delight of Miss Broadus; and as it was the
+detestation of her sister, Miss Juliana, the delight was seldom
+realized. The two sisters were harmonious in everything except a few
+tastes, and perhaps their want of harmony in those points gave their
+life the variety it needed. At any rate, such an offer as Eleanor's was
+rarely refused by the elder sister; and the two ladies were soon deep
+in their business. One really, the other seemingly. Though indeed it is
+true that Eleanor was heartily engaged to prevent the game coming to a
+termination, and therefore played in good earnest, not for conquest but
+for time. This had gone on a good while, before she was aware that a
+footstep was drawing near the chess table, and then that Mr. Carlisle,
+stood beside her chair.
+
+"Now don't _you_ come to help!" said Miss Broadus, with a thoughtful
+face and a piece between her finger and thumb.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I know!" said Miss Broadus, never taking her eyes from the board which
+held them as by a charm,--"I can play a sort of a game; but if you take
+part against me, I shall be vanquished directly."
+
+"Why should I take part against you?"
+
+Miss Broadus at that laughed a good-humoured little simple laugh.
+"Well"--she said, "it's the course of events, I suppose. I never find
+anybody taking my part now-a-days. There! I am afraid you have made me
+place that piece wrong, Mr. Carlisle. I wish you would be still. I
+cannot fight against two such clever people."
+
+"Do you find Miss Powle clever?"
+
+"I didn't know she was, so much, before," said Miss Broadus, "but she
+has been playing like a witch this evening. There Eleanor--you are in
+check."
+
+Eleanor was equal to that emergency, and relieved her king from danger
+with a very skilful move. She could keep her wits, though her cheek was
+high-coloured and her hand had a secret desire to be nervous. Eleanor
+would not let it; and Mr. Carlisle admired the very pretty fingers
+which paused quietly upon the chess-men.
+
+"Do not forget a proper regard for the interests of the church, Miss
+Broadus," he remarked.
+
+"Why, I never do!" said Miss Broadus. "What do you mean? Oh, my
+bishop!--Thank you, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+Eleanor did not thank him, for the bishop's move shut up her play in a
+corner. She did her best, but her king's resources were cut off; and
+after a little shuffling she was obliged to surrender at discretion.
+Miss Broadus arose, pleased, and reiterating her thanks to Mr.
+Carlisle, and walked away; as conscious that her presence was no more
+needed in that quarter.
+
+"Will you play with me?" said Mr. Carlisle, taking the chair Miss
+Broadus had quitted.
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor, glad of anything to stave off what she dreaded;
+"but I am not--"
+
+"I am no match for you," she was going to say. She stopped suddenly and
+coloured more deeply.
+
+"What are you not?" asked the gentleman, slowly setting his pawns.
+
+"I am not a very good player. I shall hardly give you amusement."
+
+"I am not sorry for that--supposing it true. I do not like to see women
+good chess-players."
+
+"Pray why do you not like it?"
+
+"Chess is a game of planning--scheming--contriving--calculating. Women
+ought not to be adepts in those arts. I hate women that are."
+
+He glanced up as he spoke, at the fair, frank lines of the face
+opposite him. No art to scheme was shewn in them; there might be
+resolution; he liked that. He liked it too that the fringe of the eyes
+drooped over them, and that the tint of the cheek was so very rich.
+
+"But they say, no one can equal a woman in scheming and planning, if
+she takes to it," said Eleanor.
+
+"Try your skill," said he. "It is your move."
+
+The game began, and Eleanor tried to make good play; but she could not
+bring to it the same coolness or the same acumen that had fought with
+Miss Broadus. The well-formed, well-knit hand with the coat sleeve
+belonging to it, which was all of her adversary that came under her
+observation, distracted Eleanor's thoughts; she could not forget whose
+it was. Very different from the weak flexile fingers of Miss Broadus,
+with their hesitating movement and doubtful pauses, these did their
+work and disappeared; with no doubt or hesitancy of action, and with
+agile firmness in every line of muscle and play. Eleanor shewed very
+poor skill for her part, at planning and contriving on this occasion;
+and she had a feeling that her opponent might have ended the game many
+a time if he had chosen it. Still the game did not end. It was a very
+silent one.
+
+"You are playing with me, Mr. Carlisle," she said at length.
+
+"What are you doing with me?"
+
+"Making no fight at all; but that is because I cannot. Why don't you
+conquer me and end the game?"
+
+"How can I?"
+
+"I am sure I don't know; but I believe you do. It is all a muddle to
+me; and not a very interesting piece of confusion to you, I should
+think."
+
+He did not answer that, but moved a piece; Eleanor made the answering
+move; and the next step created a lock. The game could go no further.
+Eleanor began to put up the pieces, feeling worsted in more ways than
+one. She had not dared to raise her eyes higher than that coat-sleeve;
+and she knew at the same time that she herself had been thoroughly
+overlooked. Those same fingers came now helping her to lay the
+chess-men in the box, ordering them better than she did.
+
+"I want to shew you some cottages I have been building beyond Rythdale
+tower," said the owner of the fingers. "Will you ride with me to-morrow
+to look at them?"
+
+He waited for her answer, which Eleanor hesitated to give. But she
+could not say no, and finally she gave a low yes. Her yes was so low,
+it was significant; Eleanor knew it; but Mr. Carlisle went on in the
+same tone.
+
+"At what hour? At eleven?"
+
+"That will do," said Eleanor, after hesitating again.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He went on, taking the chess-men from her fingers as fast as she
+gathered them up, and bestowing them in the box after a leisurely
+manner; then rose and bowed and took his departure. Eleanor saw that he
+did not hold any communication with her mother on his way out; and in
+dread of Mrs. Powle's visitation of curiosity upon herself, she too
+made as quick and as quiet an escape as possible to her own room. There
+locked the door and walked the floor to think.
+
+In effect she had given her answer, by agreeing to ride; she knew it.
+She knew that Mr. Carlisle had taken it so, even by the slight freedom
+with which his fingers touched hers in taking the chess-men from them.
+It was a very little thing; and yet Eleanor could never recall the
+willing contact of those fingers, repeated and repeated, without a
+thrill of feeling that she had committed herself; that she had given
+the end of the clue into Mr. Carlisle's hand, which duly wound up would
+land her safe enough, mistress of Rythdale Priory. And was she
+unwilling to be that? No--not exactly. And did she dislike Rythdale
+Priory's master, or future master? No, not at all; nevertheless,
+Eleanor did not feel quite willing to have him hers just yet; she was
+not ready for that; and she chafed at feeling that the end of that clue
+was in the hand of her chess-playing antagonist, and alternatives
+pretty well out of her power. An alternative Eleanor would have liked.
+She would have liked the play to have gone on for some time longer,
+leaving her her liberty in all kinds; liberty to make up her mind at
+leisure, among other things. She was not just now eager to be mistress
+of anything but herself.
+
+Eleanor watched for her mother's coming, but Mrs. Powle was wiser. She
+had marked the air of both parties on quitting the drawing-room; and
+though doubtless she would have liked a little word revelation of what
+she desired to know, she was content to leave things in train. She
+judged that Mr. Carlisle could manage his own affairs, and went to bed
+well satisfied; while Eleanor, finding that her mother was not coming,
+at last laid herself also down to rest, with a mixed feeling of
+pleasure and pain in her heart, but vexation towering above all. It
+would have been vexation still better grown, if she had known the hint
+her mother had given Mr. Carlisle, when that evening he had applied to
+her for what news she had for him? Mrs. Powle referred him very
+smilingly to Eleanor to learn it; at the same time telling him that
+Eleanor had been allowed to run wild--like her sister Julia--till now
+she was a little wilful and needed taming.
+
+She looked the character sufficiently well when she came down the next
+morning. The colour on her cheek was raised yet, and rich; and
+Eleanor's beautiful lips did not unbend to their brilliant mischievous
+smile. She was somewhat quick and nervous too about her household
+arrangements and orders, which yet Eleanor did not neglect. It was time
+then to dress for her ride; and Eleanor dressed, not hurriedly but
+carefully, between pleasure and irritation. By what impulse she could
+not have told, she pulled the feather from her riding cap. It was a
+long, jaunty black feather, that somewhat shaded and softened her face
+in riding with its floating play. Her cap now, and her whole dress, was
+simplicity itself; but if Eleanor had meant to cheat Mr. Carlisle of
+some pleasure, she had misjudged and lost her aim; the close little
+unadorned cap but shewed the better her beautiful hair and a face and
+features which nobody that loved them could wish even shaded from view.
+
+Mrs. Powle had maintained a discreet silence all the morning;
+nevertheless Eleanor was still afraid that she might come to ask
+questions, and not enduring to answer them, as soon as her toilet was
+finished she fled from her room into the garden. This garden, into
+which the old schoolroom opened, was Eleanor's particular property. No
+other of the family were ever to be found in it. She had arranged its
+gay curves and angles, and worked in it and kept it in great part
+herself. The dew still hung on the leaves; the air of a glorious summer
+morning was sweet with the varied fragrance of the flowers. Eleanor's
+heart sprung for the dear old liberty she and the garden had had
+together; she went lingeringly and thoughtfully among her petunias and
+carnations, remembering how joyous that liberty had been; and yet--she
+was not willing to say the word that would secure it to her. She roved
+about among the walks, picking carnations in one hand and gathering up
+her habit with the other. So her little sister found her.
+
+"Why Eleanor!--are you going to ride with Mr. Carlisle?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well he has come--he is waiting for you. He has brought the most
+_splendid_ black horse for you that you ever saw; papa says she is
+magnificent."
+
+"I ordered my pony"--said Eleanor.
+
+"Well the pony is there, and so is the black horse. O such a beauty,
+Eleanor! Come."
+
+Eleanor would not go through the house, to see her mother and father by
+the way. Instinctively she sheered off by the shrubbery paths, which
+turning and winding at last brought her out upon the front lawn. On the
+whole a more marked entrance upon the scene the young lady could not
+have contrived. From the green setting of the shrubbery her excellent
+figure came out to view, in its dark riding drapery; and carnations in
+one hand, her habit in the other, she was a pleasant object to several
+pairs of eyes that were watching her; Julia having done them the kind
+office to say which way she was coming.
+
+Of them all, however, Eleanor only saw Mr. Carlisle, who was on the
+ground to meet her. Perhaps he had as great an objection to eyes as she
+had; for his removal of his cap in greeting was as cool as if she had
+been a stranger; and so were his words.
+
+"I have brought Black Maggie for you--will you do me the honour to try
+her?"
+
+Eleanor did not say she would not, and did not say anything. Hesitation
+and embarrassment were the two pleasant feelings which possessed her
+and forbade her to speak. She stood before the superb animal, which
+shewed blood in every line of its head and beautiful frame; and looked
+at it, and looked at the ground. Mr. Carlisle gently removed the
+carnations from her hand, taking them into his own, then gave her the
+reins of Black Maggie and put her into the saddle. In another minute
+they were off, and out of the reach of observation. But Eleanor had
+felt again, even in that instant or giving into her fingers the reins
+which he had taken from the groom, the same thing that she had felt
+last night--the expression of something new between them. She was in a
+very divided state of mind. She had not told him he might take that
+tone with her.
+
+"There are two ways to the head of the valley," said the subject of her
+thoughts. "Shall we take the circuit by the old priory, or go by the
+moor?"
+
+"By the moor," said Eleanor.
+
+There, for miles, was a level plain road; they could ride any pace, and
+she could stave off talking. Accordingly, as soon as they got quit of
+human habitations, Eleanor gave Black Maggie secretly to understand
+that she might go as fast as she liked. Black Maggie apparently
+relished the intimation, for she sprang forward at a rate Eleanor by
+experience knew nothing of. She had never been quite so well mounted
+before. As swiftly and as easily as if Black Maggie's feet had been
+wings, they flew over the common. The air was fresh, the motion was
+quite sufficient to make it breezy; Eleanor felt exhilarated. All the
+more because she felt rebellious, and the stopping Mr. Carlisle's mouth
+was at least a gratification, though she could not leave him behind. He
+had not mounted her better than himself. Fly as Black Maggie would, her
+brown companion was precisely at her side. Eleanor had a constant sense
+of that; but however, the ride was so capital, the moor so wild, the
+summer air so delicious, that by degrees she began to grow soothed and
+come down from rebellion to good humour. By and by, Black Maggie got
+excited. It was with nothing but her own spirits and motion; quite
+enough though to make hoofs still more emulous of wings. Now she flew
+indeed. Eleanor's bridle rein was not sufficient to hold her in, or
+make any impression. She could hardly see how they went.
+
+"Is not this too much for you?" the voice of Mr. Carlisle said quietly.
+
+"Rather--but I can't check her," said Eleanor; vexed to make the
+admission, and vexed again when a word or two from the rider at her
+side, who at the same moment leaned forward and touched Maggie's
+bridle, brought the wild creature instantly not only from her mad
+gallop but back to a very demure and easy trot. So demure, that there
+was no longer any bar to conversation; but then Eleanor reflected she
+could not gallop always, and they were almost off the plain road of the
+moor. How beautiful the moor had been to her that morning! Now Eleanor
+looked at Black Maggie's ears.
+
+"How do you like her?" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"Charming! She is perfection. She is delightful."
+
+"She must learn to know her mistress," he rejoined, leaning forward
+again and drawing Maggie's reins through his fingers. "Take her up a
+little shorter--and speak to her the next time she does not obey you."
+
+The flush rose to Eleanor's cheeks, and over her brow, and reddened her
+very temples. She made no sort of answer, yet she knew silence was
+answer, and that her blood was speaking for her. It was pretty
+speaking, but extremely inconvenient. And what business had Mr.
+Carlisle to take things for granted in that way? Eleanor began to feel
+rebellious again.
+
+"Do you always ride with so loose a rein?" began Mr. Carlisle again.
+
+"I don't know--I never think about it. My pony is perfectly safe."
+
+"So is Maggie--as to her feet; but in general, it is well to let
+everything under you feel your hand."
+
+"That is what you do, I have no doubt," thought Eleanor, and bit her
+lip. She would have started into another gallop; but they were entering
+upon a narrow and rough way where gallopping was inadmissible. It
+descended gradually and winding among rocks and broken ground, to a
+lower level, the upper part of the valley of the Ryth; a beautiful
+clear little stream flowing brightly in a rich meadow ground, with
+gently shelving, softly broken sides; the initiation of the wilder
+scenery further down the valley. Here were the cottages Mr. Carlisle
+had spoken of. They looked very picturesque and very inviting too;
+standing on either side the stream, across which a rude rustic bridge
+was thrown. Each cottage had its paling enclosure, and built of grey
+rough stone, with deep sloping roofs and bright little casements, they
+looked the very ideal of humble homes. No smoke rose from the chimneys,
+and nobody was visible without or within.
+
+"I want some help of you here," said Mr. Carlisle. "Do you like the
+situation?"
+
+"Most beautiful!" said Eleanor heartily. "And the houses are just the
+thing."
+
+"Will you dismount and look a little closer? We will cross the bridge
+first."
+
+They drew bridle before one of the cottages. Eleanor had all the mind
+in the world to have thrown herself from Black Maggie's back, as she
+was accustomed to do from her own pony; but she did not dare. Yesterday
+she would have dared; to-day there was a slight indefinable change in
+the manner of Mr. Carlisle towards herself, which cast a spell over
+her. He stood beside Black Maggie, the carnations making a rosy spot in
+the buttonhole of his white jacket, while he gave some order to the
+groom--Eleanor did not hear what, for her mind was on something else;
+then turned to her and took her down, that same indescribable quality
+of manner and handling saying to all her senses that he regarded the
+horse and the lady with the same ownership. Eleanor felt proud, and
+vexed, and ashamed, and pleased; her mind divided between different
+feelings; but Mr. Carlisle directed her attention now to the cottages.
+
+It was impossible not to admire and be pleased with them. The exterior
+was exceedingly homelike and pretty; within, there was yet more to
+excite admiration. Nicely arranged, neatly and thoroughly furnished,
+even to little details, they looked most desirable homes for any
+persons of humble means, even though the tastes had not been equally
+humble. From one to another Mr. Carlisle took Eleanor; displaying his
+arrangements to a very silent observer; for though she thought all this
+admiration, she hardly said anything. Between irritation, and pleasure,
+and a pretty well-grown shyness, she felt very tongue-tied. At last,
+after shewing her the view from the lattice of a nice little cottage
+kitchen, Mr. Carlisle asked for her judgment upon what had been done.
+
+"It is thoroughly excellent," said Eleanor. "They leave nothing to
+wish. I have never seen such nice cottages. There is nobody in them
+yet?"
+
+"Is there any improvement to be made?"
+
+"None to be desired, I think," said Eleanor. "They are just perfect
+little homes. They only want the people now."
+
+"And that is where I want your help. Do you think of any good families,
+or poor people you approve of, that you would like to put in some of
+these?"
+
+Eleanor's thought flew instantly to two or three such families among
+her poor friends; for she was a good deal of a Lady Bountiful, as far
+as moderate means and large sympathy could go; and knew many of the
+lower classes in her neighbourhood; but again she struggled with two
+feelings, for the question had been put not in tone of compliment but
+with a manner of simple consultation. She flushed and hesitated, until
+it was put again.
+
+"I know several, I think, that you would not dislike to have here, and
+that would be very glad to come, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Who are they?"
+
+"One is Mrs. Benson, who lives on nothing with her family of eight
+children, and brings them up well."
+
+Mr. Carlisle took out his note-book.
+
+"Another is Joe Shepherd and his wife; but they are an old couple;
+perhaps you do not want old people here?"
+
+He looked up from his note-book with a little smile, which brought the
+blood tingling to Eleanor's brow again, and effectually drove away all
+her ideas. She was very vexed with herself; she was never used to be so
+troubled with blushing. She turned away.
+
+
+"Suppose you sit down," said he, taking her hands and placing her in a
+chair by the window. "You must have some refreshment, I think, before
+we go any further." He left the cottage, and Eleanor looked out of the
+open casement, biting her lips. The air came in with such a sweet
+breath from the heathery moor, it seemed to blow vexation away. Yet
+Eleanor was vexed. Here she was making admissions with every breath,
+when she would fain have not made any. She wanted her old liberty, and
+to dispose of it at her leisure if at all; and at least not to have it
+taken from her. But here was Mr. Carlisle at her elbow again, and one
+of his servants bringing dishes and glasses. The meats were spread on
+the little table before which Eleanor sat, and Mr. Carlisle took
+another chair.
+
+"We will honour the house for once," he said smiling; "the future shall
+be as the occupants deserve. Is this one to belong to some of your
+protégés?"
+
+"I have not the gift of foresight," said Eleanor.
+
+"You have another sort of gift which will do quite as well. If you have
+any choice, choose the houses in which Joe Shepherd, and Mrs. Benson,
+and anybody else, shall thank you--and I will order the doors marked.
+Which do you prefer?"
+
+Eleanor was forced to speak. "I think this is one of the pleasantest
+situations," she said flushing deeply again; "but the house highest up
+the valley--"
+
+"What of it?" said Mr. Carlisle, smiling at her.
+
+"That would be best for Joe Shepherd, because of his business. It is
+nearer the common."
+
+"Joe Shepherd shall have it. Now will you do me the favour to eat
+that," said he putting a piece of cold game on her plate. "Do not look
+at it, but eat it. Your day's labour is by no means over."
+
+It was easier to eat than to do nothing; and easier to look at her
+plate than where her carnations gleamed on that white breast-ground. So
+Eleanor eat obediently.
+
+"The day is so uncommonly fine, how would you like to walk down the
+valley as far as the old priory, and let the horses meet us there?"
+
+"I am willing"--said Eleanor. Which she was, only because she was
+ashamed or afraid to say that she wanted to gallop back by the moor,
+the same way she had come. A long walk down the valley would give fine
+opportunity for all that she dreaded in the way of conversation.
+However, the order was given about the horses, and the walk began.
+
+The way was at first a continuation of the valley in which the cottages
+were situated; uncultivated, sweet, and wild. They were a good distance
+beyond Barton's tower. The stream of the Ryth, not so large as it
+became further down, sparkled along in a narrow meadow, beset with
+flowers. Here and there a rude bridge crossed it; and the walkers
+passed as they listed from side to side, wandering down the valley at
+great leisure, remarking upon all sorts of things except what Eleanor
+was dreading. The walk and talk went on without anything formidable.
+Mr. Carlisle seemed to have nothing on his mind; and Eleanor, full of
+what was on hers, only felt through his quiet demeanour that he was
+taking things for granted in a very cool way. She was vexed and
+irritated, and at the same time subdued. And then an opposite feeling
+would stir, of pleasure and pride, at the place she was taking and the
+relations she was assuming to the beautiful domain through which they
+wandered. As they went down the valley it grew more and more lovely.
+Luxuriant growths of ash and oak mingled with larches, crowned the
+rising borders of the valley and crept down their sides, hanging a most
+exquisite clothing of vegetation over the banks which had hitherto been
+mostly bare. As they went, from point to point and in one after another
+region of beauty, her companion's talk, quietly flowing on, called her
+attention to one and another observation suggested by what they were
+looking at; not as if it were a foreign matter, but with a tacit
+intimation that it concerned her or had a right to her interest. It was
+a long walk. They were some time before reaching the old tower; then a
+long stretch of beautiful scenes lay between them and the old priory
+ruins. This part of the valley was in the highest degree picturesque.
+The sides drew together, close and rocky and overshadowed with a
+thicket of trees. The path of the river became steep and encumbered;
+the way along its banks grew comparatively rough and difficult. The day
+was delicious, without even a threatening of rain; yet the sun in some
+places was completely shut out from the water by the overgrown,
+overhanging sides of rock and wood which shut in the dell. Conversation
+was broken here, by the pleasant difficulty of pursuing the way. Here
+too flowers were sweet and the birds busy. The way was enough to
+delight any lover of nature; and it was impossible not to be delighted.
+Nevertheless Eleanor hailed for a sake not its own, every bit of broken
+ground and rough walking that made connected conversation impossible;
+and then was glad to see the grey walls of the priory, where the horses
+were to meet them. Once in the saddle again--she would be glad to be
+there!
+
+The horses were not in sight yet; they strolled into the ruin. It was
+lovely to-day; the sunlight adding its brightening touch to all that
+moss and ivy and lichen and fern had done. They sauntered up what had
+been an aisle of the church; carpeted now with soft shaven turf, close
+and smooth.
+
+"The priory was founded a great while ago," said Mr. Carlisle, "by one
+of the first Lords of Rythdale, on account of the fact that he had
+slain his own brother in mortal combat. It troubled his mind, I
+suppose, even in those rough times."
+
+"And he built the church to soothe it."
+
+"Built the church and founded the establishment; gave it all the lands
+we have passed through to-day, and much more; and great rights on hill
+and dale and moor. We have them nearly all back again--by one happy
+chance and another."
+
+"What was this?" said Eleanor, seating herself on a great block of
+stone, the surface of which was rough with decay.
+
+"This was a tombstone--tradition says, of that same slain Lord of
+Rythdale--but I think it very hypothetical. However, your fancy can
+conjure back his image, if you like, lying where you sit; covered with
+the armour he lived his life in, and probably with hands joined to make
+the prayers his life had rendered desirable."
+
+"He had not the helmet--" thought Eleanor. She got up to look at the
+stone; but it was worn away; no trace of the knight in armour who had
+lain there was any longer to be seen. What long ago times those were!
+
+"And then the old monks did nothing else but pray," she remarked.
+
+"A few other things," said her companion; "if report is true. But they
+said a great many prayers, it is certain. It was what they were
+specially put here for--to do masses for that old stone figure that
+used to lie there. They were paid well for doing it. I hope they did
+it."
+
+The wind stirred gently through the ruin, bringing a sweet scent of
+herbs and flowers, and a fern or an ivy leaf here and there just moved
+lightly on its stalk.
+
+"They must have lived a pleasant sort of life," said Eleanor
+musingly,--"in this beautiful place!"
+
+"Are you thinking of entering a monastery?" said her companion smiling.
+It brought back Eleanor's consciousness, which had been for a moment
+forgotten, and the deep colour flashed to her face. She stood confused.
+Mr. Carlisle did not let her go this time; he took both her hands.
+
+"Do you think I am going to be satisfied with only negative answers
+from you?" said he changing his tone. "What have you got to say to me?"
+
+Eleanor struggled with herself. "Nothing, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Your mother has conveyed to you my wishes?"
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor softly.
+
+"What are yours?"
+
+She hesitated, held at bay, but he waited; and at last with a little of
+her frank daring breaking out, she said, still in her former soft
+voice, "I would let things alone."
+
+"Suppose that could not be,--would you send me away, or let me come
+near to you?"
+
+Eleanor could not send him away; but he would not come near. He stood
+keeping her hands in a light firm grasp; she felt that he knew his hold
+of her; her head bowed in confusion.
+
+"Speak, darling," he said. "Are you mine?"
+
+Eleanor shrank lower and lower from his observation; but she answered
+in a whisper,--"I suppose so."
+
+Her hands were released then, only to have herself taken into more
+secure possession. She had given herself up; and Mr. Carlisle's manner
+said that to touch her cheek was his right as well as his pleasure.
+Eleanor could not dispute it; she knew that Mr. Carlisle loved her, but
+the certainly thought the sense of power had great charms for him: so,
+she presently thought, had the exercise of it.
+
+"You are mine now," he said,--"you are mine. You are Eleanor Carlisle.
+But you have not said a word to me. What is my name?"
+
+"Your name!" stammered Eleanor,--"Carlisle."
+
+"Yes, but the rest?"
+
+"I know it," said Eleanor.
+
+"Speak it, darling?"
+
+Now Eleanor had no mind to speak that or anything else upon compulsion;
+it should be a grace from her lips, not the compliance with a
+requisition; her spirit of resistance sprung up. A frank refusal was on
+her tongue, and her head, which had been drooping, was thrown back with
+an infinitely pretty air of defiance, to give it. Thus she met Mr.
+Carlisle's look; met the bright hazel eyes that were bent upon her,
+full of affection and smiling, but with something else in them as well;
+there was a calm power of exaction. Eleanor read it, even in the
+half-glance which took in incongruously the graceful figure and easy
+attitude; she did not feel ready for contention with Mr. Carlisle; the
+man's nature was dominant over the woman's. Eleanor's head stooped
+again; she spoke obediently the required words.
+
+"Robert Macintosh."
+
+The kisses which met her lips before the words were well out, seemed to
+seal the whole transaction. Perhaps it was Eleanor's fancy, but to her
+they spoke unqualified content both with her opposition and her
+yielding. She was chafed with the consciousness that she had been
+obliged to yield; vexed to feel that she was not her own mistress; even
+while the kisses that stopped her lips told her how much love mingled
+with her captor's power. There was no questioning that fact; it only
+half soothed Eleanor.
+
+Mr. Carlisle bade her sit down and rest, while he went to see if the
+horses were there. Eleanor sat down dreamily on the old tombstone, and
+in the space of three minutes went over whole fields of thought. Her
+mind was in a perverse state. Before her the old tower of the ruined
+priory rose in its time-worn beauty, with the young honours of the ivy
+clinging all about it; on either side of her stretched the grey, ivied
+and mossy, crumbling walls. It was a magnificent place; if not her own
+mistress, it was a pleasant thing to be mistress of such as that; and a
+vision of gay grandeur floated over her mind. Still, in contrast with
+that vision, the quiet, ruined priory tower spoke of a different
+life--brought up a separate vision; of unworldly possessions, aims,
+hopes, and occupations; it was not familiar to Eleanor's mind, yet now
+somehow it rose upon her, with the feeling of that once-wanted, still
+desired,--only she had forgotten it--armour of security. Why did she
+think of it now? was it because Eleanor's mind was in that disordered
+state which lets everything come to the surface by turns; or because
+she was still suffering, from vexation, and her spirit chose contraries
+with a natural readiness and relish? It was not more than three
+minutes, but Eleanor travelled far in dream-land; so far that the
+sudden feeling of two hands upon her shoulders, brought her back with
+even a visible start. She was rallied and laughed at; then her hand was
+put upon Mr. Carlisle's arm and so Eleanor was walked out to where
+Black Maggie stood waiting for her. Of course she felt that her
+engagement was to be made known to all the world immediately. Mr.
+Carlisle's servant must know it now. It seemed to Eleanor that fine
+bands of cobwebs had been cast round her, binding her hands and feet,
+which loved their liberty. The feeling made one little imprudent burst.
+As Mr. Carlisle put Maggie's reins into her hand, he repeated what he
+had before said, that Eleanor should use her voice if the bridle failed
+to win obedience.
+
+"She is not of a rebellious disposition," he added.
+
+"Do you read dispositions?" said Eleanor, gathering up the reins. He
+stood at her saddle-bow.
+
+"Sometimes."
+
+"Do you know mine?"
+
+"Partially."
+
+"It is what you say Black Maggie's is not."
+
+"Is it? Take the reins a little shorter, Eleanor."
+
+It is difficult to say how much there may be in two short words; but as
+Mr. Carlisle went round to the other side and mounted, he left his
+little lady in a state of fume. Those two words said so plainly to
+Eleanor's ear, that her announcement was neither denied nor disliked.
+Nay, they expressed pleasure; the sort of pleasure that a man has in a
+spirited horse of which he is master. It threw Eleanor's mind into a
+tumult, so great that for a minute or two she hardly knew what she was
+about. But for the sound, sweet good temper, which in spite of
+Eleanor's self-characterising was part of her nature, she would have
+been in a rage. As it was, she only handled Black Maggie in a more
+stately style than she had cared about at the beginning of the ride;
+putting her upon her paces; and so rode through all the village, in a
+way that certainly pleased Mr. Carlisle, though he said nothing about
+it. He contrived however to aid in the soothing work done by Black
+Maggie's steps, so that long before Ivy Lodge was reached Eleanor's
+smile came free and sweet again, and her lip lost its ominous curve.
+
+"You are a darling!" Mr. Carlisle whispered as he took her down from
+her horse.
+
+Eleanor went on into the drawing-room. He followed her. Nobody was
+there.
+
+"What have you to say to me, Eleanor?" he said as he held her hand
+before parting.
+
+"Nothing whatever, Mr. Carlisle." Eleanor's frank brilliant smile
+gleamed mischievously upon him.
+
+"Will you not give me a word of kindness before I go?"
+
+"No! Mr. Carlisle, if I had my own way," said Eleanor switching her
+riding-whip nervously about her habit,--"I would be my own mistress for
+a good while longer."
+
+"Shall I give you back your liberty?" said he, drawing her into his
+arms. Eleanor was silent. Their touch manifested no such intention. He
+bent his head lower and said softly, "Kiss me, Eleanor."
+
+There was, as before, just that mingling of affection and exaction
+which conquered her. She knew all she was giving, but she half dared
+not and half cared not to refuse.
+
+"You little witch--" said he as he took possession of the just
+permitted lips,--"I will punish you for your naughtiness, by taking you
+home very soon--into my own management."
+
+Mrs. Powle was in Eleanor's room when she entered; waiting there for
+her.
+
+"Well Eleanor," she began,--"is it settled? Are you to be Lady
+Rythdale?"
+
+"If Mr. Carlisle has his will, ma'am."
+
+"And what is _your_ will?"
+
+"I have none any longer. But if you and he try to hurry on the day,
+mamma, it shall never come,--never!"
+
+Mrs. Powle thought she would leave that matter in more skilful hands;
+and went away well satisfied.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+AT THE COTTAGE.
+
+
+  "This floating life hath but this port of rest,
+  A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come."
+
+
+The matter was in skilful hands; for the days rolled on, after that
+eventful excursion, with great smoothness. Mr. Carlisle kept Eleanor
+busy, with some pleasant little excitement, every day varied. She was
+made to taste the sweets of her new position, and to depend more and
+more upon the hand that introduced her to them. Mr. Carlisle ministered
+carefully to her tastes. Eleanor daily was well mounted, generally on
+Maggie; and enjoyed her heart's delight of a gallop over the moor, or a
+more moderate pace through a more rewarding scenery. Mr. Carlisle
+entered into the spirit of her gardening pursuits; took her to his
+mother's conservatory; and found that he never pleased Eleanor better
+than when he plunged her into the midst of flowers. He took good care
+to advance his own interests all the time; and advanced them fast and
+surely. He had Eleanor's liking before; and her nature was too sweet
+and rich not to incline towards the person whom she had given such a
+position with herself, yielding to him more and more of faith and
+affection. And that in spite of what sometimes chafed her; the quiet
+sway she felt Mr. Carlisle had over her, beneath which she was
+powerless. Or rather, perhaps she inclined towards him secretly the
+more on account of it; for to women of rich natures there is something
+attractive in being obliged to look up; and to women of all natures it
+is imposing. So Mr. Carlisle's threat, by Eleanor so stoutly resisted
+and resented, was extremely likely to come to pass. Mrs. Powle was too
+wise to touch her finger to the game.
+
+Several weeks went by, during which Eleanor had no chance to think of
+anything but Mr. Carlisle and the matters he presented for her notice.
+At the end of that time he was obliged to go up to London on sudden
+business. It made a great lull in the house; and Eleanor began to sit
+in her garden parlour again and dream. While dreaming one day, she
+heard the voice of her little sister sobbing at the door-step. She had
+not observed before that she was sitting there.
+
+"Julia!" said Eleanor--"What is the matter?"
+
+Julia would not immediately say, but then faltered out, "Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Mr. Rhys! What of him?"
+
+"He's sick. He's going to die, I know."
+
+"How do you know he is sick? Come, stop crying, Julia, and speak. What
+makes you think he is sick?"
+
+"Because he just lies on the sofa, and looks so white, and he can't
+keep school. He sent away the boys yesterday."
+
+"Does he see the doctor?"
+
+"No. I don't know. No, I know he don't," said Julia; "because the old
+woman said he ought to see him."
+
+"What old woman, child?"
+
+"His old woman--Mrs. Williams. And mamma said I might have some jelly
+and some sago for him--and there is nobody to take it. Foster is out of
+the way, and Jack is busy, and I can't get anybody."
+
+Julia's tears were very sincere.
+
+"Stop crying, child, and I will go with you myself. I have not had a
+walk to-day, or a ride, or anything. Come, get ready, and you and I
+will take it."
+
+Julia did not wait even for thanks; she was never given to be
+ceremonious; but sprang away to do as her sister had said. In a few
+minutes they were off, going through the garden, each with a little
+basket in her hand. Julia's tears were exchanged for the most sunshiny
+gladness.
+
+It was a sunshiny day altogether, in the end of summer, and the heat
+was sultry. Neither sister minded weather of any sort; nevertheless
+they chose the shady side of the road and went very leisurely, along by
+the hedgerows and under the elms and beeches with which all the way to
+the village was more or less shaded. It was a long walk, even to the
+village. The cottage where Mr. Rhys had his abode was yet further on.
+The village must be passed on the way to it.
+
+It was a long line of cottages, standing for the most part on one side
+the street only; the sweet hedgerow on the other side only here and
+there broken by a white wicket gate. The houses were humble enough; yet
+in universal neat order on the outside at least; in many instances
+grown over with climbing roses and ivy, and overhung with deep thatched
+roofs. They stood scatteringly; gardens and sometimes small crofts
+intervening; and noble growth of old oaks and young elms shading the
+way; the whole as neat, fresh, and picturesque in rural comfort and
+beauty, as could be seen almost anywhere in England. The lords of
+Rythdale held sway here, and nothing under their rule, of late, was out
+of order. But there were poor people in the village, and very poor old
+houses, though skilfully turned to the account of beauty in the outward
+view. Eleanor was well known in them; and now Mrs. Benson came out to
+the gate and told how she was to move to her new home in another
+fortnight; and begged the sisters would come in to rest themselves from
+the sun. And old Mrs. Shepherd curtsied in her doorway; and Matthew
+Grimson's wife, the blacksmith that was, came to stop Eleanor with a
+roundabout representation how her husband's business would thrive so
+much better in another situation. Eleanor was seldom on foot in the
+village now. She passed that as soon as she could and went on. From her
+window on the other side of the lane, Miss Broadus nodded, and beckoned
+too; but the sisters would not be delayed.
+
+"It is good Mr. Carlisle has gone to London," said Julia. "He would not
+have let you come."
+
+Eleanor felt stung.
+
+"Why do you say so, Julia?"
+
+"Why, you always do what he tells you," said Julia, who was not apt to
+soften her communications. "He says 'Eleanor'--and you go that way; and
+he says 'Eleanor'--and you go the other way."
+
+"And why do you suppose he would have any objection to my going this
+way?"
+
+"I know"--said Julia. "I am glad he is in London. I hope he'll stay
+there."
+
+Eleanor made no answer but to switch her dress and the bushes as they
+went by, with a little rod in her hand. There was more truth in the
+allegation than it pleased her to remember. She did not always feel her
+bonds at the time, they were so gently put on and the spell of
+another's will was so natural and so irresistible. But it chafed her to
+be reminded of it and to feel that it was so openly exerted and her own
+subjugation so complete. The switching went on vigorously, taking the
+bushes and her muslin dress impartially; and Eleanor's mind was so
+engrossed that she did not perceive how suddenly the weather was
+changing. They had passed through the village and left it behind, when
+Julia exclaimed, "There's a storm coming, Eleanor! maybe we can get in
+before it rains." It was an undeniable fact; and without further parley
+both sisters set off to run, seeing that there were very few minutes to
+accomplish Julia's hope. It began sprinkling already.
+
+"It's going to be a real storm," said Julia gleefully. "Over the moor
+it's as black as thunder. I saw it through the trees."
+
+"But where are you going?"--For Julia had left the road, or rather
+lane, and dashed down a path through the trees leading off from it.
+
+"O this is the best--this leads round to the other side of the house,"
+Julia said.
+
+Just as well, to go in at the kitchen, Eleanor thought; and let Julia
+find her way with her sago and jelly to Mr. Rhys's room, if she so
+inclined. So they ran on, reached a little strip of open ground at the
+back of the cottage, and rushed in at the door like a small tornado;
+for the rain was by this time coming down merrily.
+
+The first thing Eleanor saw when she had pulled off her flat,--was that
+she was not in a kitchen. A table with writing implements met her eye;
+and turning, she discovered the person one of them at least had come to
+see, lying on a sort of settee or rude couch, with a pillow under his
+head. He looked pale enough, and changed, and lay wrapped in a
+dressing-gown. If Eleanor was astonished, so certainly was he. But he
+rose to his feet, albeit scarce able to stand, and received his
+visitors with a simplicity and grace of nature which was in singular
+contrast with all the dignities of conventional life.
+
+"Mr. Rhys!" stammered Eleanor, "I had no idea we were breaking into
+your room. I thought Julia was taking me into Mrs. Williams's part of
+the house."
+
+"I am very glad to see you!" he said; and the words were endorsed by
+the pleasant grave face and the earnest grasp of the hand. But how ill
+and thin he looked! Eleanor was shocked.
+
+"It was beginning to rain," she repeated, "and I followed where Julia
+led me. I thought she was bringing me to Mrs. Williams's premises. I
+beg you will excuse me."
+
+"I have made Mrs. Williams give me this part of the house because I
+think it is the pleasantest. Won't you do me the honour to sit down?"
+
+He was bringing a chair for her, but looked so little able for it that
+Eleanor took it from his hand.
+
+"Please put yourself on the sofa again, Mr. Rhys--We will not interrupt
+you a moment."
+
+"Yes you will," said Julia, "unless you want to walk in the rain. Mr.
+Rhys, are you better to-day?"
+
+"I am as well as usual, thank you, Julia."
+
+"I am sorry to see that is not very well, Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor.
+
+"Not very strong--" he said with the smile that she remembered, as he
+sank back in the corner of the couch and rested his head on his hand.
+His look and manner altogether gave her a strange feeling. Ill and pale
+and grave as he was, there was something else about him different from
+all that she had touched in her own life for weeks. It was a new
+atmosphere.
+
+"Ladies, I hope you are not wet?" he said presently.
+
+"Not at all," said Eleanor; "nothing to signify. We shall dry ourselves
+in the sun walking back."
+
+"I think the sun is not going to be out immediately."
+
+He rose and with slow steps made his way to the inner door and spoke to
+some one within. Eleanor took a view of her position. The rain was
+coming down furiously; no going home just yet was possible. That was
+the out-of-door prospect. Within, she was a prisoner. The room was a
+plain little room, plain as a room could be; with no adornments or
+luxuries. Some books were piled on deal shelves; others covered two
+tables. A large portfolio stood in one corner. On one of the tables
+were pens, ink and paper, not lying loose, but put up in order; as not
+used nor wanted at present. Several boxes of various sorts and sizes
+made up the rest of the furniture, with a few chairs of very simple
+fashion. It was Mr. Rhys's own room they were in; and all that could be
+said of it was its nicety of order. Two little windows with the door
+might give view of something in fair weather; at present they shewed
+little but grey rain and a dim vision of trees seen through the rain.
+Eleanor wanted to get away; but it was impossible. She must talk.
+
+"You cannot judge of my prospect now," Mr. Rhys said as she turned to
+him.
+
+"Not in this rain. But I should think you could not see much at any
+time, except trees."
+
+"'Much' is comparative. No, I do not see much; but there is an opening
+from my window, through which the eye goes a long way--across a long
+distance of the moor. It is but a gleam; however it serves a good
+purpose for me."
+
+An old woman here came in with a bundle of sticks and began to lay them
+for a fire. She was an old crone-looking person. Eleanor observed her,
+and thought what it must be to have no nurse or companion but that.
+
+"We have missed you at the Lodge, Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Thank you. I am missing from all my old haunts," he answered gravely.
+And the thought and the look went to something from which he was very
+sorry to be missing.
+
+"But you will be soon well again--will you not? and among us again."
+
+"I do not know," he said. "I am sometimes inclined to think my work is
+done."
+
+"What work, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia. "Ferns, do you mean?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What work, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I mean the Lord's work, Julia, which he has given me to do."
+
+"Do you mean preaching?"
+
+"That is part of it."
+
+"What else is your work, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia, hanging about the couch
+with an affectionate eye. So affectionate, that her sister's rebuke of
+her forwardness was checked.
+
+"Doing all I can, Julia, in every way, to tell people of the Lord
+Jesus."
+
+"Was that the work you were going to that horrid place to do?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then I am glad you are sick!"
+
+"That is very unkind of you," said he with a gravity which Eleanor was
+not sure was real.
+
+"It is better for you to be sick than to go away from England," said
+Julia decidedly.
+
+"But if I am not well enough to go there, I shall go somewhere else."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"What have you got in that saucer?"
+
+"Jelly for you. Won't you eat it, Mr. Rhys? There is sago in the
+basket. It will do you good."
+
+"Will you not offer your sister some?"
+
+"No. She gets plenty at home. Eat it, Mr. Rhys, won't you?"
+
+He took a few spoonfuls, smiled at her, and told her it was very good.
+It was a smile worth having. But both sisters saw that he looked
+fearfully pale and worn.
+
+"I must see if Mrs. Williams has not some berries to offer you," he
+said.
+
+"Where are you going, Mr. Rhys, if you do not go to that place?" Julia
+persisted.
+
+"If I do not go there, I think I shall go home."
+
+"Home?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where is that?" said Julia hanging about him.
+
+"I meant my everlasting home, Julia."
+
+"O don't, Mr. Rhys!" cried the child in a half vexed tone. "Eat some
+more jelly--do!"
+
+"I am very willing to stay, Julia, if my Master has work for me to do."
+
+"You had charge of a chapel at Lily Dale, Mr. Rhys, I am told?" Eleanor
+said, feeling awkward.
+
+"No--at Croydon, beyond."
+
+"At Croydon! that is nine miles off. How did you get there?"
+
+The question escaped Eleanor. He hesitated, and answered simply, "I had
+no way but to walk. I found that very pleasant in summer mornings."
+
+"Walk to Croydon and back, and preach there! I do not wonder you are
+sick, Mr. Rhys."
+
+"I did not walk back the same day."
+
+"But then where did you go in the evenings to preach?" said Julia.
+
+"That was not so far off."
+
+"Did you serve _two_ chapels on the same day, Mr. Rhys?" Eleanor asked.
+
+"No. The evenings Julia speaks of I preached nearer home."
+
+"And school all the week!" said Eleanor.
+
+"It was no hardship," he said with a most pleasant smile at her. "The
+King's work required haste--there were many people at both places who
+had not heard the truth or had not learned to love it. There are still."
+
+His face grew very grave as he spoke; grave even to sadness as he
+added, "They are dying without the knowledge of the true life!"
+
+"Where was the other chapel you went to?"
+
+"Rythmoor."
+
+Eleanor hurried on. "But Mr. Rhys, will you allow me to ask you a
+question that puzzles me?"
+
+"I beg you will do so!"
+
+"It is just this. If there are so many in England that want
+teaching--But I beg your pardon! I am afraid talking tires you."
+
+"I assure you it is very pleasant to me. Will you go on."
+
+"If there are so many in England that want teaching, why should you go
+to such a place as that Julia talks of?"
+
+"They are further yet from help."
+
+"But is not the work here as good as the work there?"
+
+"I am cut off from both," he said. "I long to go to them. But the Lord
+has his own plans. 'Why art thou cast down, O my soul; and why art thou
+disquieted within me? Hope thou in God!'--"
+
+The grave, sweet, tender, strong intonation of these words, slowly
+uttered, moved Eleanor much. Not towards tears; the effect was rather a
+great shaking of heart. She saw a glimpse of a life she had never
+dreamed of; a power touched her that had never touched her before. This
+life was something quite unearthly in its spirit and aims; the power
+was the power of holiness.
+
+It is difficult or impossible to say in words how this influence made
+itself felt. In the writing of the lines of the face, in the motion of
+the lips, in the indefinable tones of voice, in the air and manner,
+there comes out constantly in all characters an atmosphere of the
+truth, which the words spoken, whether intended or not intended, do not
+convey. Even unintentional feigning fails here, and even self-deception
+is belied. The truth of a character will make itself felt and
+influential, for good or evil, through all disguises. So it was, that
+though the words of Mr. Rhys might have been said by anybody, the
+impression they produced belonged to him alone, of all the people
+Eleanor had ever seen in her life. The "helmet of salvation" was on
+this man's head, and gave it a dignity more than that of a kingly
+crown. She sat thinking so, and recalling her lost wishes of the early
+summer; forgetting to carry on the conversation.
+
+Meanwhile the old woman of the cottage came in again with a fresh
+supply of sticks, and a blaze began to brighten in the chimney. Julia
+exclaimed in delight. Eleanor looked at the window. The rain still came
+down heavily. She remembered the thunderstorm in June, and her fears.
+Then Mr. Rhys begged her to go to the fire and dry herself, and again
+spoke some unintelligible words to the old attendant.
+
+"What is that, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia, who seldom refrained from asking
+anything she wished to know.
+
+"I was enquiring of Mrs. Williams whether she had not some
+fresh-gathered berries she could bring for your refreshment."
+
+"But I mean, what language did you speak to her?"
+
+"Welsh."
+
+"Are you Welsh?"
+
+"No," said he smiling; "but I have Welsh blood; and I had a Welsh
+nurse, Julia."
+
+"I do not want any refreshment, Mr. Rhys; but I would like some
+berries."
+
+"I hope you would like to ask pardon of Mr. Rhys for your freedom,"
+said Eleanor. "I am sure you need it."
+
+"Why Mrs. Williams very often gives me berries," said Julia; "and they
+always taste better than ours. I mean, Mr. Rhys gives me some."
+
+Eleanor busied herself over the fire, in drying her muslin dress. That
+did very well instead of talking. Mrs. Williams presently came in
+again, bearing a little tray with berries and a pot of cream. Julia
+eagerly played hostess and dealt them out. The service was most homely;
+nevertheless the wild berries deserved her commendation. The girls sat
+by the fire and eat, and their host from the corner of his couch
+watched them with his keen eyes. It was rather a romantic adventure
+altogether, Eleanor thought, in the midst of much graver thoughts. But
+Julia had quite got her spirits up.
+
+"Aren't they good, Eleanor? They are better berries than those that
+came from the Priory. Mr. Rhys, do you know that after Eleanor is Mrs.
+Carlisle, she will be Lady Rythdale?"
+
+This shot drove Eleanor into desperation. She would have started aside,
+to hide her cheeks, but it was no use. Mr. Rhys had risen to add some
+more cream to her saucer--perhaps on purpose.
+
+"I understand," he said simply. "Has she made arrangements to secure an
+everlasting crown, after the earthly coronet shall have faded away?"
+
+The question was fairly put to Eleanor. It gave a turn to her
+confusion, yet hardly more manageable; for the gentle, winning tones in
+which it was made found their way down to some very deep and unguarded
+spot in her consciousness. No one had ever probed her as this man dared
+to do. Eleanor could hardly sit still. The berries had no more any
+taste to her after that. Yet the question demanded an answer; and after
+hesitating long she found none better than to say, as she set down her
+saucer,
+
+"No, Mr. Rhys."
+
+Doubtless he read deeper than the words of her answer, but he made no
+remark. She would have been glad he had.
+
+The shower seemed to be slackening; and while Julia entered into lively
+conversation over her berries, Eleanor went to the window. She was
+doubtfully conscious of anything but discomfort; however she did
+perceive that the rain was falling less thickly and light beginning to
+break through the clouds. As she turned from the window she forced
+herself to speak.
+
+"What is there we can do for you at home, Mr. Rhys? Mrs. Williams'
+resources, I am sure, must be very insufficient."
+
+"I am very much obliged to you!" he said heartily. "There is nothing
+that I know of. I have all that I require."
+
+"You are better than you were? you are gaining strength?"
+
+"No, I think not. I am quite useless now."
+
+"But you will get better soon, and be useful again."
+
+"If it pleases my Master;--but I think not."
+
+"Do you consider yourself so seriously ill, Mr. Rhys?" said Eleanor
+looking shocked.
+
+"Do not take it so seriously," said he smiling at her. "No harm can
+come to me any way. It is far worse than death for me, to be cut off
+from doing my work; and a while ago the thought of this troubled me; it
+gave me some dark hours. But at last I rested myself on that word, 'Why
+art thou cast down, O my soul? Hope thou in God!' and now I am content
+about it. Life or death--neither can bring but good to me; for my
+Father sends it. You know," he said, again with a smile at her, but
+with a keen observant eye,--"they who are the Lord's wear an invisible
+casque, which preserves them from all fear."
+
+He saw that Eleanor's face was grave and troubled; he saw that at this
+last word there was a sort of avoidance of feature, as if it reached a
+spot of feeling somewhere that was sensitive. He added nothing more,
+except the friendly grasp of the hand, which drove the weapon home.
+
+The rain had ceased; the sun was out; and the two girls set forward on
+their return. They hurried at first, for the afternoon had worn away.
+The rain drops lay thick and sparkling on every blade of grass, and
+dripped upon them from the trees.
+
+"Now you will get your feet wet again," said Julia; "and then you will
+have another sickness; and Mr. Carlisle will be angry."
+
+"Do let Mr. Carlisle's anger alone!" said Eleanor. "I shall not sit
+down in wet shoes, so I shall not get hurt. Did you ever see him angry?"
+
+"No," said Julia; "and I am glad he won't be angry with me?"
+
+In spite of her words, the wet grass gave Eleanor a disagreeable
+reminder of what wet grass had done for her some months before. The
+remembrance of her sickness came up with the immediate possibility of
+its returning again; the little feeling of danger and exposure gave
+power to the things she had just heard. She could not banish them; she
+recalled freshly the miserable fear and longing of those days when she
+lay ill and knew not how her illness would turn; the fearful want of a
+shelter; the comparative littleness of all things under the sun.
+Rythdale Priory had not been worth a feather in that day; all the gay
+pleasures and hopes of the summer could have found no entrance into her
+heart then. And as she was then, so Eleanor knew herself
+now--defenceless, if danger came. And the wet grass into which every
+footstep plunged said that danger might be at any time very near.
+Eleanor wished bitterly that she had not come this walk with Julia. It
+was strange, how utterly shaken, miserable, forlorn, her innermost
+spirit felt, at this possible approach of evil to her shelterless head.
+And with double force, though they had been forcible at the time, Mr.
+Rhys's words recurred to her--the words that he had spoken half to
+himself as it were--"Hope thou in God." Eleanor had heard those words,
+read by different lips, at different times; they were not new; but the
+meaning of them had never struck her before. Now for the first time, as
+she heard the low, sweet, confident utterance of a soul fleeing to its
+stronghold, of a spirit absolutely secure there, she had an idea of
+what "hope in God" meant; and every time she remembered the tones of
+those words, spoken by failing lips too, it gave a blow to her heart.
+There was something she wanted. What else could be precious like that?
+And with them belonged in this instance, Eleanor felt, a purity of
+character till now unimagined. Thoughts and footsteps hurrying along
+together, they were past the village and far on their way towards home,
+the two sisters, before much was said between them.
+
+"I wish Mr. Rhys would get well and stay here," said Julia. "It is nice
+to go to see him, isn't it, Eleanor? He is so good."
+
+"I don't know whether it is nice," said Eleanor. "I wish almost I had
+not gone with you. I have not thought of disagreeable things before in
+a great while."
+
+"But isn't he good?"
+
+"Good!" said Eleanor. "He makes me feel as black as night."
+
+"Well, you aren't black," said Julia, pleased; "and I'll tell Mr.
+Carlisle what you say. He won't be angry that time."
+
+"Julia!" said Eleanor. "Do if you dare! You shall repeat no words of
+mine to Mr. Carlisle."
+
+Julia only laughed; and Eleanor hoped that the gentleman would stay in
+London till her purpose, whatever it might be, was forgotten. He did
+stay some days; the Lodge had a comparatively quiet time. Perhaps
+Eleanor missed the constant excitement of the weeks past. She was very
+restless, and her thoughts would not be diverted from the train into
+which the visit to Mr. Rhys had thrown them. Obstinately the idea kept
+before her, that a defence was wanting to her which she had not, and
+might have. She wanted some security greater than dry shoes could
+afford. Yea, she could not forget, that beyond that earthly coronet
+which of necessity must some time fade, she might want something that
+would endure in the air of eternity. Her musings troubled Eleanor. As
+Black Maggie did not wait upon her, these days, she ordered up her own
+little pony, and went off upon long rides by herself. It soothed her to
+be alone. She let no servant attend her; she took the comfort of good
+stirring gallops all over the moor; and then when she and the pony were
+both tired she let him walk and her thoughts take up their train. But
+it did not do her any good. Eleanor grew only more uneasy from day to
+day. The more she thought, the deeper her thoughts went; and still the
+contrast of purity and high Christian hope rose up to shame her own
+heart and life. Eleanor felt her danger as a sinner; her exposure as
+guilty; and the insufficiency of all she had or hoped for, to meet
+future and coming contingencies. So far she got; there she stopped;
+except that her sense of these things grew more keen and deep day by
+day; it did not fade out. Friends she had none to help her. She wanted
+to see Dr. Cairnes and attack him in private and bring him to a point
+on the subjects which agitated her; but she could not. Dr. Cairnes too
+was absent from Wiglands at this time; and Eleanor had to think and
+wait all by herself. She had her Bible, it is true; but she did not
+know how to consult it. She took care not to go near Mr. Rhys again;
+though she was sorry to hear through Julia that he was not mending. She
+wished herself a little girl, to have Julia's liberty; but she must do
+without it. And what would Mr. Carlisle say to her thoughts? She must
+not ask him. He could do nothing with them. She half feared, half
+wished for his influence to overthrow them.
+
+He came; but Eleanor did not find that he could remove the trouble, the
+existence of which he did not suspect. His presence did not remove it.
+In all her renewed engagements and gaieties, there remained a secret
+core of discomfort in her heart, whatever she might be about.
+
+They were taking tea one evening, half in and half out of the open
+window, when Julia came up.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle," said she, "I am going to pay you my forfeit." He had
+caught her in some game of forfeits the day before. "I am going to give
+you something you will like very much."
+
+"What can it be, Julia?"
+
+"You don't believe me. Now you do not deserve to have it. I am going to
+give you something Eleanor said."
+
+Eleanor's hand was on her lips immediately, and her voice forbade the
+promised forfeit; but there were two words to that bargain. Mr.
+Carlisle captured the hand and gave a counter order.
+
+"Now you don't believe me, but you believe Eleanor," said the lawless
+child. "She said,--she said it when you went away,--that she had not
+thought of anything disagreeable in a long while!"
+
+Mr. Carlisle looked delighted, as well he might. Eleanor's temples
+flushed a painful scarlet.
+
+"Dear me, how interesting these goings away and comings home are, I
+suppose!" exclaimed Miss Broadus, coming up to the group. "I see! there
+is no need to say anything. Mr. Carlisle, we are all rejoiced to see
+you back at Wiglands. Or at the Lodge--for you do not honour Wiglands
+much, except when I see you riding through it on that beautiful brown
+horse of yours. The black and the brown; I never saw such a pair. And
+you do ride! I should think you would be afraid that creature would
+lose a more precious head than its own."
+
+"I take better care than that, Miss Broadus."
+
+"Well, I suppose you do; though for my part I cannot see how a person
+on one horse can take care of a person on another horse; it is
+something I do not understand. I never did ride myself; I suppose that
+is the reason. Mr. Carlisle, what do you say to this lady riding all
+alone by herself--without any one to take care of her?"
+
+Mr. Carlisle's eyes rather opened at this question, as if he did not
+fully take in the idea.
+
+"She does it--you should see her going by as I did--as straight as a
+grenadier, and her pony on such a jump! I thought to myself, Mr.
+Carlisle is in London, sure enough. But it was a pretty sight to see.
+My dear, how sorry we are to miss some one else from our circle, and he
+did honour us at Wiglands--my sister and me. How sorry I am poor Mr.
+Rhys is so ill. Have you heard from him to-day, Eleanor?"
+
+"You should ask Julia, Miss Broadus. Is he much more ill than he was?
+Julia hears of him every day, I believe."
+
+"Ah, the children all love him. I see Julia and Alfred going by very
+often; and the other boys come to see him constantly, I believe. And my
+dear Eleanor, how kind it was of you to go yourself with something for
+him! I saw you and Julia go past with your basket--don't you
+remember?--that day before the rain; and I said to myself--no, I said
+to Juliana, some very complimentary things about you. Benevolence has
+flourished in your absence, Mr. Carlisle. Here was this lady, taking
+jelly with her own hands to a sick man. Now I call that beautiful."
+
+Mr. Carlisle preferred to make his own compliments; for he did not echo
+those of the talkative lady.
+
+"But I am afraid he is very ill, my dear," Miss Broadus went on,
+turning to Eleanor again. "He looked dreadfully when I saw him; and he
+is so feeble, I think there is very little hope of his life left. I
+think he has just worked himself to death. But I do not believe,
+Eleanor, he is any more afraid of death, than I am of going to sleep. I
+don't believe he is so much."
+
+Miss Broadus was called off; Mr. Carlisle had left the window; Eleanor
+sat sadly thinking. The last words had struck a deeper note than all
+the vexations of Miss Broadus's previous talk. "No more afraid of death
+than of going to sleep." Ay! for his head was covered from danger.
+Eleanor knew it--saw it--felt it; and felt it to be blessed. Oh how
+should she make that same covering her own? There was an engagement to
+spend the next afternoon at the Priory--the whole family. Dr. Cairnes
+would most probably be there to meet them. Perhaps she might catch or
+make an opportunity of speaking to him in private and asking him what
+she wanted to know. Not very likely, but she would try. Dr. Cairnes was
+her pastor; it ought to be in his power to resolve her difficulties; it
+must be. At any rate, Eleanor would apply to him and see. She had no
+one else to apply to. Unless Mr. Rhys would get well. Eleanor wished
+that might be. _He_ could help her, she knew, without a peradventure.
+
+Mr. Carlisle appeared again, and the musings were banished. He took her
+hand and put it upon his arm, and drew her out into the lawn. The
+action was caressingly done; nevertheless Eleanor felt that an inquiry
+into her behaviour would surely be the next thing. So half shrinking
+and half rebellious, she suffered herself to be led on into the winding
+walks of the shrubbery. The evening was delicious; nothing could be
+more natural or pleasant than sauntering there.
+
+"I am going to have Julia at the Priory to-morrow, as a reward for her
+good gift to me," was Mr. Carlisle's opening remark.
+
+"I am sure she does not deserve it," said Eleanor very sincerely.
+
+"What do you deserve?"
+
+"Nothing--in the way of rewards."
+
+Mr. Carlisle did not think so, or else regarded the matter in the light
+of a reward to himself.
+
+"Have you been good since I have been away?"
+
+"No!" said Eleanor bluntly.
+
+"Do you always speak truth after this fashion?"
+
+"I speak it as you will find it, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+The questions were put between caresses; but in all his manner
+nevertheless, in kisses and questions alike, there was that indefinable
+air of calm possession and power, before which Eleanor always felt
+unable to offer any resistance. He made her now change "Mr. Carlisle"
+for a more familiar name, before he would go on. Eleanor felt as a colt
+may be supposed to feel, which is getting a skilful "breaking in;"
+yielding obedience at every step, and at every step secretly wishing to
+refuse obedience, to refuse which is becoming more and more impossible.
+
+"Haven't you been a little too good to somebody else, while I have been
+away?"
+
+"No!" said Eleanor. "I never am."
+
+"Darling, I do not wish you to honour any one so far as that woman
+reports you to have done."
+
+"That!" said Eleanor. "That was the merest act of common
+kindness--Julia wanted some one to go with her to take some things to a
+sick man; and I wanted a walk, and I went."
+
+"You were too kind. I must unlearn you a little of your kindness. You
+are mine, now, darling; and I want all of you for myself."
+
+"But the better I am," said Eleanor, "I am sure the more there is to
+have."
+
+"Be good for _me_," said he kissing her,--"and in my way. I will
+dispense with other goodness. I am in no danger of not having enough in
+you."
+
+Eleanor walked back to the house, feeling as if an additional barrier
+were somehow placed between her and the light her mind wanted and the
+relief her heart sought after.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+AT THE PRIORY.
+
+
+  "Here he lives in state and bounty,
+  Lord of Burleigh, fair and free;
+  Not a lord in all the county
+  Is so great a lord as he."
+
+
+Lady Rythdale abhorred dinner-parties, in general and in particular.
+She dined early herself, and begged that the family from Ivy Lodge
+would come to tea. It was the first occasion of the kind; and the first
+time they had ever been there otherwise than as strangers visiting the
+grounds. Lady Rythdale was infirm and unwell, and never saw her country
+neighbours or interchanged civilities with them. Of course this was
+laid to something more than infirmity, by the surrounding gentry who
+were less in consequence than herself; but however it were, few of them
+ever saw the inside of the Priory House for anything but a ceremonious
+morning visit. Now the family at the Lodge were to go on a different
+footing. It was a great time, of curiosity, pleasure, and pride.
+
+"What are you going to wear this evening, Eleanor?" her mother asked.
+
+"I suppose, my habit, mamma."
+
+"Your habit!"
+
+"I cannot very well ride in anything else."
+
+"Are you going to _ride?_"
+
+"So it is arranged, ma'am. It will be infinitely less tiresome than
+going in any other way."
+
+"Tiresome!" echoed Mrs. Powle. "But what will Lady Rythdale say to you
+in a riding-habit."
+
+"Mamma, I have very little notion what she would say to me in anything."
+
+"I will tell you what you must do, Eleanor. You must change your dress
+after you get there."
+
+"No, mamma--I cannot. Mr. Carlisle has arranged to have me go in a
+riding-habit. It is his responsibility. I will not have any fuss of
+changing, nor pay anybody so much of a compliment."
+
+"It will not be liked, Eleanor."
+
+"It will follow my fate, mamma, whatever that is."
+
+"You are a wilful girl. You are fallen into just the right hands. You
+will be managed now, for once."
+
+"Mamma," said Eleanor colouring all over, "it is extremely unwise in
+you to say that; for it rouses all the fight there is in me; and some
+day--"
+
+"Some day it will not break out," said Mrs. Powle.
+
+"Well, I should not like to fight with Mr. Carlisle," said Julia. "I am
+glad I am going, at any rate."
+
+Eleanor bit her lip. Nevertheless, when the afternoon came and Mr.
+Carlisle appeared to summon her, nothing was left of the morning's
+irritation but a little loftiness of head and brow. It was very
+becoming, no more; and Mr. Carlisle's evident pleasure and satisfaction
+soon soothed the feeling away. The party in the carriage had gone on
+before; the riders followed the same route, passing through the village
+of Wiglands, then a couple of miles or more beyond through the village
+of Rythdale. Further on, crossing a bridge they entered upon the old
+priory grounds; the grey tower rose before them, and the horses' feet
+swept through the beautiful wilderness of ruined art and flourishing
+nature. As the cavalcade wound along--for the carriage was just before
+them now--through the dale and past the ruins, and as it had gone in
+state through the village, Eleanor could not help a little throbbing of
+heart at the sense of the place she was holding and about to hold; at
+the feeling of the relation all these beauties and dignities now held
+to her. If she had been inclined to forget it, her companion's look
+would have reminded her. She had no leisure to analyze her thoughts,
+but these stirred her pulses. It was beautiful, as the horses wound
+through the dale and by the little river Ryth, where all the ground was
+kept like a garden. It was beautiful, as they left the valley and went
+up a slow, gentle, ascending road, through thick trees, to the higher
+land where the new Priory stood. It stood on the brow of the height,
+looking down over the valley and over the further plain where the
+village nestled among its trees. Yes, and it was fine when the first
+sight of the house opened upon her, not coming now as a stranger, but
+as future mistress; for whom every window and gable and chimney had the
+mysterious interest of a future home. Would old Lady Rythdale like to
+see her there? Eleanor did not know; but felt easy in the assurance
+that Mr. Carlisle, who could manage everything, could manage that also.
+It was his affair.
+
+The house shewed well as they drew towards it, among fine old trees. It
+was a new house; that is, it did not date further back than three
+generations. Like everything else about the whole domain, it gave the
+idea of perfect order and management. It was a spacious building,
+spreading out amply upon the ground, not rising to a great height; and
+built in a simple style of no particular name or pretensions; but
+massive, stately, and elegant. No unfinished or half realized idea;
+what had been attempted had been done, and done well. The house was
+built on three sides of a quadrangle. The side of approach by which the
+cavalcade had come, winding up from the valley, led them round past the
+front of the left wing. Mr. Carlisle made her draw bridle and fall a
+little behind the carriage.
+
+"Do you like this view?" said he.
+
+"Very much. I have never seen it before."
+
+He smiled at her, and again extending his hand drew Black Maggie's rein
+till he brought her to a slow walk. The carriage passed on out of
+sight. Eleanor would have remonstrated, but the view before her was
+lovely. Three gables, of unequal height, rose over that façade; the
+only ornamental part was in their fanciful but not elaborate mouldings.
+The lower story, stretching along the spread of a smooth little lawn,
+was almost masked with ivy. It embedded the large but perfectly plain
+windows, which reached so near the ground that one might step out from
+them; their clear amplitude was set in a frame of massive green. One
+angle especially looked as if the room within must be a nest of
+verdurous beauty. The ivy encased all the doorways or entrances on that
+side of the house; and climbing higher threatened to do for the story
+above what it had accomplished below; but perhaps some order had been
+taken about that, for in the main its course had been stayed at a
+certain stone moulding that separated the stories, and only a branch
+here and there had been permitted to shew what more it would like to
+do. One of the upper windows was partly encased; while its lace
+curtains gave an assurance that all its garnishing had not been left to
+nature. Eleanor could not help thinking it was a very lovely looking
+place for any woman to be placed in as her home; and her heart beat a
+little high.
+
+"Do you not like it?" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"Yes,--certainly!"
+
+"What are you considering so attentively in Black Maggie's ears?"
+
+Eleanor caused Maggie to prick up the said ears, by a smart touch of
+her whip. The horses started forward to overtake the carriage. Perhaps
+however Mr. Carlisle was fascinated--he might well be--by the present
+view he had of his charge; there was a blushing shy grace observable
+about her which it was pretty to see and not common; and maybe he
+wanted the view to be prolonged. He certainly did not follow the
+nearest road, but turned off instead to a path which went winding up
+and down the hill and through plantations of wood, giving Eleanor views
+also, of a different sort; and so did not come out upon the front of
+the house till long after the carriage party had been safely housed.
+Eleanor found she was alone and was not to be sheltered under her
+mother's wing or any other; and her conductor's face was much too
+satisfied to invite comments. He swung her down from the saddle,
+allowed her to remove her cap, and putting her hand on his arm walked
+her into the drawing-room and the presence of his mother.
+
+Eleanor had seen Lady Rythdale once before, in a stately visit which
+had been made at the Lodge; never except that one time. The old
+baroness was a dignified looking person, and gave her a stately
+reception now; rather stiff and cold, Eleanor thought; or careless and
+cold, rather.
+
+"My dear," said the old lady, "have you come in a riding-habit? That
+will be very uncomfortable. Go to my dressing-room, and let Arles
+change it for something else. She can fit you. Macintosh, you shew her
+the way."
+
+No questions were asked. Mr. Carlisle obeyed, putting Eleanor's hand on
+his arm again, and walked her off out of the room and through a gallery
+and up the stairs, and along another gallery. He walked fast. Eleanor
+felt exceedingly abashed and displeased and discomfited at this
+extraordinary proceeding, but she did not know how to resist it. Her
+compliance was taken for granted, and Mr. Carlisle was laughing at her
+discomfiture, which was easy enough to be seen. Eleanor's cheeks were
+glowing magnificently. "I suppose he feels he has me in his own
+dominions now,"--she thought; and the thought made her very rebellious.
+Lady Rythdale too!
+
+"Mr. Carlisle," she began, "there is really no occasion for all this. I
+am perfectly comfortable. I do not wish to alter my dress."
+
+"What do you call me?" said he stopping short.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Call me something else."
+
+The steady bright hazel eyes which were looking at her asserted their
+power. In spite of her irritation and vexation she obeyed his wish, and
+asked him somewhat loftily, to take her back again to the company.
+
+"Against my mother's commands? Do you not think they are binding on
+you, Eleanor?"
+
+"No, I do not!"
+
+"You will allow they are on me. My darling," said he, laughing and
+kissing her, "you must submit to be displeased for your good." And he
+walked on again. Eleanor was conquered; she felt it, and chafed under
+it. Mr. Carlisle opened a door and walked her into an apartment, large
+and luxurious, the one evidently that his mother had designated. He
+rang the bell.
+
+"Arles," said he, "find this lady something that will fit her. She
+wishes to change her dress. Do your best."
+
+He went out and left Eleanor in the hands of the tire-woman. Eleanor
+felt utterly out of countenance, but powerless; though she longed to
+defy the maid and the mistress and say, "I will wear my own and nothing
+else." Why could she not say it? She did not like to defy the master.
+
+So Arles had her way, and after one or two rapid glances at the subject
+of her cares and a moment's reflection on her introduction there, she
+took her cue. "Blushes like that are not for nothing," thought Arles;
+"and when Mr. Macintosh says 'Do your best'--why, it is easy to see!"
+
+She was quick and skilful and silent; but Eleanor felt like a wild
+creature in harness. Her riding-dress went off--her hair received a
+touch, all it wanted, as the waiting maid said; and after one or two
+journeys to wardrobes, Mrs. Arles brought out and proceeded to array
+Eleanor in a robe of white lawn, very flowing and full of laces. Yet it
+was simple in style, and Eleanor thought it useless to ask for a
+change; although when the robing was completed she was dressed more
+elegantly than she had ever been in her life. She was sadly ashamed,
+greatly indignant, and mortified at herself; that she should be so
+facile to the will of a person who had no right to command her. But if
+she was dissatisfied, Arles was not; the deep colour in Eleanor's
+cheeks only relieved her white drapery to perfection; and her beautiful
+hair and faultless figure harmonized with flowing folds and soft laces
+which can do so much for outlines that are not soft. Eleanor was not
+without a consciousness of this; nevertheless, vanity was not her
+foible; and her state of mind was anything but enviable when she left
+the dressing-room for the gallery. But Mr. Carlisle was there, to meet
+her and her mood too; and Eleanor found herself taken in hand at once.
+He had a way of mixing affection with his power over her, in such a way
+as to soothe and overawe at the same time; and before they reached the
+drawing-room now Eleanor was caressed and laughed into good order;
+leaving nevertheless a little root of opposition in her secret heart,
+which might grow fast upon occasion.
+
+She was taken into the drawing-room, set down and left, under Lady
+Rythdale's wing. Eleanor felt her position much more conspicuous than
+agreeable. The old baroness turned and surveyed her; went on with the
+conversation pending, then turned and surveyed her again; looked her
+well over; finally gave Eleanor some worsted to hold for her, which she
+wound; nor would she accept any substitute offered by the gentlemen for
+her promised daughter-in-law's pretty hands and arms. Worse and worse.
+Eleanor saw herself now not only a mark for people's eyes, but put in
+an attitude as it were to be looked at. She bore it bravely; with
+steady outward calmness and grace, though her cheeks remonstrated. No
+movement of Eleanor's did that. She played worsted reel with admirable
+good sense and skill, wisely keeping her own eyes on the business in
+hand, till it was finished; and Lady Rythdale winding up the last end
+of the ball, bestowed a pat of her hand, half commendation and half
+raillery, upon Eleanor's red cheek; as if it had been a child's. That
+was a little hard to bear; Eleanor felt for a moment as if she could
+have burst into tears. She would have left her place if she had dared;
+but she was in a corner of a sofa by Lady Rythdale, and nobody else
+near; and she felt shy. She could use her eyes now upon the company.
+
+Lady Rythdale was busied in conversation with one or two elderly
+ladies, of stately presence like herself, who were, as Eleanor
+gathered, friends of long date, staying at the Priory. They did not
+invite curiosity. She saw her mother with Mrs. Wycherly, the rector's
+sister, in another group, conversing with Dr. Cairnes and a gentleman
+unknown. Mr. Powle had found congeniality in a second stranger. Mr.
+Carlisle, far off in a window, one of those beautiful deep large
+windows, was very much engaged with some ladies and gentlemen likewise
+strange to Eleanor. Nobody was occupied with her; and from her sofa
+corner she went to musing. The room and its treasures she had time to
+look at quietly; she had leisure to notice how fine it was in
+proportions and adornments, and what luxurious abundance of everything
+that wealth buys and cultivation takes pleasure in, had space to abound
+without the seeming of multiplicity. The house was as stately within as
+on the outside. The magnificence was new to Eleanor, and drove her
+somehow to musings of a very opposite character. Perhaps her unallayed
+spirit of opposition might have been with other causes at the bottom of
+this. However that were, her thoughts went off in a perverse train upon
+the former baronesses of Rythdale; the ladies lovely and stately who
+had inhabited this noble abode. Eleanor would soon be one of the line,
+moving in their place, where they had moved; lovely and admired in her
+turn; but their turn was over. What when hers should be?--could she
+keep this heritage for ever? It was a very impertinent thought; it had
+clearly no business with either place or time; but there it was,
+staring at Eleanor out of the rich cornices, and looking in at her from
+the magnificent plantations seen through the window. Eleanor did not
+welcome the thought; it was an intruder. The fact was that having once
+made entrance in her mind, the idea only seized opportunities to start
+up and assert its claims to notice. It was always lying in wait for her
+now; and on this occasion held its ground with great perverseness.
+Eleanor glanced again at Dr. Cairnes; no hope of him at present; he was
+busily engaged with a clever gentleman, a friend of Mr. Carlisle's and
+an Oxford man, and with Mr. Carlisle himself. Eleanor grew impatient of
+her thoughts; she wondered if anybody else had such, in all that
+company. Nobody seemed to notice her; and she meditated an escape both
+from her sofa corner and from herself to a portfolio near by, which
+promised a resource in the shape of engravings; but just as she was
+moving, Lady Rythdale laid a hand upon her lap.
+
+"Sit still, my dear," she said turning partly towards her,--"I want you
+by me. I have a skein of silk here I want wound for my work--a skein of
+green silk--here it is; it has tangled itself, I fear; will you prepare
+it for me?"
+
+Eleanor took the silk, which was in pretty thorough confusion, and
+began the task of unravelling and untieing, preparatory to its being
+wound. This time Lady Rythdale did not turn away; she sat considering
+Eleanor, on whose white drapery and white fingers the green silk
+threads made a pretty contrast, while they left her helplessly exposed
+to that examining gaze. Eleanor felt it going all over her; taking in
+all the details of her dress, figure and face. She could not help the
+blood mounting, though she angrily tried to prevent it. The green silk
+was in a great snarl. Eleanor bent her head over her task.
+
+"My dear, are you near-sighted?"
+
+"No, madam!" said the girl, giving the old lady a moment's view of the
+orbs in question.
+
+"You have very good eyes--uncommon colour," said Lady Rythdale.
+"Macintosh thinks he will have a good little wife in you;--is it true?"
+
+"I do not know, ma'am," said Eleanor haughtily.
+
+"I think it is true. Look up here and let me see." And putting her hand
+under Eleanor's chin, she chucked up her face as if she were something
+to be examined for purchase. Eleanor felt in no amiable mood certainly,
+and her cheeks were flaming; nevertheless the old lady coolly held her
+under consideration and even with a smile on her lips which seemed of
+satisfaction. Eleanor did not see it, for her eyes could not look up;
+but she felt through all her nerves the kiss with which the examination
+was dismissed.
+
+"I think it is true," the old baroness repeated. "I hope it is true;
+for my son would not be an easy man to live with on any other terms, my
+dear."
+
+"I suppose its truth depends in a high degree upon himself, madam,"
+said Eleanor, very much incensed. "Does your ladyship choose to wind
+this silk now?"
+
+"You may hold it. I see you have got it into order. That shews you
+possessed of the old qualification of patience.--Your hands a little
+higher. My dear, I would not advise you to regulate your behaviour by
+anything in other people. Macintosh will make you a kind husband if you
+do not displease him; but he is one of those men who must obeyed."
+
+Eleanor had no escape; she must sit holding the silk, a mark for Lady
+Rythdale's eyes and tongue. She sat drooping a little with indignation
+and shame, when Mr. Carlisle came up. He had seen from a distance the
+tint of his lady's cheeks, and judged that she was going through some
+sort of an ordeal. But though he came to protect, he stood still to
+enjoy. The picture was so very pretty. The mother and son exchanged
+glances.
+
+"I think you can make her do," said the baroness contentedly.
+
+"Not as a permanent winding reel!" exclaimed Eleanor jumping up. "Mr.
+Carlisle, I am tired;--have the goodness to take this silk from my
+fingers."
+
+And slipping it over the gentleman's astonished hands, before he had
+time quite to know what she was about, Eleanor left the pair to arrange
+the rest of the business between them, and herself walked off to one of
+the deep windows. She was engaged there immediately by Lord Rythdale,
+in civil conversation enough; then he introduced other gentlemen; and
+it was not till after a series of talks with one and another, that
+Eleanor had a minute to herself. She was sitting in the window, where
+an encroaching branch of ivy at one side reminded her of the elegant
+work it was doing round the corner. Eleanor would have liked to go
+through the house--or the grounds--if she might have got away alone and
+indulged herself in a good musing fit. How beautiful the shaven turf
+looked under the soft sun's light! how stately stood old oaks and
+beeches here and there! how rich the thicker border of vegetation
+beyond the lawn! What beauty of order and keeping everywhere. Nothing
+had been attempted here but what the resources of the proprietors were
+fully equal to; the impression was of ample power to do more. While
+musing, Eleanor's attention was attracted by Mr. Carlisle, who had
+stepped out upon the lawn with one or two of his guests, and she looked
+at the place and its master together. He suited it very well. He was an
+undeniably handsome man; his bearing graceful and good. Eleanor liked
+Mr. Carlisle, not the less perhaps that she feared him a little. She
+only felt a little wilful rebellion against the way in which she had
+come to occupy her present position. If but she might have been
+permitted to take her own time, and say yea for herself, without having
+it said for her, she would have been content. As it was, Eleanor was
+not very discontented. Her heart swelled with a secret satisfaction and
+some pride, as without seeing her the group passed the window and she
+was left with the sunlit lawn and beautiful old trees again. Close upon
+that feeling of pride came another thought. What when this earthly
+coronet should fade?--
+
+"Dr. Cairnes," said Eleanor seizing an opportunity,--"come here and sit
+down by me. I have not seen you in a great while."
+
+"You have not missed me, my dear lady," said the doctor blandly.
+
+"Yes I have," said Eleanor. "I want to talk to you. I want you to tell
+me something."
+
+"How soon I am to make you happy? or help you to make somebody else
+happy? Well I shall be at your service any time about Christmas."
+
+"No, no!" said Eleanor colouring, "I want something very different. I
+am talking seriously, Dr. Cairnes. I want you to tell me something. I
+want to know how I may be happy--for I am unhappy now."
+
+"You unhappy!" said the doctor. "I must talk to my friend Mr. Carlisle
+about that. We must call him in for counsel. What would he say, to your
+being unhappy? hey?"
+
+He was there to speak for himself; there with a slight cloud on his
+brow too, Eleanor thought. He had come from within the room; she
+thought he was safe away in the grounds with his guests.
+
+"Shall I break up this interesting conversation?" said he.
+
+"It was growing very interesting," said the doctor; "for this lady was
+just acknowledging to me that she is not happy. I give her over to
+you--this is a case beyond my knowledge and resources. Only, when I can
+do anything, I shall be most gratified at being called upon."
+
+The doctor rose up, shook himself, and left the field to Mr. Carlisle.
+Eleanor felt vexed beyond description, and very little inclined to call
+again upon Dr. Cairnes for anything whatever in any line of assistance.
+Her face burned. Mr. Carlisle took no notice; only laid his hand upon
+hers and said "Come!"--and walked her out of the room and on the lawn,
+and sauntered with her down to some of the thickly planted shrubbery
+beyond the house. There went round about upon the soft turf, calling
+Eleanor's attention to this or that shrub or tree, and finding her very
+pleasant amusement; till the question in her mind, of what was coming
+now, had almost faded away. The lights and shadows stretched in long
+lines between the trees, and lay witchingly over the lawn. An opening
+in the plantations brought a fair view of it, and of the left wing of
+the house which Eleanor had admired, dark and rich in its mantle of
+ivy, while the light gleamed on the edges of the ornamented gables
+above. It was a beautiful view. Mr. Carlisle paused.
+
+"How do you like the house?" said he.
+
+"I think I prefer the ruined old priory down yonder," said Eleanor.
+
+"Do you still feel your attraction for a monastic life?"
+
+"Yes!" said Eleanor, colouring,--"I think they must have had peaceable
+old lives there, with nothing to trouble them. And they could plant
+gardens as well as you can."
+
+"As the old ruins are rather uninhabitable, what do you think of
+entering a modern Priory?"
+
+It pleased him to see the deep rich glow on Eleanor's cheek, and the
+droop of her saucy eyelids. No wonder it pleased him; it was a pretty
+thing to see; and he enjoyed it.
+
+"You shall be Lady Abbess," he went on presently, "and make your own
+rules. I only stipulate that there shall be no Father Confessor except
+myself."
+
+"I doubt your qualifications for that office," said Eleanor.
+
+"Suppose you try me. What were you confessing to Dr. Cairnes just now
+in the window?"
+
+"Nonsense, Robert!" said Eleanor. "I was talking of something you would
+not understand."
+
+"You underrate me," said he coolly. "My powers of understanding are
+equal to the old gentleman's, unless I am mistaken in myself. What are
+you unhappy about, darling?"
+
+"Nothing that you could make anything of," said Eleanor. "I was talking
+to Dr. Cairnes in a language that you do not understand. Do let it
+alone!"
+
+"Did he report you truly, to have used the English word 'unhappy'?"
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor; "but Mr. Carlisle, you do not know what you are
+talking about."
+
+"I am coming to it. Darling, do you think you would be unhappy at the
+Priory?"
+
+"I did not say that--" said Eleanor, confused.
+
+"Do you think I could make you happy there?--Speak, Eleanor--speak!"
+
+"Yes--if I could be happy anywhere."
+
+"What makes you unhappy? My wife must not hide her heart from me."
+
+"Yes, but I am not that yet," said Eleanor with spirit, rousing up to
+assert herself.
+
+He laughed and kissed her. "How long first, Eleanor?"
+
+"I am sure I don't know. Very long."
+
+"What is very long?"
+
+"I do not know. A year or two at least."
+
+"Do you suppose I will agree to that?"
+
+Eleanor knew he would not; and further saw a quiet purpose in his face.
+She was sure he had fixed upon the time, if not the day. She felt those
+cobweb bands all around her. Here she was, almost in bridal attire, at
+his side already. She made no answer.
+
+"Divide by twelve, and get a quotient, Eleanor."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean to have a merry Christmas--by your leave."
+
+Christmas! that was what the doctor had said. Was it so far without her
+leave? Eleanor felt angry. That did not hinder her feeling frightened.
+
+"You cannot have it in the way you propose, Mr. Carlisle. I am not
+ready for that."
+
+"You will be," he said coolly. "I shall be obliged to go up to London
+after Christmas; then I mean to instal you in Berkeley Square; and in
+the summer you shall go to Switzerland with me. Now tell me, my
+darling, what you are unhappy about?"
+
+Eleanor felt tongue-tied and powerless. The last words had been said
+very affectionately, and as she was silent they were repeated.
+
+"It is nothing you would understand."
+
+"Try me."
+
+"It is nothing that would interest you at all."
+
+"Not interest me!" said he; and if his manner had been self-willed, it
+was also now as tender and gentle as it was possible to be. He folded
+Eleanor in his arms caressingly and waited for her words. "Not interest
+me! Do you know that from your riding-cap to the very gloves you pull
+on and off, there is nothing that touches you that does not interest
+me. And now I hear my wife--she is almost that, Eleanor,--tell Dr.
+Cairnes that she is not happy. I must know why."
+
+"I wish you would not think about it, Mr. Carlisle! It is nothing to
+care about at all. I was speaking to Dr. Cairnes as a clergyman."
+
+"You shall not call me Mr. Carlisle. Say that over again, Eleanor."
+
+"It is nothing to think twice about, Mr. Macintosh."
+
+"You were speaking to Dr. Cairnes as a clergyman?" he said laughing.
+"How was that? I can think but of one way in which Dr. Cairnes'
+profession concerns you and me--was it on _that_ subject, Eleanor?"
+
+"No, no. It was only--I was only going to ask him a religious question
+that interested me."
+
+"A _religious_ question! Was it that which made you unhappy?"
+
+"Yes, if you will have it. I knew you would not like it."
+
+"I don't like it; and I will not have it," said he. "_You_, my little
+Eleanor, getting up a religious uneasiness! that will never do. You,
+who are as sound as a nut, and as sweet as a Cape jessamine! I shall
+prove your best counsellor. You have not had rides enough over the moor
+lately. We will have an extra gallop to-morrow;--and after Christmas I
+will take care of you. What were you uneasy about?"
+
+"Don't Robert!" said Eleanor,--"do not ask me any more about it. I do
+not want you to laugh at me."
+
+"Laugh at you!" he said. "I should like to see anybody else do that!
+but I will, as much as I like. Do you know you are a darling? and just
+as lovely in mind as you are in person. Do not you have any questions
+with the old priest; I do not like it; come to me with your
+difficulties, and I will manage them for you. Was that all, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then we are all right--or we soon shall be."
+
+They strolled a little longer over the soft turf, in the soft light.
+
+"We are not quite all right," said Eleanor; "for you think I will
+do--what I will not."
+
+"What is that?"
+
+"I have not agreed to your arrangements."
+
+"You will."
+
+"Do not think it, Macintosh. I will not."
+
+He looked down at her, smiling, not in the least disconcerted. She had
+spoken no otherwise than gently, and with more secret effort than she
+would have liked him to know.
+
+"You shall say that for half the time between now and Christmas," he
+said; "and after that you will adopt another form of expression."
+
+"If I say it at all, I shall hold to it, Macintosh."
+
+"Then do not say it at all, my little Eleanor," said he lightly; "I
+shall make you give it up. I think I will make you give it up now."
+
+"You are not generous, Robert."
+
+"No--I suppose I am not," he said contentedly. "I am forced to go to
+London after Christmas, and I cannot go without you. Do you not love me
+well enough to give me that, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor was silent. She was not willing to say no; she could not with
+truth say yes. Mr. Carlisle bent down to look into her face.
+
+"What have you to say to me?"
+
+"Nothing--" said Eleanor avoiding his eye.
+
+"Kiss me, Nellie, and promise that you will be my good little wife at
+Christmas."
+
+His mother's very phrase. Eleanor rebelled secretly, but felt powerless
+under those commanding eyes. Perhaps he was aware of her latent
+obstinacy; if he was, he also knew himself able to master it; for the
+eyes were sparkling with pleasure as well as with wilfulness. The
+occasion was not sufficient to justify a contest with Mr. Carlisle;
+Eleanor was not ready to brave one; she hesitated long enough to shew
+her rebellion, and then yielded, ingloriously she felt, though on the
+whole wisely. She met her punishment. The offered permission was not
+only taken; she was laughed at and rejoiced over triumphantly, to Mr.
+Carlisle's content. Eleanor bore it as well at she could; wishing that
+she had not tried to assert herself in such vain fashion, and feeling
+her discomfiture complete.
+
+It was more than time to return to the company. Eleanor knew what a
+mark she was for people's eyes, and would gladly have screened herself
+behind somebody in a corner; but Mr. Carlisle kept full possession of
+her. He walked her into the room, and gently retained her hand in its
+place while he went from one to another, obliging her to stand and talk
+or to be talked to with him through the whole company. Eleanor winced;
+nevertheless bore herself well and a little proudly until the evening
+was over.
+
+The weather had changed, and the ride home was begun under a cloudy
+sky. It grew very dark as they went on; impossible in many places to
+see the path. Mr. Carlisle was riding with her and the roads were well
+known to him and to the horses, and Eleanor did not mind it. She went
+on gayly with him, rather delighting in the novelty and adventure; till
+she heard a muttering of thunder. It was the only thing Eleanor's
+nerves dreaded. Her spirits were checked; she became silent and quiet,
+and hardly heard enough to respond to her companion's talk. She was
+looking incessantly for that which came at last as they were nearing
+the old ruins in the valley; a flash of lightning. It lit up the
+beautiful tower with its clinging ivy, revealed for an instant some
+bits of wall and the thick clustering trees; then left a blank
+darkness. The same illumination had entered the hidden places of
+memory, and startled into vivid life the scenes and the thoughts of a
+few months ago. All Eleanor's latent uneasiness was aroused. Her
+attention was absorbed now, from this point until they got home, in
+watching for flashes of lightning. They came frequently, but the storm
+was after all a slight one. The lightning lit up the way beautifully
+for the other members of the party. To Eleanor it revealed something
+more.
+
+Mr. Carlisle's leave-taking at the door bespoke him well satisfied with
+the results of the evening. Eleanor shunned the questions and remarks
+of her family and went to her own room. There she sat down, in her
+riding habit and with her head in her hands. What use was it for her to
+be baroness of Rythdale, to be mistress of the Priory, to be Mr.
+Carlisle's petted and favoured wife, while there was no shield between
+her head and the stroke that any day and any moment might bring? And
+what after all availed an earthly coronet, ever so bright, which had
+nothing to replace it when its fading time should come? Eleanor wanted
+something more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+WITH THE FERNS.
+
+
+  "It is the little rift within the lute,
+  That by and by will make the music mute."
+
+
+It was impossible for Eleanor to shake off the feeling. It rose fresh
+with her the next day, and neither her own nor Mr. Carlisle's efforts
+could dispose of it. To do Eleanor justice, she did not herself wish to
+lose it, unless by the supply of her want; while she took special care
+to hide her trouble from Mr. Carlisle. They took great gallops on the
+moor, and long rides all about the country; the rides were delightful;
+the talks were gay; but in them all, or at the end of them certainly,
+Eleanor's secret cry was for some shelter for her unprotected head. The
+thought would come up in every possible connexion, till it haunted her.
+Not her approaching marriage, nor the preparations which were even
+beginning for it, nor her involuntary subjection to all Mr. Carlisle's
+pleasure, so much dwelt with Eleanor now as the question,--how she
+should meet the storm which must break upon her some day; or rather the
+sense that she could not meet it. The fairest and sweetest scene, or
+condition of things, seemed but to bring up this thought more vividly
+by very force of contrast.
+
+Eleanor hid the whole within her own heart, and the fire burned there
+all the more. Not a sign of it must Mr. Carlisle see; and as for Dr.
+Cairnes, Eleanor could never get a chance for a safe talk with him.
+Somebody was always near, or might be near. The very effort to hide her
+thoughts grew sometimes irksome; and the whirl of engagements and
+occupations in which she lived gave her a stifled feeling. She could
+not even indulge herself in solitary consideration of that which there
+was nobody to help her consider.
+
+She hailed one day the announcement that Mr. Carlisle must let the next
+day go by without riding or seeing her. He would be kept away at a town
+some miles off, on county business. Mr. Carlisle had a good deal to do
+with county politics and county business generally; made himself both
+important and popular, and lost no thread of influence he had once
+gathered into his hand. So Brompton would have him all the next day,
+and Eleanor would have her time to herself.
+
+That she might secure full possession of it, she ordered her pony and
+went out alone after luncheon. She could not get free earlier. Now she
+took no servant to follow her, and started off alone to the moors. It
+was a delicious autumn day, mild and still and mellow. Eleanor got out
+of sight or hearing of human habitations; then let her pony please
+himself in his paces while she dropped the reins and thought. It was
+hardly in Eleanor's nature to have bitter thoughts; they came as near
+it on this occasion as they were apt to do; they were very dissatisfied
+thoughts. She was on the whole dissatisfied with everybody; herself
+most of all, it is true; but her mother and Mr. Carlisle had a share.
+She did not want to be married at Christmas; she did not even care
+about going to Switzerland, unless by her own good leave asked and
+obtained; she was not willing to be managed as a child; yet Eleanor was
+conscious that she was no better in Mr. Carlisle's hands. "I wonder
+what sort of a master he will make," she thought, "when he has me
+entirely in his power? I have no sort of liberty now." It humbled her;
+it was her own fault; yet Eleanor liked Mr. Carlisle, and thought that
+she loved him. She was young yet and very inexperienced. She also liked
+all the splendour of the position he gave her. Yet above the
+gratification of this, through the dazzle of wealth and pleasure and
+power, Eleanor discerned now a want these could not fill. What should
+she do when they failed? there was no provision in them for the want of
+them. Eleanor forgot her loss of independence, and pondered these
+thoughts till they grew bitter with pain. By turns she wished she had
+never seen Mr. Rhys, who she remembered first started them; or wished
+she could see him again.
+
+In the stillness and freedom and peace of the wide moor, Eleanor had
+fearlessly given herself up to her musings, without thinking or caring
+which way she went. The pony, finding the choice left to him, had
+naturally enough turned off into a track leading over some wild hills
+where he had been bred; the locality had pleasant associations for him.
+But it had none of any kind for Eleanor; and when she roused herself to
+think of it, she found she was in a distant part of the moor and
+drawing near to the hills aforesaid; a bleak and dreary looking region,
+and very far from home. Neither was she very sure by which way she
+might soonest regain a neighbourhood that she knew. To follow the path
+she was on and turn off into the first track that branched in the right
+direction, seemed the best to do; and she roused up her pony to an
+energetic little gallop. It seemed little after the long bounds Black
+Maggie would take through the air; but it was brisk work for the pony.
+Eleanor kept him at his speed. It was luxurious, to be alone; ride as
+she liked, slow or fast, and think as she liked, even forbidden
+thoughts. Her own mistress once more. Eleanor exulted, all the more
+because she was a rebel. The wild moor was delicious; the freedom was
+delicious; only she was far from home and the afternoon was on the
+wane. She kept the pony to his speed.
+
+By the base of the hills near to which the road led her, stood a
+miserable little house. It needed but a look at the place, to decide
+that the people who lived in it must be also miserable, and probably in
+more ways than one. Eleanor who had intended asking there for some news
+of her whereabouts and the roads, changed her mind as she drew near and
+resolved to pass the house at a gallop. So much for wise resolves. The
+miserable children who dwelt in the house had been that day making a
+bonfire for their amusement right on her track. The hot ashes were
+still there; the pony set his feet in them, reared high, and threw his
+rider, who had never known the pony do such a thing before and had no
+reason to expect it of him. Eleanor was thrown clean off on the ground,
+and fell stunned.
+
+She picked herself up after a few minutes, to find no bones broken, the
+miserable hut close by, and two children and an old crone looking at
+her. The pony had concluded it a dangerous neighbourhood and departed,
+shewing a clean pair of heels. Eleanor gathered her dress in her hand
+and looked at the people who were staring at her. Such faces!
+
+"What place is this?" she asked, forcing herself to be bold. The answer
+was utterly unintelligible. All Eleanor could make out was the hoarsely
+or thickly put question, "Be you hurted?"
+
+"No, thank you--not at all, I believe," she said breathlessly, for she
+had not got over the shock of her fall. "How far am I from the village
+of Wiglands?"
+
+Again the words that were spoken in reply gave no meaning to her ear.
+
+"Boys, will one of you shew me the nearest way there? I will give you
+something as soon as I get home."
+
+The children stared, at her and at each other; but Eleanor was more
+comprehensible to them than they to her. The old woman said some hoarse
+words to the children; and then one of them stepped forth and said
+strangely, "I 'ze go wiz ye."
+
+"I'll reward him for it," said Eleanor, nodding to the old grandmother;
+and set off, very glad to be walking away. She did not breathe freely
+till a good many yards of distance were between her and the hut, where
+the crone and the other child still remained watching her. There might
+be others of the family coming home; and Eleanor walked at a brave pace
+until she had well left the little hut behind, out of all fear of
+pursuit. Then she began to feel that she was somewhat shattered by her
+fall, and getting tired, and she went more gently. But it was a long,
+long way; the reach of moor seemed endless; for it was a very different
+thing to go over it on Black Maggie's feet from going over it on her
+own. Eleanor was exceedingly weary, and still the brown common
+stretched away on all sides of her; and the distant tuft of vegetation
+which announced the village of Wiglands, stood afar off, and seemed to
+be scarcely nearer after miles of walking. Before they reached it
+Eleanor's feet were dragging after one another in weariest style. She
+could not possibly go on to the Lodge without stopping to rest. How
+should she reward and send back her guide? As she was thinking of this,
+Eleanor saw the smoke curling up from a stray cottage hid among the
+trees; it was Mrs. Williams's cottage. Her heart sprang with a sudden
+temptation--doubted, balanced, and resolved. She had excuse enough; she
+would do a rebellious thing. She would go there and rest. It might give
+her a chance to see Mr. Rhys and hear him talk; it might not. If the
+chance came, why she would be very glad of it. Eleanor had no money
+about her; she hastily detached a gold pencil case from her watch
+chain, and put it into the ragged creature's hand who had guided her;
+saw him turn his back, then went with a sort of stealthy joy to the
+front of Mrs. Williams's cottage, pushed the door open softly and went
+in.
+
+Nobody was there; not a cat; it was all still. An inner door stood
+ajar; within there was a sound of voices, low and pleasant. Eleanor
+supposed Mrs. Williams would make her appearance in a minute, and sank
+down on the first chair that offered; sank even her head in her hands,
+for very weariness and the very sense of rest and security gained. The
+chair was one standing by the fire and near the open inner door; the
+voices came quite plainly through; and the next minute let Eleanor know
+that one of them was the voice of her little sister Julia; she heard
+one of Julia's joyous utterances. The other voice belonged to Mr. Rhys.
+No sound of Mrs. Williams. Eleanor sat still, her head bowed in her
+hands, and listened.
+
+It seemed that Julia was looking at something--or some collection of
+things. Eleanor could hear the slight rustling of paper handled--then a
+pause and talk. Julia had a great deal to say. Eleanor presently made
+out that they were looking at a collection of plants. She felt so tired
+that she had no inclination to move a single muscle. Mind and body sat
+still to listen.
+
+"And what is that?" she heard Julia say.
+
+"Mountain fern."
+
+"Isn't it beautiful! O that's as pretty as a feather."
+
+"If you saw them growing, dozens of them springing from the same root,
+you would think them beautiful. Then those brown edgings are black as
+jet and glossy."
+
+"Are those the _thecoe_, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Yes. The Lastraeas, and all their family, have the fruit in those
+little round spots, each with its own covering; that is their mark."
+
+"It is so funny that plants should have families," said Julia. "Now is
+this one of the family, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Certainly; that is a Cystopteris."
+
+"It's a dear little thing! Where did you get it, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I do not remember. They grow pretty nearly all over; you find them on
+rocks, and walls."
+
+"_I_ don't find them," said Julia. "I wish I could. Now what is that?"
+
+"Another of the family, but not a Cystopteris. That is the Holly fern.
+Do you see how stiff and prickly it is? That was a troublesome one to
+manage. I gathered it on a high mountain in Wales, I think."
+
+"Are high mountains good places?"
+
+"For the mountain ferns. That is another Lastraea you have now; that is
+very elegant. That grows on mountains too, but also on many other
+places; shoots up in elegant tufts almost a yard high. I have seen it
+very beautiful. When the fruit is ripe, the indusium is something of a
+lilac colour, spotting the frond in double rows--as you see it there. I
+have seen these Lastraeas and others, growing in great profusion on a
+wild place in Devonshire, in the neighbourhood of the rushing torrent
+of a river. The spray flew up on the rocks and stones along its banks,
+keeping them moist, and sometimes overflowed them; and there in the
+vegetable matter that had by little and little collected, there was
+such a shew of ferns as I have not often seen. Another Lastraea grew, I
+should think, five feet high; and this one, and the Lady fern. Turn the
+next sheet--there it is. That is the Lady fern."
+
+"How perfectly beautiful!" Julia exclaimed. "Is that a Lastraea too?"
+
+Mr. Rhys laughed a little as he answered "No." Until then his voice had
+kept the quiet even tone of feeble strength.
+
+"Why is it called Lady fern?"
+
+"I do not know. Perhaps because it is so delicate in its
+structure--perhaps because it is so tender. It does not bear being
+broken from its root."
+
+"But I think Eleanor is as strong as anybody," said Julia.
+
+"Don't you remember how ill she was, only from having wetted her feet,
+last summer?" said Mr. Rhys with perfect gravity.
+
+"Well, what is that?" said Julia, not liking the inference they were
+coming to.
+
+"That is a little fern that loves the wet. It grows by
+waterfalls--those are its homes. It grows close to the fall, where it
+will be constantly watered by the spray from it; sometimes this little
+half-brother it has, the Oak fern, is found there along with it. They
+are elegant species."
+
+"It must be nice to go to the waterfalls and climb up to get them,"
+said Julia. "What do you call these little wet beauties, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Polypodies."
+
+"Polypodies! Now, Mr. Rhys,--O what is this? This is prettiest of all."
+
+"Yes, one of the very prettiest. I found that in a cave, a wet cave, by
+the sea. That is the sort of home it likes."
+
+"In Wales?"
+
+"In Wales I have found it, and elsewhere; in the south of England; but
+always by the sea; in places where I have seen a great many other
+beautiful things."
+
+"By the sea, Mr. Rhys? Why I have been there, and I did not see
+anything but the waves and the sand and the rocks."
+
+"You did not know where to look."
+
+"Where did you look?"
+
+"Under the rocks;--and in them."
+
+"_In_ the rocks, sir?"
+
+"In their clefts and hollows and caves. In caves which I could only
+reach in a boat, or by going in at low tide; then I saw things more
+beautiful than a fairy palace, Julia."
+
+"What sort of things?"
+
+"Animals--and plants."
+
+"Beautiful animals?"
+
+"Very beautiful."
+
+"Well I wish you would take me with you, Mr. Rhys. I would not mind
+wetting my feet. I will be a Hard fern--not a Lady fern. Eleanor shall
+be the lady. O Mr. Rhys, won't you hate to leave England?"
+
+"There are plenty of beautiful things where I am going, Julia--if I get
+well."
+
+"But the people are so bad!"
+
+"That is why I want to go to them."
+
+"But what can you do to them?"
+
+"I can tell them of the Lord Jesus, Julia. They have never heard of
+him; that is why they are so evil."
+
+"Maybe they won't believe you, Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Maybe they will. But the Lord has commanded me to go, all the same."
+
+"How, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+He answered in the beautiful words of Paul--"How shall they believe on
+him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a
+preacher?" There was a sorrowful depth in his tones, speaking to
+himself rather than to his little listener.
+
+"Mr. Rhys, they are such dreadfully bad people, they might kill you,
+and eat you."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you not afraid?"
+
+"No."
+
+There is strangely much sometimes expressed, one can hardly say how, in
+the tone of a single word. So it was with this word, even to the ears
+of Eleanor in the next room. It was round and sweet, untrembling, with
+something like a vibration of joy in its low utterance. It was but a
+word, said in answer to a child's idle question; it pierced like a
+barbed arrow through all the involutions of another heart, down into
+the core. It was an accent of strength and quiet and fearless security,
+though spoken by lips that were very uncertain of their tenure of life.
+It gave the chord that Eleanor wanted sounded in her own soul; where
+now there was no harmony at all, but sometimes a jarring clang, and
+sometimes an echo of fear.
+
+"But Mr. Rhys, aren't they very _dreadful_, over there where you want
+to go?" Julia said.
+
+"Very dreadful; more than you can possibly imagine, or than I can,
+perhaps."
+
+"Well I hope you won't go. Mr. Rhys, I think Mrs. Williams stays a
+great while--it is time the kettle was on for your tea."
+
+Eleanor had hardly time to be astonished at this most novel display of
+careful housewifery on her little sister's part, whom indeed she would
+have supposed to be ignorant that such a thing as a kettle existed;
+when Julia came bounding into the outer room to look after the article,
+or after the old dame who should take charge of it. She stopped short,
+and Eleanor raised her head. Julia's exclamation was hearty.
+
+"Hush!" whispered Eleanor.
+
+"What should I hush for? there's nobody here but Mr. Rhys in the other
+room; and he was saying the other day that he wanted to see you."
+
+Back she bounded. "Mr. Rhys, here's Eleanor in the other room, and no
+Mrs. Williams."
+
+Eleanor heard the quiet answer--"Tell your sister, that as I cannot
+walk out to see her, perhaps she will do me the favour to come in here."
+
+There was nothing better, in the circumstances; indeed Eleanor felt she
+must go in to explain herself; she only waited for Julia's brisk
+summons--"Eleanor, Mr. Rhys wants to see you!"--and gathering up her
+habit she walked into the other room as steadily as if she had all the
+right in the world to be there; bearing herself a little proudly, for a
+sudden thought of Mr. Carlisle came over her. Mr. Rhys was lying on the
+couch, as she had seen him before; but she was startled at the paleness
+of his face, made more startling by the very dark eyebrows and bushy
+hair. He raised himself on his elbow as she came in, and Eleanor could
+not refuse to give him her hand.
+
+"I ought to apologise for not rising to receive you," he said,--"but
+you see I cannot help it."
+
+"I am very sorry, Mr. Rhys. Are you less strong than you were a few
+weeks ago?"
+
+"I seem to have no strength at all now," he answered with a half laugh.
+"Will you not sit down? Julia, suppose you coax the fire to burn a
+little brighter, for your sister's welcome?"
+
+"She can do it herself," said Julia. "I am going to see to the fire in
+the other room."
+
+"No, that would be inhospitable," Mr. Rhys said with a smile; "and I do
+not believe your sister knows how, Julia. She has not learned as many
+things as you have."
+
+Julia gave her friend a very loving look and went at the fire without
+more words. Eleanor sat under a strange spell. She hardly knew her
+sister in that look; and there was about the pale pure face that lay on
+the couch, with its shining eyes, an atmosphere of influence that
+subdued and enthralled her. It was with an effort that she roused
+herself to give the intended explanation of her being in that place.
+Mr. Rhys heard her throughout.
+
+"I am very glad you were thrown," he said; "since it has procured me
+the pleasure of seeing you."
+
+"Mr. Carlisle will never let you ride alone again--that is one thing!"
+said Julia. And having finished the fire and her exclamatory comments
+together, she ran off into the other room. Her last words had called up
+a deep flush on Eleanor's face. Mr. Rhys waited till it had passed
+quite away, then he asked very calmly, and putting the question also
+with his bright eyes,
+
+"How have you been, since I saw you last?"
+
+The eyes were bright, not with the specular brightness of many eyes,
+but with a sort of fulness of light and keenness of intelligent vision.
+Eleanor knew perfectly well to what they referred. She shrank within
+herself, cowered, and hesitated. Then made a brave effort and threw
+back the question.
+
+"How have _you_ been, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I have been well," he said. "You know it is the privilege of the
+children of God, to glory in tribulations. That is what I am doing."
+
+"Have you been so very ill?" asked Eleanor.
+
+"My illness gives me no pain," he answered; "it only incapacitates me
+for doing anything. And at first that was more grievous to me than you
+can understand. With so much to do, and with my heart in the work, it
+seemed as if my Master had laid me aside and said, 'You shall do no
+more; you shall lie there and not speak my name to men any longer.' It
+gave me great pain at first--I was tempted to rebel; but now I know
+that patience worketh experience. I thank him for the lessons he has
+taught me. I am willing to go out and be useful, or to lie here and be
+comparatively useless,--just as my Lord will!"
+
+The slow deliberate utterance, which testified at once of physical
+weakness and mental power; the absolute repose of the bright face,
+touched Eleanor profoundly. She sat spell-bound, forgetting her
+overthrow and her fatigue and everything else; only conscious of her
+struggling thoughts and cares of the weeks past and of the presence and
+influence of the one person she knew who had the key to them.
+
+"Having so few opportunities," he went on, "you will not be surprised
+that I hail every one that offers, of speaking in my Mater's name. I
+know that he has summoned you to his service, Miss Powle--is he your
+Master yet?"
+
+Eleanor pushed her chair round, grating it on the floor, so as to turn
+her face a little away, and answered, "No."
+
+"You have heard his call to you?"
+
+Eleanor felt her whole heart convulsed in the struggle to answer or not
+answer this question. With great difficulty she kept herself outwardly
+perfectly quiet; and at last said hoarsely, looking away from Mr. Rhys
+into the fire,
+
+"How do you know anything about it?"
+
+"Have you yielded obedience to his commands?" he said, disregarding her
+words.
+
+"I do not know what they are--" Eleanor answered.
+
+"Have you sought to find them out?"
+
+She hesitated, and said "no." Her face was completely turned away from
+him now; but the tender intonation of the next words thrilled through
+every nerve of her heart and brain.
+
+"Then your head is uncovered yet by that helmet of security which you
+were anxious about a little time ago?"
+
+It was the speech of somebody who saw right into her heart and knew all
+that was going on there; what was the use of holding out and trying to
+maintain appearances? Eleanor's head sank; her heart gave way; she
+burst into tears. Now was her chance, she thought; the ice was broken;
+she would ask of Mr. Rhys all she wanted to know, for he could tell
+her. Before another word was spoken, in rushed Julia.
+
+"I've got that going," she said; "you shall have some tea directly, Mr.
+Rhys. I hope Mrs. Williams will stay away till I get through. Now it
+will take a little while--come here, Eleanor, and look at these
+beautiful ferns."
+
+Eleanor was sitting upright again; she had driven the tears back. She
+hoped for another chance of speaking, when Julia should go to get her
+tea ready. In the mean while she moved her seat, as her sister desired
+her, to look over the ferns. This brought her into the neighbourhood of
+the couch, where Julia sat on a low bench, turning the great sheets of
+paper on the floor before her. It brought Eleanor's face into full
+view, too, she knew; but now she did not care for that. Julia went on
+rapturously with the ferns, asking information as before; and in Mr.
+Rhys's answers there was a grave tone of preoccupation which thrilled
+on Eleanor's ear and kept her own mind to the point where it had been.
+
+"Are there ferns out there where you are going if you get well, Mr.
+Rhys? new ones?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it."
+
+"Then you will gather them and dry them, won't you?"
+
+"I think it is very possible I may."
+
+"I wish you wouldn't go! O Mr. Rhys, tell Eleanor about that place; she
+don't know about it. Tell her what you told me."
+
+He did; perhaps to fill up the time and take Eleanor's attention from
+herself for the moment. He gave a short account of the people in
+question; a people of fine physical and even fine mental development,
+for savages; inhabiting a country of great beauty and rich natural
+resources; but at the same time sunk in the most abject depths of moral
+debasement. A country where the "works of the devil" had reached their
+utmost vigour; where men lived but for vile ends, and took the lives of
+their fellow-men and each other with the utmost ruthlessness and
+carelessness and horrible cruelty; and more than that, where they
+dishonoured human life by abusing, and even eating, the forms in which
+human life had residence. It was a terrible picture Mr. Rhys drew, in a
+few words; so terrible, that it did take Eleanor's attention from all
+else for the time.
+
+"Is other life safe there?" she asked. "Do the white people who go
+there feel themselves secure?"
+
+"I presume they do not."
+
+"Then why go to such a horrible place?"
+
+"Why not?" he asked. "The darker they are, the more they want light."
+
+"But it is to jeopardize the very life you wish to use for them."
+
+Mr. Rhys was silent for a moment, and when he spoke it was only to make
+a remark about the fern which lay displayed on the floor before Julia.
+
+"That Hart's-tongue," said he, "I gathered from a cavern on the
+sea-coast--where it grew hanging down from the roof,--quantities of it."
+
+"In a dark cavern, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia.
+
+"Not in a dark part of the cavern. No, it grew only where it could have
+the light.--Miss Powle, I am of David's mind--'In God I have put my
+trust; I will not fear what flesh can do to me.'"
+
+He looked up at Eleanor as he spoke. The slight smile, the look, in
+Eleanor's mood of mind, were like a coal of fire dropped into her
+heart. It burned. She said nothing; sat still and looked at the fern on
+the floor.
+
+"But will you not feel _afraid_, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia.
+
+"Why no, Julia. I shall have nothing to be afraid of. You forget who
+will be with me."
+
+Julia with that jumped up and ran off to see about her fire and kettle
+in the other room. Eleanor and Mr. Rhys were left alone. The latter did
+not speak. Eleanor longed to hear more, and made a great effort.
+
+"I do not understand you," she said hoarsely, for in the stir of her
+feelings she could not command a clear voice. "You say, He will be with
+you. What do you mean? We cannot see him now. How will he be with you?"
+
+She had raised her eyes, and she saw a strange softness and light pass
+over the face she was looking at. Indefinable, unaccountable, she yet
+saw it; a shining from the spiritual glory within, which Eleanor
+recognized, though she had never seen it before. Fire and water were in
+those bright eyes at once; and Eleanor guessed the latter evidence of
+emotion was for his ignorant questioner. She had no heart left. By such
+a flash of revelation the light from one spirit shewed the other its
+darkness; dimly known to her before; but now, once and forever, she
+knew where _she_ stood and where _he_ stood, and what the want of her
+life must be, till she should stand there too. Her face shewed but a
+little of the work going on with heavings and strugglings in her mind;
+yet doubtless it was as readable to her companion as his had been to
+her. She could only hear at the time--afterwards she pondered--the
+words of his reply.
+
+"I cannot shew him to you;--but he will shew himself to you, if you
+seek him."
+
+There was no chance for more words; Julia came in again; and was
+thereafter bustling in and out, getting her cup of tea ready. Eleanor
+could not meet her little sister's looks and probable words; she turned
+hastily from the ferns and the couch and put herself at the window with
+her back to everybody. There was a wild cry in her heart--"What shall I
+do! what shall I do!" One thing she must have, or be miserable; how was
+she to make it her own. As soon as she turned her face from that
+cottage room and what was in it, she must meet the full blast of
+opposing currents; unfavourable, adverse, overwhelming. Her light was
+not strong enough to stand that blast, Eleanor knew; it would be blown
+out directly;--and she left in darkness. In a desperate sense of this,
+a desperate resolve to overcome it somehow, a despairing powerlessness
+to contend, she sat at the window seeing nothing. She was brought to
+herself at last by Julia's, "Eleanor--Mr. Rhys wants you to take a cup
+of tea." Eleanor turned round mechanically, took the cup, and changed
+her place for one near the fire.
+
+She never forgot that scene. Julia's part in it gave it a most strange
+air to Eleanor; so did her own. Julia was moving about, quite at home,
+preparing cups of tea for everybody, herself included; and waiting upon
+Mr. Rhys with a steady care and affectionateness which evidently met
+with an affectionate return. The cottage room with its plain
+furniture--the little common blue cups in which the tea was served--the
+fire in the chimney on the coarse iron fire-dogs--the reclining figure
+on the couch, and her own riding-habit in the middle of the room; were
+all stereotyped on Eleanor's memory for ever. The tea refreshed her
+very much.
+
+"How are you going to get home, Miss Powle?" asked her host. "Have you
+sent for a carriage?"
+
+"No--I saw nobody to send--I can walk it quite well now," said Eleanor.
+And feeling that the time was come, she set down her tea-cup and came
+to bid her host good-bye; though she shrank from doing it. She gave him
+her hand again, but she had no words to speak.
+
+"Good-bye," said he. "I am sorry I am not well enough to come and see
+you; I would take that liberty."
+
+"And so I shall never see him again," thought Eleanor as she went out
+of the cottage; "and nobody will ever speak any more words to me of
+what I want to hear; and what will become of me! What chance shall I
+have very soon--what chance have I now--to attend to these things? to
+get right? and what chance would all these things have with Mr.
+Carlisle? I could manage my mother. What will become of me!"
+
+Eleanor walked and thought, both hard, till she got past the village;
+finding herself alone, thought got the better of haste, and she threw
+herself down under a tree to collect some order and steadiness in her
+mind if possible before other interests and distractions broke in. She
+sat with her face buried in her hands a good while. And one conclusion
+Eleanor's thoughts came to; that there was a thing more needful than
+other things; and that she would hold that one thing first in her mind,
+and keep it first in her endeavours, and make all her arrangements
+accordingly. Eleanor was young and untried, but her mind had a
+tolerable back-bone of stiffness when once aroused to take action; her
+conclusion meant something. She rose up, then; looked to see how far
+down the sun was; and turning to pursue her walk vigorously--found Mr.
+Carlisle at her side. He was as much surprised as she.
+
+"Why Eleanor! what are you doing here?"
+
+"Trying to get home. I have been thrown from my pony."
+
+"Thrown! where?"
+
+"Away on the moor--I don't know where. I never was there before. I am
+not hurt."
+
+"Then how come you here?"
+
+"Walked here, sir."
+
+"And where are your servants?"
+
+"You forget. I am only Eleanor Powle--I do not go with a train after
+me."
+
+But she was obliged to give an account of the whole affair.
+
+"You must not go alone in that way again," said he decidedly. "Sit down
+again."
+
+"Look where the sun is. I am going home," said Eleanor.
+
+"Sit down. I am going to send for a carriage."
+
+Eleanor protested, in vain. Mr. Carlisle sent his groom on to the Lodge
+with the message, and the heels of the horses were presently clattering
+in the distance. Eleanor stood still.
+
+"I do not want rest," she insisted. "I am ready to walk home, and able.
+I have been resting."
+
+"How long?"
+
+"A long while. I went into Mrs. Williams's cottage and rested there. I
+would rather go on."
+
+He put her hand upon his arm and turned towards the Lodge, but
+permitted her after all to move only at the gentlest of rates.
+
+"You will not go out in this way again?" he said; and the words were
+more an expression of his own will than an enquiry as to hers.
+
+"There is no reason why I should not," Eleanor answered.
+
+"I do not like that you should be walking over moors and taking shelter
+in cottages, without protection."
+
+"I can protect myself. I know what is due to me."
+
+"You must remember what is due to me," he said laughing, and stopping
+her lips when she would have replied. Eleanor walked along, silenced,
+and for the moment subdued. The wish was in her heart, to have let Mr.
+Carlisle know in some degree what bent her spirit was taking; to have
+given him some hint of what he must expect in her when she became his
+wife; she could not find how to do it. She could not see the way to
+begin. So far was Mr. Carlisle from the whole world of religious
+interests and concerns, that to introduce it to him seemed like
+bringing opposite poles together. She walked by his side very silent
+and doubtful. He thought she was tired; put her into the carriage with
+great tenderness when it came; and at parting from her in the evening
+desired her to go early to rest.
+
+Eleanor was very little likely to do it. The bodily adventures of the
+day had left little trace, or little that was regarded; the mental
+journey had been much more lasting in its effects. That night there was
+a young moon, and Eleanor sat at her window, looking out into the
+shadowy indistinctness of the outer world, while she tried to resolve
+the confusion of her mind into something like visible order and
+definiteness. Two points were clear, and seemed to loom up larger and
+clearer the longer she thought about them; her supreme need of that
+which she had not, the faith and deliverance of religion; and the
+adverse influence and opposition of Mr. Carlisle in all the efforts she
+might make to secure or maintain it. And under all this lurked a
+thought that was like a serpent for its unrecognized coming and going
+and for the sting it left,--a wish that she could put off her marriage.
+No new thing in one way; Eleanor had never been willing it should be
+fixed for so early a day; nevertheless she had accepted and submitted
+to it, and become accustomed to the thought of it. Now repugnance
+started up anew and with fresh energy. She could hardly understand
+herself; her thoughts were a great turmoil; they went over and over
+some of the experiences of the day, with an aimless dwelling upon them;
+yet Eleanor was in general no dreamer. The words of Mr. Rhys, that had
+pierced her with a sense of duty and need--the looks, that even in the
+remembrance wrung her heart with their silent lesson-bearing--the
+sympathy testified for herself, which intensified all her own
+emotions,--and in contrast, the very tender and affectionate but
+supreme manner of Mr. Carlisle, in whose power she felt she was,--the
+alternation of these images and the thoughts they gave rise to, kept
+Eleanor at her window, until the young moon went down behind the
+western horizon and the night was dark with only stars. So dark she
+felt, and miserable; and over and over and over again her cry of that
+afternoon was re-echoed,--"What shall I do! what will become of me!"
+
+Upon one thing she fixed. That Mr. Carlisle should know that he was not
+going to find a gay wife in her, but one whose mind was set upon
+somewhat else and upon another way of life. This would be very
+distasteful to him; and he should know it. How she would manage to let
+him know, Eleanor left to circumstances; but she went to bed with that
+point determined.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+IN THE BARN.
+
+
+  "It hath been the longest night
+  That e'er I watched, and the most heaviest."
+
+
+Good resolutions are sometimes excellent things, but they are
+susceptible of overturns. Eleanor's met with one.
+
+She was sitting with Mr. Carlisle the very next day, in a disturbed
+mood of mind; for he and her mother had been laying plans and making
+dispositions with reference to her approaching marriage; plans and
+dispositions in which her voice was not asked, and in which matters
+were carried rapidly forward towards their consummation. Eleanor felt
+that bands and chains were getting multiplied round her, fastening her
+more and more in the possession of her captor, while her own mind was
+preparing what would be considered resistance to the authority thus
+secured. The sooner she spoke the better; but how to begin? She bent
+over her embroidery frame with cheeks that gradually grew burning hot.
+The soft wind that blew in from the open window at her side would not
+cool them. Mr. Carlisle came and sat down beside her.
+
+"What does all this mean?" said he laughingly, drawing his finger
+softly over Eleanor's rich cheek.
+
+"It's hot!" said Eleanor.
+
+"Is it? I have the advantage of you. It is the perfection of a day to
+me."
+
+"Eleanor," cried Julia, bounding in through the window, "Mr. Rhys is
+better to-day. He says so."
+
+"Is he?" said Eleanor.
+
+"Yes; you know how weak he was yesterday; he is not quite so weak
+to-day."
+
+"Who is Mr. Rhys?" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"O he is nice! Eleanor says nice rhymes to Rhys. Wasn't my tea nice,
+Eleanor? We had Miss Broadus to tea this afternoon. We had you
+yesterday and Miss Broadus to-day. I wonder who will come next."
+
+"Is this a sick friend you have been visiting?" said Mr. Carlisle, as
+Julia ran off, having accomplished the discomfiture of her sister.
+
+"No, not at all--only I stopped at Mrs. Williams' cottage to rest
+yesterday; and he lives there."
+
+"You saw him?"
+
+"Yes; Julia found me, and I could not help seeing him."
+
+"But you took _tea_ there, Eleanor? With whom?"
+
+"I took tea with Julia and her sick friend. Why not? She was making a
+cup of tea for him and gave me one. I was very glad of it. There was no
+one else in the house."
+
+"How is your sister allowed to do such things?"
+
+"For a sick friend, Mr. Carlisle? I think it is well anybody's part to
+do such things."
+
+"I think I will forbid embroidery frames at the Priory, if they are to
+keep me from seeing your eyes," said he, with one arm drawing her back
+from the frame and with the other hand taking her fingers from it, and
+looking into her face, but kissing her. "Now tell me, who is this
+gentleman?"
+
+Eleanor was irritated; yet the assumption of authority, calm and proud
+as it was, had a mixture of tenderness which partly soothed her. The
+demand however was imperious. Eleanor answered.
+
+"He was Alfred's tutor--you have seen him--he has been very ill all
+summer. He is a sick man, staying in the village."
+
+"And what have you to do with such a person?"
+
+"Nothing in the world! I stopped there to rest myself, because I was
+too tired to walk home."
+
+He smiled at her kindling indignation, and gave her a kiss by way of
+forgiveness for it; then went on gravely.
+
+"You have been to that cottage before, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"I went with Julia when she was carrying some refreshments to her sick
+friend. I will do that for anybody, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Say that over again," he said calmly, but with a manner that shewed he
+would have it. And Eleanor could not resist.
+
+"I would do that for anybody, Macintosh," she said gently, laying her
+hand upon his arm.
+
+"No, darling. You shall send nurses and supplies to all the folk in the
+kingdom--if you will--but you shall pay such honour as this to nobody
+but me."
+
+"Mr. Carlisle," said Eleanor rousing again, "if I am not worthy your
+trust, I am not fit to do either you or anybody else honour."
+
+She had straightened herself up to face him as she said this, but it
+was mortifying to feel how little she could rouse him. He only drew her
+back into his arms, folding her close and kissing her again and again.
+
+"You are naughty," he said, "but you are good. You are as sweet as a
+rose, Eleanor. My wife will obey me, in a few things, and she shall
+command me in all others. Darling, I wish you not to be seen in the
+village again alone. Let some one attend you, if I am not at hand."
+
+He suffered her to return to her embroidery; but though Eleanor's heart
+beat and her cheek was flushed with contending feelings, she could not
+find a word to say. Her heart rebelled against the authority held over
+her; nevertheless it subdued her; she dared not bring her rebellion
+into open light. She shrank from that; and hid now in her own thoughts
+all the new revelations she had meant to draw forth for Mr. Carlisle's
+entertainment. Now was no time. In fact Eleanor's consciousness made
+her afraid that if she mentioned her religious purposes and uneasiness,
+this man's acuteness would catch at the connecting link between the new
+dereliction of duty and the former which had been just rebuked. That
+would lay her open to imputations and suspicions too dishonouring to be
+risked, and impossible to disprove, however false. She must hold her
+tongue for the present; and Eleanor worked on at her embroidery, her
+fingers pulling at it energetically, while feeling herself much more
+completely in another's power than it suited her nature to be. Somehow
+at this time the vision of Rythdale Priory was not the indemnification
+it had seemed to her before. Eleanor liked Mr. Carlisle, but she did
+not like to be governed by him; although with an odd inconsistency, it
+was that very power of government which formed part of his attraction.
+Certainly women are strange creatures. Meanwhile she tugged on at her
+work with a hot cheek and a divided mind, and a wisely silent tongue;
+and M. Carlisle sat by and made himself very busy with her, finding out
+ways of being both pleasant and useful. Finally he put a stop to the
+embroidery and engaged Eleanor in a game of chess with him; began to
+teach her how to play it, and succeeded in getting her thoroughly
+interested and diverted from her troublesome thoughts. They returned as
+soon as he left her.
+
+"I can never speak to him about my religious feelings," mused Eleanor
+as she walked slowly to her own room,--"never! I almost think, if I
+did, he would find means to cheat me out of them, in spite of all my
+determinations--until it would be too late. What is to become of me?
+What a double part I shall play now--my heart all one way, my outer
+life all another. It must be so. I can shew these thoughts to no one.
+Will they live, shut up in the dark so?"
+
+Mr. Rhys's words about "seeking" recurred to her. Eleanor did not know
+how, and felt strange. "I could follow his prayers, if I heard them,"
+she said to herself;--"I do not know how to set about it. I suppose
+reading the Bible is good--that and good books."
+
+And that Eleanor tried. Good books however were by and by given up;
+none that she had in the least suited her wants; only the Bible proved
+both a light and a power to her. It had a great fascination for
+Eleanor, and it sometimes made her hopeful; at any rate she persevered
+in reading it, through gloom and cheer; and her mind when she was alone
+knew much more of the former condition than of the latter. When not
+alone, she was in a whirl of other occupations and interests. The
+preparations for her marriage went on diligently; Eleanor saw it and
+knew it, and would not help though she could not hinder. But she was
+very far from happy. The style and title of Lady Rythdale had faded in
+her imagination; other honour and glory, though dimly seen, seemed more
+desirable to Eleanor now, and seemed endangered by this. She was very
+uneasy. She struggled between the remaining sense of pride, which
+sometimes arose to life, and this thought of something better; at other
+times she felt as if her marriage with Mr. Carlisle would doom her
+forever to go without any treasure but what an earthly coronet well
+lined with ermine might symbolize and ensure. Meanwhile weeks flew by;
+while Eleanor studied the Bible and sought for light in her solitary
+hours at night, and joined in all Mr. Carlisle's plans of gayety by
+day. September and October were both gone. November's short days begun.
+And when the days should be at the shortest--"Then," thought Eleanor,
+"my fate will be settled. Mr. Carlisle will have me; and I can never
+disobey him. I cannot now."
+
+November reached the middle, and there wanted but little more than a
+month to the wedding-day. Eleanor sat one morning in her garden
+parlour, which a mild day made pleasant; working by the glass door. The
+old thought, "What will become of me!" was in her heart. A shadow
+darkened the door. Eleanor looked up, fearing to see Mr. Carlisle; it
+was her little sister Julia.
+
+Julia opened the door and came in. "It is nice in the garden, Eleanor,"
+she said. "The chrysanthemums are so beautiful as I never saw
+them--white and yellow and orange and rose-colour, and a hundred
+colours. They are beautiful, Eleanor."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"May I have a great bunch of them to take to Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Have what you like. I thought you used to take them without asking."
+
+Julia looked serious.
+
+"I wish I could go down to the village to-night, I know"--she said.
+
+"_To-night!_ What do you wish that for?"
+
+"Because, Mr. Rhys is going to preach; and I do want to go so much; but
+I can't."
+
+"Going to preach!--why is he so well as that?"
+
+"He isn't well at all," said Julia,--"not what you would call well. But
+he says he is well. He is white and weak enough yet; and I don't think
+that is being well. He can't go to Lily Dale nor to Rythdale; so some
+of the people are coming to Wiglands."
+
+"Where is he going to preach?"
+
+"Where do you think? In Mr. Brooks's barn. They won't let him preach at
+the inn, and he can't have the church; and I _do_ want to see how he
+can preach in the barn!"
+
+Mr. Brooks was a well-to-do farmer, a tenant of the Rythdale estate,
+living near the road to the old priory and half a mile from the village
+of Wiglands. A consuming desire seized Eleanor to do as her little
+sister had said--hear Mr. Rhys preach. The desire was so violent that
+it half frightened her with the possibility of its fulfilment.
+
+She told Julia that it was an absurd wish, and impracticable, and
+dismissed her; and then her whole mind focussed itself on Mr. Brooks's
+barn. Eleanor saw nothing else through the morning, whatever she was
+doing. It was impossible! yet it was a first, last, and only chance,
+perhaps in her life, of hearing the words of truth so spoken as she
+knew they would be in that place that night. Besides, she had a craving
+curiosity to know _how_ they would be spoken. One month more, Eleanor
+once securely lodged in Rythdale Priory, and her chance of hearing any
+words whatever spoken in a barn, was over for ever; unless indeed she
+condescended to become an inspector of agricultural proceedings. Yet
+she said to herself over and over that she had no chance now; that her
+being present was a matter of wild impossibility; she said it and
+re-said it, and with every time a growing consciousness that
+impossibility should not stop her. At last impossibility shaped itself
+into a plan.
+
+"I am going down to see Jane Lewis, mamma," was Eleanor's announcement
+at luncheon.
+
+"To day, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"But Mr. Carlisle will be here, and he will not like it."
+
+"He will have enough of me by and by, ma'am. I shall may be never have
+another chance of taking care of Jane. I know she wants to see me, and
+I am going to-day. And if she wants me very much, I shall stay all
+night; so you need not send."
+
+"What will Mr. Carlisle say to all that?"
+
+"He will say nothing to it, if you do not give him an opportunity,
+mamma. I am going, at all events."
+
+"Eleanor, I am afraid you have almost too much independence, for one
+who is almost a married woman."
+
+"Is independence a quality entirely given up, ma'am, when 'the ring is
+on'?"
+
+"Certainly! I thought you knew that. You must make up your mind to it.
+You are a noble creature, Eleanor; but my comfort is that Mr. Carlisle
+will know how to manage you. I never could, to my satisfaction. I
+observe he has brought you in pretty well."
+
+Eleanor left the room; and if the tide of her independence could have
+run higher, her mother's words would have furnished the necessary
+provocative.
+
+Jane Lewis was a poor girl in the village; the daughter of one who had
+been Eleanor's nurse, and who now old and infirm, and unable to do much
+for herself or others, watched the declining days of her child without
+the power to give them much relief. Jane was dying with consumption.
+The other member of the family was the old father, still more helpless;
+past work and dependent on another child for all but the house they
+lived in. That, in earlier days, had been made their own. Eleanor was
+their best friend, and many a day, and night too, had been a sunbeam of
+comfort in the poor house. She now, when the day was far enough on its
+wane, provided herself with a little basket of grapes, ordered her
+pony, and rode swiftly down to the village; not without attendance this
+time, though confessing bitterly to herself the truth of her mother's
+allegations. At the cottage door she took the basket; ordered the pony
+should come for her next morning at eight o'clock, and went into the
+cottage; feeling as if she had for a little space turned her back upon
+troublesome people and things and made herself free. She went in
+softly, and was garrulously welcomed by her old nurse and her husband.
+It was so long since they had seen her! and she was going to be such a
+great lady! and they knew she would not forget them nevertheless. It
+was not flattery. It was true speech. Eleanor asked for Jane, and with
+her basket went on into the upper little room where the sick girl lay.
+There felt, when she had got above the ground floor, as if she was
+tolerably safe.
+
+It was a little low room under the thatch, in which Eleanor now hid
+herself. A mere large closet of a room, though it boasted of a
+fireplace, happily. A small lattice under the shelving roof let in what
+it could of the light of a dying November day. The bed with its sick
+occupant, two chairs, a little table, and a bit of carpet on the floor,
+were all the light revealed. Eleanor's welcome here was also most
+sincere; less talkative, it was yet more glad than that given by the
+old couple down stairs; a light shone all over the pale face of the
+sick girl, and the weary eye kindled, at sight of her friend.
+
+Extreme neatness was not the characteristic of this little low room,
+simply for want of able hands to ensure it. Eleanor's first work was to
+set Jane to eating grapes; her next, to put the place in tidy order.
+"Lady Rythdale shall be useful once more in her life," she thought. She
+brushed up the floor, swept the hearth, demolished cobwebs on the
+walls, and rubbed down the chairs. She had borrowed an apron and cap
+from old Mrs. Lewis. The sick girl watched her with eager eyes.
+
+"I can't bear to see you a doing of that, Miss Eleanor," she exclaimed.
+
+"Hush, Jane! Eat your grapes."
+
+"You've a kind heart," said the girl sighing; "and it's good when them
+that has the power has the feelings."
+
+"How are your nights now, Jane?"
+
+"They're tedious--I lie awake so; and then I get coughing. I am always
+so glad to see the light come in the mornings! but it's long a coming
+now. I can't get nobody to hear me at night if I want anything."
+
+"Do you often want something?"
+
+"Times, I do. Times, I get out of wanting, because I can't have--and
+times I only want worse."
+
+"_What_ do you want, Jane?"
+
+"Well, Miss Eleanor,--I conceit I want to see somebody. The nights is
+very long--and in the dark and by myself--I gets feared."
+
+To Eleanor's dismay she perceived Jane was weeping.
+
+"What in the world are you afraid of, Jane? I never saw you so before."
+
+"'Tisn't of anything in _this_ world, Miss Eleanor," said Jane. Her
+face was still covered with her hands, and the grapes neglected.
+
+Eleanor was utterly confounded. Had Jane caught her feeling? or was
+this something else?
+
+"Are you afraid of spirits, Jane?"
+
+"No, Miss Eleanor."
+
+"What is it, then? Jane, this is something new. I never saw you feeling
+so before."
+
+"No, ma'am--and I didn't. But there come a gentleman to see me, ma'am."
+
+"A gentleman to see you? What gentleman?"
+
+"I don't know, Miss Eleanor; only he was tall, and pale-like, and black
+hair. He asked me if I was ready to die--and I said I didn't know what
+it was I wanted if I wasn't; and he told me---- Oh, I know I'll never
+have rest no more!"
+
+A burst of weeping followed these words. Eleanor felt as if a
+thunderbolt had broken at her feet; so terrible to her, in her own
+mood, was this revelation of a kindred feeling. She stood by the
+bedside, dismayed, shocked, a little disposed to echo Jane's despairing
+prophecy in her own case.
+
+"Did he say no more to you, Jane?"
+
+"Yes, Miss Eleanor, he did; and every word he said made me feel worser.
+His two eyes was like two swords going through me; and they went
+through me so softly, ma'am, I couldn't abear it. They killed me."
+
+"But, Jane, he did not mean to kill you. What did he say?"
+
+"I don't know, Miss Eleanor--he said a many things; but they only made
+me feel----how I ain't fit----"
+
+There was no more talking. The words were broken off by sobs. Eleanor
+turned aside to the fire-place and began to make up the fire, in a
+blank confusion and distress; feeling, to use an Arabic phrase, as if
+the sky had fallen. She could give no comfort; she wanted it herself.
+The best she could think of, was the suggestion that the gentleman
+would come again, and that then he would make all things plain. Would
+he come while Eleanor was there, that afternoon? What a chance! But she
+remembered it was very unlikely. He was to preach in the evening; he
+would want to keep all his strength for that. And now the question
+arose, how should she get to the barn.
+
+The first thing was to soothe Jane. Eleanor succeeded in doing that
+after a while. She made her a cup of tea and a piece of toast, and took
+some herself; and sat in the darkening light musing how she should do.
+One good thing was secure. She had not been followed up this afternoon,
+nor sent for home; both which disagreeables she had feared. Jane dozed,
+and she thought; and the twilight fell deeper and deeper.
+
+There was after all only one way in which Eleanor could accomplish her
+desire; though she turned the matter all round in her head before she
+would see it, or determine upon adopting it. No mortal that she knew
+could be trusted with the secret--if she meant to have it remain a
+secret: and that at all costs was Eleanor's desire. Julia might have
+been trusted, but Julia could not have been brought along. Eleanor was
+alone. She thought, and trembled, and made up her mind.
+
+The hour must be waited for when people from the village would be
+setting forth to go to Brooks' farm. It was dark then, except some
+light from the stars. Eleanor got out a bonnet of Jane's, which the
+owner would never use again; a close little straw bonnet; and tied over
+it a veil she had taken the precaution to bring. Her own hat and mantle
+she laid away out of sight, and wrapped round her instead a thick
+camlet cloak of the sick girl's, which enveloped her from head to feet.
+Pretty good disguise--thought Eleanor to herself. Mr. Carlisle would
+not find her out in this. But there was no danger of _his_ seeing her.
+She was all ready to steal out; when she suddenly recollected that she
+might be missed, and the old people in terror make a hue and cry after
+her. That would not do. She stripped off the bonnet again and awoke the
+sleeping girl.
+
+"Jane," she said bending over her, "I have somebody else to see--I am
+going out for a little while. I will be back and spend the night with
+you. Tell your mother to leave the door open for me, if she wishes to
+go to bed; and I will look after you. Now go to sleep again."
+
+Without waiting for Jane to think about it, Eleanor slipped out, bonnet
+in hand, and went softly down stairs. The old man was already gone to
+bed in a little inner chamber; the old mother sat dozing by the fire.
+Standing behind her Eleanor put on the bonnet, and then gently opening
+the house door, with one step was in the road. A moment stood still;
+but the next moment set off with quick, hasty steps.
+
+It was damp and dark; the stars were shining indeed, yet they shed but
+a glimmering and doubtful light upon Eleanor's doubtful proceeding. She
+knew it was such; her feet trembled and stumbled in her way, though
+that was as much with the fever of determination as with the hinderings
+of doubt. There was little occasion for bodily fear. People, she knew,
+would be going to the preaching, all along the way; she would not be
+alone either going or coming. Nevertheless it was dark, and she was
+where she had no business to be; and she hurried along rather nervously
+till she caught sight of one or two groups before her, evidently bent
+for the same place with herself. She slackened her footsteps then, so
+as to keep at a proper distance behind them, and felt that for the
+present she was secure. Yet, it was a wild, strange walk to Eleanor.
+Secure from personal harm she might be, and was, no doubt; but who
+could say what moral consequences might follow her proceeding. What if
+her mother knew it? what if Mr. Carlisle? Eleanor felt she was doing a
+very questionable thing; but the desire to do it on her part amounted
+to a necessity. She must hear these words that would be spoken in the
+barn to-night. They would be on the subject that of all others
+interested her, and spoken by the lips that of all others could alone
+speak to the purpose. So Eleanor felt; so was in some measure for her
+the truth; and amid all her sense of doubt and danger and inward
+trembling, there was a wild thrill of delight at accomplishing her
+object. She would hear--yes, she would hear--what Mr. Rhys had to say
+to the people that night. Nobody should ever know it; neither he nor
+others; but if they _did_, she would run all risks rather than be
+balked.
+
+It was a walk never to be forgotten. Alone, though near people that
+knew not she was near; in the darkness of night; the stars shewing only
+the black forms of trees and hedgerows, and a line of what could not be
+called light, where the road ran; keeping in the shadow of the hedge
+and hurrying along over the undiscerned footway;--it was a novel
+experience for one who had been all her life so tended and sheltered as
+she. It was strange and disagreeable. Waymarks did not seem familiar;
+distances seemed long. Eleanor wished the walk would come to an end.
+
+It did at last. The people,--there was a stream of them now pouring
+along the road, indeed so many that Eleanor was greatly surprised at
+them,--turned off into a field, within which at a few rods from the
+road stood the barn in question; at the door of which one or two lamps
+hung out shewed that something unusual was going on there. Mr. Brooks
+had several barns, the gables and roofs of which looked like a little
+settlement in the starlight, not far off; but this particular barn
+stood alone, and was probably known to the country people from former
+occasions; for they streamed towards it and filed in without any
+wavering or question. So Eleanor followed, trembling and wondering at
+herself; passed the curtain that hung at the door, and went in with the
+others.
+
+The place that received them was a great threshing-floor, of noble
+proportions, for a threshing-floor. Perhaps Mr. Brooks had an eye to
+contingencies when he built it. On two sides it was lined with grain,
+rising in walls of cereal sweetness to a great height; and certainly,
+if Eleanor had been in many a statelier church, she had never been in
+one better ventilated or where the air was more fragrantly scented. But
+a new doubt struck her. Could it be right to hold divine service in
+such a place? Was this a fit or decorous temple, for uses of such high
+and awful dignity? The floor was a bare plank floor; footfalls echoed
+over it. The roof was high indeed; but no architect's groining of beams
+reminded one that the place was set apart to noble if not sacred
+purposes. Nothing but common carpenter's joinery was over her head, in
+the roof of the barn. The heads of wheat ears instead of carved
+cornices and pendents; and if the lights were dim, which they certainly
+were, it did not seem at all a religious light. Only at the further
+end, where a table and chair stood ready for the preacher, some tall
+wax candles threw a sufficient illumination for all present to see him
+well. Was that his pulpit? What sort of preaching could possibly be had
+from it?
+
+Eleanor looked round the place. There was no really lighted part of it
+except about that table and chair. It was impossible for people to see
+each other well from a little distance off, unless thoroughly well
+known.
+
+Eleanor felt there was very little danger indeed that anybody should
+recognize her identity, in Jane's bonnet and cloak. That was so much
+comfort. Another comfort was, that the night was mild. It was not like
+November. A happy circumstance for everybody there; but most of all for
+the convalescent preacher, whose appearance Eleanor looked for now with
+a kind of fearful anxiety. If he should have been hindered from coming,
+after all! Her heart beat hard. She stood far back behind most of the
+people, near the door by which she had entered. A few benches and
+chairs were in the floor, given up to the use of the women and the aged
+people. Eleanor marvelled much to see that there were some quite old
+people among the company. The barn was getting very full.
+
+"There is a seat yonder," said some one touching her on the elbow.
+"Won't you have it?"
+
+Eleanor shook her head.
+
+"You had better," he said kindly; "there's a seat with nobody in it;
+there's plenty of room up there. Come this way."
+
+Eleanor was unwilling to go further forward, yet did not like to trust
+her voice to speak, nor choose to draw attention to herself in any way.
+She was needlessly afraid. However, she yielded to the instance of her
+kind neighbour and followed him among the crowd to the spot he had
+picked out for her. She would have resisted further, if she had known
+where this spot was; for it was far forward in the barn, more than half
+way between the door and the candle-lighted table, and in the very
+midst of the assembly. There was no help for it now; she could not go
+back; and Eleanor was thankful for the support the seat gave her. She
+was trembling all over. A vague queer feeling of her being about
+something wrong, not merely in the circumstances of her getting there,
+but in the occasion itself, haunted her with a sort of superstition.
+Could such an assembly be rightfully gathered for such a purpose in
+such a place? Could it be right, to speak publicly of sacred things
+with such an absence of any public recognition of their sacredness? In
+a bare barn? an unconsecrated building, with no beauty or dignity of
+observance to give homage to the work and the occasion? Eleanor was a
+compound of strange feelings; till she suddenly became conscious of a
+stir in the gathered throng, and then heard on the plank floor a step
+that she intuitively knew. As the step and the tall figure that it bore
+passed close by her on the way to the table, an instant sense of quiet
+and security settled down on her. Nervousness died away. There was one
+person there now that she knew; the question of his coming was settled,
+and her coming was not for nothing; and moreover, whatever business he
+was concerned in was right, in all its parts! She was sure of that. She
+watched him, with a great bound of exultation in her heart; watched him
+kneel down for prayer as he reached his place; and wondered, while awe
+mixed with her wonder, how he could do it, before and amongst all those
+people as he was; not shut off in a distant chancel alone by himself,
+but there with everybody crowding upon him. Her wonder had but little
+space to exercise itself. After a few minutes Mr. Rhys rose and gave
+out a hymn; and every thought of Eleanor's was concentrated on the
+business and on the speaker.
+
+She knew nothing about hymns except that they were sung in church; all
+such lyrics were unfamiliar to her, though the music of them was not.
+It was always stately music, with an organ, in the swell of which the
+words were lost. There could be no organ in a barn. Instead of that,
+the whole assembly rose to their feet and struck out together into a
+sweet air which they sung with a vast deal of spirit. No difficulty
+about hearing the words now; the music was not at a distance; the words
+were coming from every lip near Eleanor, and were sung as if they were
+a personal matter. Perhaps she was in a mood to be easily touched; but
+the singing did reach her and move her profoundly.
+
+
+"When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid
+farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes."
+
+
+The sense of this, Eleanor did not thoroughly understand, yet the
+general spirit of it was not to be mistaken. And the soft repetition of
+the last line struck her heart sorrowfully. Here was her want breathed
+out again. "And wipe my weeping eyes.--I'll bid farewell to every fear,
+and wipe my weeping eyes." Eleanor was perhaps the only one who did not
+sing; nobody paid better attention.
+
+The hymn was followed by a prayer. If the one had touched Eleanor, the
+other prostrated her in the dust. She heard a child of God speaking to
+his Father; with a simplicity of utterance, a freedom of access, and a
+glow of happy affections, evident in every quietly spoken word, that
+testified to his possession of the heavenly treasures that were on his
+tongue; and made Eleanor feel humbled and poor with an extreme and
+bitter sense of want. Her heart felt as empty as a deep well that had
+gone dry. This man only had ever shewed her what a Christian might be;
+she saw him standing in a glory of heavenly relationships and
+privileges and character, that were a sort of transfiguration. And
+although Eleanor comprehended but very imperfectly wherein this glory
+might lie, she yet saw the light, and mourned her own darkness.
+Eleanor's mind went a great way during the minutes of that prayer;
+according to the strange fashion in which the work of many days is
+sometimes done in one. She was sorry when it ended; however, every part
+of the services had a vivid new interest for her. Another hymn, and
+reading, during which her head was bowed on her breast in still
+listening; it was curious, how she had forgot all about being in a
+barn; and then the sermon began. She had to raise up her head when that
+began; and after a while Eleanor could not bear her veil, and threw it
+back, trusting that the dim light would secure her from being known.
+But she felt that she must see as well as hear, this one time.
+
+Of all subjects in the world to fall in with Eleanor's mood, the sermon
+to-night was on _peace_. The peace that the Lord Jesus left as his
+parting gift to his people; the peace that is not as the world giveth.
+How the world gives, Mr. Rhys briefly set forth; with one hand, to take
+away with the other--as a handful of gold, what proves but a clutch of
+ashes--as the will-o'-the-wisp gives, promise but never possession.
+Eleanor would not have much regarded these words from any other lips;
+they accorded with her old theory of disgust with the world. From Mr.
+Rhys she did regard them, because no word of his fell unheeded by her.
+But when he went on from that to speak of Christ's gift, and how that
+is bestowed--his speech was as bitter in her heart as it was sweet in
+his mouth. The peace he held up to her view,--the joy in which a child
+of God lives and walks--and dies; the security of every movement, the
+confidence in every action, the rest in all turmoil, the fearlessness
+in all danger; the riches in the midst of poverty, the rejoicing even
+in time of sorrow; the victory over sin and death, wrought in him as
+well as for him;--Eleanor's heart seemed to die within her, and at the
+same time started in a struggle for life. Had the words been said
+coldly, or as matter of speculative belief, or as privilege not
+actually entered into, it would have been a different thing. Eleanor
+might have sat back in her chair and listened and sorrowed for herself
+in outward quiet. But there was unconscious testimony from every tone
+and look of the speaker that he told the people but of what he knew.
+The pale face was illumined by a high grave light, that looked like a
+halo from the unseen world; it was nothing less to Eleanor; and the
+mouth in its general set so sober, broke occasionally into a smile so
+sweet, that it straitened Eleanor's heart with its unconscious
+tale-telling. As the time went on, the speaker began to illustrate his
+words by instances; instances of the peace which Christians have shewn
+to be theirs in all sorts of circumstances where the world would have
+given them none, or would have surely withdrawn the gift once made. In
+poverty--in pain--in loneliness--in the want of all things--in the
+close prospect of suffering, and in the presence of death. Wonderful
+instances they were! glorious to the power of that Redeemer, who had
+declared, "Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. In the world ye
+shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the
+world." How the speaker's eye flushed and fired; flushed with tears,
+and fired with triumph; what a tint rose on the pale cheek, testifying
+to the exultation he felt; with what tremulous distinctness the words
+were sometimes given--and heard in the breathless stillness to the
+furthest corner of the place. It was too much at last. Feeling was
+wrought too high. Eleanor could not bear it. She bowed her head on her
+hand to hide the tears that would come, and only struggled to keep her
+sobs quiet that she might not lose a word. There were other sobs in the
+assembly that were less well controlled; they were audible; Eleanor
+could not endure to hear them, for she feared her excitement would
+become unmanageable. Nevertheless by strong effort she succeeded in
+keeping perfectly still; though she dared not raise her head again till
+the last hymn and prayers were over, and the people made a general stir
+all round her. Then she too rose up and turned her face in the
+direction whither they were all turning, towards the door.
+
+She made her way out with the crowd blindly, conscious that it was all
+over--that was the prominent thought--and yet that work was done which
+would never be "over" for her. So conscious of this, that she had no
+care either of her whereabouts or of her walk home, except in an
+incidental sort of way. She got out into the starlight, and stepped
+over the grassy sward of the field in a maze; she hardly felt the
+ground; it was not till she reached the fence and found herself in the
+road, that Eleanor really roused up. Then it was necessary to turn in
+one direction or the other; and Eleanor could not tell which to take.
+She stood still and tried to collect herself. Which side of the road
+was the barn? She could not remember; she was completely confused and
+turned about; and in the starlight she could be sure of no tree or
+fence or other landmark. She stood still, while the people poured past
+her and in groups or in pairs took the one direction or the opposite.
+Part went one way and part went the other, to Wiglands and to Rythdale.
+Eleanor longed to ask which way somebody was going, but she was afraid
+of betraying herself. She did not dare. Yet if she took the wrong
+turning, she might find herself in the Rythdale valley, a great
+distance from Wiglands, and with a lone road to traverse all the way
+back again. Her heart beat. What should she do? The people poured past
+her, dividing off right and left; they would be all scattered soon to
+their several homes, and she would be left alone. She must do something
+quickly. Yet she shrank very much from speaking, and still stood by the
+fence trembling and hesitating.
+
+"Are you alone?" said a voice at her shoulder that she knew very well.
+If a cannon had gone off at her feet, it would not have startled
+Eleanor more. The tone of the question implied that _she_ was known.
+She was too startled to answer. The words were repeated. "Are you
+alone?"
+
+Eleanor's "yes" got out, with nothing distinguishable except the last
+letter.
+
+"I have a waggon here," said he. "Come with me."
+
+The speaker waited for no answer to the words which were not a request;
+and acting as decidedly as he had spoken, took hold of Eleanor's arm
+and led her forward to a little vehicle which had just drawn up. He
+helped her into it, took his place beside her, and drove away; but he
+said not another word.
+
+It was Mr. Rhys, and Eleanor knew that he had recognized her. She sat
+in a stupor of confusion and shame. What would he think of her! and
+what could she make him think? Must she be a bold, wild girl in his
+estimation for ever? Why would he not speak? He drove on in perfect
+silence. Eleanor must say something to break it. And it was extremely
+difficult, and she had to be bold to do that.
+
+"I see you recognize me, Mr. Rhys," she said.
+
+"I recognized you in the meeting," he answered in perfect gravity.
+Eleanor felt it. She was checked. She was punished.
+
+"Where are you taking me?" she asked after a little more time.
+
+"I will take you wherever you tell me you desire."
+
+Grave and short. Eleanor could not bear it.
+
+"You think very hardly of me, Mr. Rhys," she said; "but I was spending
+the night at a poor girl's house in the village--she is ill, and I was
+going to sit up with her--and I knew you were to preach at that
+place--and--" Eleanor's voice choked and faltered.
+
+"And what could prompt you to go alone, Miss Powle?"
+
+"I wanted to go--" faltered Eleanor. "I knew it would be my last
+chance. I felt I must go. And I could go no way but alone."
+
+"May I ask what you mean by 'your last chance?'"
+
+"My last chance of hearing what I wanted to hear--what I can't help
+thinking about lately. Mr. Rhys, I am not happy."
+
+"Did you understand what you heard to-night?"
+
+"In part I did--I understood, Mr. Rhys, that you have something I have
+not,--and that I want." Eleanor spoke with great emotion.
+
+"The Lord bless you!" he said, with a tenderness of tone that broke her
+down at once. "Trust Jesus, Miss Powle. He can give it to you. He only
+can. Go to him for what you want, and for understanding of what you do
+not understand. Trust the Lord! Make your requests known to him, and
+believe that he will hear your prayers and answer them, and more than
+fulfil them. Now where shall I set you down?"
+
+"Anywhere--" Eleanor said as well as she could. "Here, if you please."
+
+"Here is no house. We are just at the entrance of the village."
+
+"This is a good place then," said Eleanor. "I do not want anybody to
+see me."
+
+"Miss Powle," said her guardian, and he spoke with such extreme gravity
+that Eleanor was half frightened,--"did you come without the knowledge
+of your friends at home?"
+
+"Yes, to the place we have come from. Mamma knew I was going to spend
+the night with a sick girl in the village--she did not know any more."
+
+"It was very dangerous!" he said in the same tone.
+
+"I knew it. I risked that. I felt I must come."
+
+"You did very wrong," said her companion. It hurt her that he should
+say it, and have cause; but she was so miserable before, that it could
+be felt only in the dull way in which pain added to pain sometimes
+makes itself known. She was subdued, humbled, ashamed. She said nothing
+more, nor did he, until after passing two or three houses they arrived
+at a spot where the trees and the road were the only village
+representatives; a clear space, with no house very near, and no person
+in sight. Mr. Rhys drew up by the side of the road, and helped Eleanor
+out of the waggon. He said only "Good night," but it was said kindly
+and sympathizingly, and with the earnest grasp of the hand that Eleanor
+remembered. He got into the waggon again, but did not drive away as she
+expected; she found he was walking his horse and keeping abreast of her
+as she walked. Eleanor hurried on, reached Mrs. Lewis's cottage, paused
+a second at the door to let him see that she had reached her stopping
+place, and went in.
+
+All still; the embers dying on the hearth, a cricket chirrupping under
+it. Mrs. Lewis was gone to bed, but had not covered up the fire for
+fear her young lady might want it. Eleanor did not dare sit down there.
+She drew the bolt of the house door; then softly went up the stairs to
+Jane's room. Jane was asleep. Eleanor felt thankful, and moved about
+like a shadow. She put the brands together in a sort of mechanical way;
+for she knew she was chilly and needed fire bodily, though her spirit
+was in a fever. The night had turned raw, and the ride home had been
+not so cheering mentally as to do away with the physical influence of a
+cold fog. Eleanor put off bonnet and cloak, softly piled the brands
+together and coaxed up a flame; and sat down on a low stool on the
+hearth to spread her hands over it, to catch all the comfort she could.
+
+Comfort was not near, however. Jane waked up in a violent fit of
+coughing; and when that was subdued or died away, as difficult a fit of
+restlessness was left behind. She was nervous and uneasy; Eleanor had
+only too much sympathy with both moods, nevertheless she acted the part
+of a kind and delicate nurse; soothed Jane and ministered to her, even
+spoke cheerful words; until the poor girl's exhausted mind and body
+sank away again into slumber, and Eleanor was free to sit down on the
+hearth and fold her hands.
+
+Then she began to think. Not till then. Indeed what she did then at
+first was not to think, but to recall in musing all the scenes and as
+far as possible all the words of that evening; with a consciousness
+behind this all the while that there was hard thinking coming. Eleanor
+went dreamily over the last few hours, looking in turn at each image so
+stamped upon her memory; felt over again the sermon, the hymns, the
+prayers; then suddenly broke from her musings to face this
+consciousness that was menacing her. Set herself to think in earnest.
+
+What was it all about? Eleanor might well have shunned it, might well
+grasp it in desperation with a sudden inability to put it off any
+longer. Down in her heart, as strong as the keep of an old castle, and
+as obstinate-looking, was the feeling--"I do not want to marry Mr.
+Carlisle." Eleanor did not immediately discern its full outline and
+proportions, in the dim confusion which filled her heart; but a little
+steady looking revealed it, revealed it firm and clear and established
+there. "I do not want to marry him--I will not marry him"--she found
+the words surging up from this stronghold. Pride and ambition cowering
+somewhere said, "Not ever? Do you mean, not at all? not ever?"--"Not
+ever!"--was the uncompromising answer; and Eleanor's head dropped in
+agony. "Why?" was the next question. And the answer was clear and
+strong and ready. "I am bent upon another sort of life than his life--I
+am going another way--I _must_ live for aims and objects which he will
+hate and thwart and maybe hinder--I _will not_ walk with him in his
+way--I cannot walk with him in mine--I cannot, oh, I do not wish, to
+walk with him at all!" Eleanor sat face to face with this blank
+consciousness, staring at it, and feeling as if the life was gradually
+ebbing out of her. What was she to do? The different life and temper
+and character, and even the face, of Mr. Rhys, came up to her as so
+much nobler, so much better, so much more what a man should be, so much
+more worthy of being liked. But Eleanor strove to put that image away,
+as having very truly, she said to herself, nothing to do with the
+present question. However, she thought she could not marry Mr.
+Carlisle; and intrenched herself a little while in that position, until
+the next subject came up for consideration; how she could escape from
+it? What reason could be assigned? Only this religious one could be
+given--and it might be, it might well be, that Mr. Carlisle would not
+on his part consider that reason enough. He would certainly hope to
+overcome the foundation on which it stood; and if he could not, Eleanor
+was obliged to confess to herself that she believed he loved her to
+that degree that he would rather have her a religious wife than not his
+wife at all. What should Eleanor do? Was she not bound? had she not
+herself given him claims over her which she had no right to disallow?
+had he not a right to all her fulfilment of them? Eleanor did not love
+him as he loved her; she saw that with singular and sudden
+distinctness; but there again, when she thought of that as a reason for
+not fulfilling her contract, she was obliged to own that it would be no
+reason to Mr. Carlisle. He never had had ground to suppose that Eleanor
+gave him more than she had expressed; but he was entirely content with
+what he had and his own confidence that he could cultivate it into what
+he pleased. There was no shaking loose from him in that way. As Eleanor
+sat on the hearth and looked at the ashes, in reality looking at Mr.
+Carlisle, her own face grew wan at what she saw there. She could give
+him no reason for changing their relations to each other, that would
+make him hold her a bit the less closely, no, nor the less fondly. What
+could Eleanor do? To go on and be Mr. Carlisle's wife, if necessary;
+give him all the observance and regard that she could, that she owed
+him, for having put herself in a false position where she could not
+give him more;--Eleanor saw nothing else before her. But one thing
+beside she would do. She would make Mr. Carlisle clearly and fully
+understand what sort of a woman he must expect in her. She would
+explain thoroughly what sort of a life she meant to lead. Justly
+stated, what would that be?
+
+Eleanor thought; and found herself determined, heart and soul, to
+follow the path of life laid before her that evening. Whether "peace"
+could visit her, in the course that seemed to lie through her future
+prospects, Eleanor much doubted; but at any rate she would have the
+rest of a satisfied conscience. She would take the Bible for her rule.
+Mr. Rhys's God should be her God, and with all she had of power and
+ability she would serve him. Dim as religious things still were to her
+vision, one thing was not dim, but shiningly clear; the duty of every
+creature to live the devoted servant of that Lord to whom he belongs by
+creation and redemption both. Here Eleanor's heart fixed, if it had a
+fixed point that tumultuous night; but long before it settled anywhere
+her thoughts were bathed in bitter tears; in floods of weeping that
+seemed fit to wash her very heart away. It occurred to Eleanor, if they
+could, how much trouble would be saved! She saw plenty before her. But
+there was the gripe of a fear and a wish upon her heart, that
+overmastered all others. The people had sung a hymn that evening, after
+the first one; a hymn of Christian gladness and strength, to an air as
+spirited as the words. Both words and air rang in her mind, through all
+the multifarious thoughts she was thinking; they floated through and
+sounded behind them like a strain of the blessed. Eleanor had taken one
+glance at Mr. Rhys while it was singing; and the remembrance of his
+face stung her as the sight of an angel might have done. The counter
+recollection of her own misery in the summer at the time she was ill;
+the longing want of that security and hope and consequent rest of mind,
+was vividly with her too. Pushed by fear and desire, Eleanor's
+resolution was taken. She saw not the way clear, she did not know yet
+the "wicket-gate" towards which Bunyan's Pilgrim was directed; like him
+however she resolved to "keep the light in her eye, and run."
+
+The fire had died all out; the grey ashes were cold; she was very cold
+herself, but did not know it. The night had waned away, and a light had
+sprung in at the window which Eleanor thought must be the dawn. It was
+not; it was the old moon just risen, and struggling through the fog.
+But the moon was the herald of dawn; and Eleanor got up from the
+hearth, feeling old and stiff; as if she had suddenly put on twenty
+years of age more than she came to the village with. The room was quite
+too cold for Jane, she remembered; and softly she went up and down for
+kindling and lighted up the fire again. Till she had done that, she
+felt grey and stern, like the November morning; but when the fire
+crackled and sparkled before her, and gave its cheery look and
+comforting warmth to her chilled senses, some curious sympathy with
+times that were gone and that she dared not hope to see again, smote
+Eleanor with a softer sorrow; and she wept a very rain of new tears.
+These did her good; they washed some of the bitterness out of her; and
+after that she sat thinking how she should manage; when Mr. Rhys's
+parting words suddenly recurred to her. A blanker ignorance how they
+should be followed, can scarcely be imagined, in a person of general
+sense and knowledge. Nevertheless, she bowed herself on the hearth,
+surely not more in form than in feeling, and besought of that One whose
+aid she knew not how to ask, that he would yet give it to her and
+fulfil all her desires. Eleanor was exhausted then. She sat in a stupor
+of resting, till the faint illumination of the moon was really replaced
+by a growing and broadening light of day. The night was gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+IN PERPLEXITIES.
+
+
+  "Look, a horse at the door,
+  And little King Charles is snarling;
+  Go back, my lord, across the moor,
+  You are not her darling."
+
+
+Eleanor set out early to go home. She would not wait to be sent for.
+The walk might set her pulses in motion again perhaps. The fog was
+breaking away under the sun's rays, but it had left everything wet; the
+morning was excessively chill. There was no grass in her way however,
+and Eleanor's thick shoes did not fear the road, nor her feet the three
+miles of way. The walk was good. It could not be said to be pleasant;
+yet action of any kind was grateful and helpful. She saw not a creature
+till she got home.
+
+
+Home struck her with new sorrow, in the sense of the disappointment she
+was going to bring to so many there. She made her own room without
+having to speak to anybody; bathed and dressed for breakfast. How grave
+her face was, this morning! She could not help that. And she felt that
+it grew graver, when entering the breakfast room she found Mr. Carlisle
+there.
+
+"What have you done to yourself?" said he after they were seated at the
+breakfast table.
+
+"Taken a walk this morning."
+
+"Judicious! in this air, which is like a suspended shower-bath! Where
+did you go?"
+
+"On the Wiglands road."
+
+"If I had come in time, I should have taken you up before me, and cut
+short such a proceeding. Mrs. Powle, you do not make use of your
+authority."
+
+"Seems hardly worth while, when it is on the point of expiring," said
+Mrs. Powle blandly, with a smiling face.
+
+"Why Eleanor had to come home," said Julia; "she spent the night in the
+village. She could not help walking--unless mamma had sent the carriage
+or something for her."
+
+"Spent the night in the village!" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"Eleanor took it into her head that she must go to take care of a sick
+girl there--the daughter of her nurse. It is great foolishness, I
+think, but Eleanor will do it."
+
+"It don't agree with her very well," said Julia. "How you do look,
+Eleanor, this morning!"
+
+"She looks very well," said the Squire--"for all I see. Walking won't
+hurt her."
+
+What Mr. Carlisle thought he did not say. When breakfast was over he
+drew Eleanor off into the library.
+
+"How do you do this morning?" said he stopping to look at her.
+
+"Not very well."
+
+"I came early, to give you a great gallop to the other end of the
+moor--where you wished to go the other day. You are not fit for it now?"
+
+"Hardly."
+
+"Did you sit up with that girl last night?
+
+"I sat up. She did not want much done for her. My being there was a
+great comfort to her."
+
+"Far too great a comfort. You are a naughty child. Do you fancy,
+Eleanor, your husband will allow you to do such things?"
+
+"I must try to do what is right, Macintosh."
+
+"Do you not think it will be right that you should pleasure me in what
+I ask of you?" he said very gently and with a caressing action which
+took away the edge of the words.
+
+"Yes--in things that are right," said Eleanor, who felt that she owed
+him all gentleness because of the wrong she had done.
+
+"I shall not ask you anything that is not right; but if I should,--the
+responsibility of your doing wrong will rest on me. Now do you feel
+inclined to practise obedience a little to day?"
+
+"No, not at all," said Eleanor honestly, her blood rousing.
+
+"It will be all the better practice. You must go and lie down and rest
+carefully, and get ready to ride with me this afternoon, if the weather
+will do. Eh, Eleanor?"
+
+"I do not think I shall want to ride to-day."
+
+"Kiss me, and say you will do as I bid you."
+
+Eleanor obeyed, and went to her room feeling wretched. She must find
+some way quickly to alter this state of things--if she could alter
+them. In the mean time she had promised to rest. It was a comfort to
+lock the door and feel that for hours at any rate she was alone from
+all the world. But Eleanor's heart fainted. She lay down, and for a
+long time remained in motionless passive dismay; then nature asserted
+her rights and she slept.
+
+If sleep did not quite "knit up the ravelled sleeve of care" for her,
+Eleanor yet felt much less ragged when she came out of her slumber.
+There was some physical force now to meet the mental demand. The first
+thing demanded was a letter to Mr. Carlisle. It was in vain to think to
+tell him in spoken words what she wanted him to know; he would cut them
+short or turn them aside as soon as he perceived their drift, before
+she could at all possess him with the facts of the case. Eleanor sat
+down before dressing, to write her letter, so that no call might break
+her off until it was done.
+
+It was a weary, anxious, sorrowful writing; done with some tears and
+some mute prayers for help; with images constantly starting into her
+mind that she had to put aside together with the hot drops they called
+forth. The letter was finished, when Eleanor was informed that Mr.
+Carlisle waited for her.
+
+"To ride, I suppose," she thought. "I will not go." She put on a house
+dress and went down to the library, where her mother and Mr. Carlisle
+were together; looking both of them so well pleased!
+
+"You are not dressed for riding!" he said, taking her into his arms.
+
+"As you see," returned Eleanor.
+
+"I have brought a new horse for you. Will you change your dress?"
+
+"I think not. I am not equal to anything new."
+
+"Have you slept?"
+
+"Yes, but I have not eaten; and it takes both to make muscle. I cannot
+even talk to you till after tea."
+
+"Have you had no luncheon?"
+
+"I was asleep."
+
+"Mrs. Powle," said the gentleman, "you do not take care of my interests
+here. May I request you to have this want supplied--I am going to take
+Eleanor a great gallop presently; she must have something first." He
+put Eleanor in an easy chair as he spoke, and stood looking at her.
+Probably he saw some unusual lines of thought or care about the face,
+but it was by no means less fine for that. Mr. Carlisle liked what he
+saw. Refreshments came; and he poured out chocolate for her and served
+her with an affectionate supervision that watched every item. But when
+after a very moderate meal Eleanor's hand was stretched out for another
+piece of bread, he stopped her.
+
+"No," he said; "no more now. Now go and put on your habit."
+
+"But I am very hungry," said Eleanor.
+
+"No matter--you will forget it in five minutes. Go and put on your
+habit."
+
+Eleanor hesitated; thought that perhaps after all the ride would be the
+easiest way of passing the afternoon; and went.
+
+"Well you do understand the art of command," said Mrs. Powle
+admiringly. "She would never have done that for me."
+
+Mr. Carlisle did not look surprised, nor gratified, nor in fact shew
+anything whatever in his looks. Unless it were, that the difference of
+effects produced by himself and his future mother-in-law, was very much
+a matter of course. He stood before the fire, with no change at all in
+his clear hazel eyes, until Eleanor appeared. Then they sparkled.
+Eleanor was for some reason or other particularly lovely in his eyes
+to-day.
+
+The horse he had brought for her was a superb Arabian, shewing nerve
+and fire in every line of his form and starting muscle, from the tips
+of the ears down to the long fetlock and beautiful hoof. Shewing fire
+in the bright eye too. A brown creature, with luxuriant flowing mane
+and tail.
+
+"He is not quite so quiet as Black Maggie," Mr. Carlisle said as he put
+Eleanor upon his back; "and you must not curb him, Eleanor, or he will
+run."
+
+They went to the moor; and by degrees getting wonted to her fiery
+charger and letting him display his fine paces and increase his speed,
+Eleanor found the sensation very inspiriting. Even Black Maggie was not
+an animal like this; every motion was instinct with life and power, and
+not a little indication of headstrongness and irritability gave a great
+additional interest and excitement to the pleasure of managing him. Mr.
+Carlisle watched her carefully, Eleanor knew; he praised her handling.
+He himself was mounted on a quiet, powerful creature that did not make
+much shew.
+
+"If this fellow--what is his name?"
+
+"Tippoo Sultan."
+
+"If he were by any chance to run--would that horse you are riding keep
+up with him?"
+
+"I hope you will not try."
+
+"I don't mean it--but I am curious. There, Mr. Carlisle, there is the
+place where I was thrown."
+
+"A villainous looking place. I wish it was mine. How do you like
+Tippoo?"
+
+"Oh, he is delightful!"
+
+Mr. Carlisle looked satisfied, as he might; for Eleanor's colour had
+become brilliant, and her face had changed greatly since setting out.
+Strength and courage and hope seemed to come to her on Tippoo's back,
+facing the wind on the moor and gallopping over the wild, free way.
+They took in part the route Eleanor had followed that day alone, coming
+back through the village by a still wider circuit. As they rode more
+moderately along the little street, if it could be called so--the
+houses were all on one side--Eleanor saw Mr. Rhys standing at Mrs.
+Lewis's door; he saw her. Involuntarily her bow in return to his
+salutation was very low. At the same instant Tippoo started, on a run
+to which all his former gallopping had been a gentle amble. This was
+not ungentle; the motion had nothing rough; only Eleanor was going in a
+straight line over the ground at a rate that took away her breath. She
+had presence of mind not to draw the curb rein, but she felt that she
+could hardly endure long the sort of progress she was making through
+the air. It did not seem to be on the ground. Her curiosity was
+gratified on one point; for after the first instant she found Mr.
+Carlisle's powerful grey straining close beside her. Nevertheless
+Tippoo was so entirely in earnest that it was some little time--it
+seemed a very long one--before the grey could get so close to the brown
+and so far up with him that Mr. Carlisle could lay his hand upon the
+thick brown mane of Tippoo and stoop forward to speak to him. As soon
+as that was done once or twice, Tippoo's speed gradually relaxed; and a
+perseverance in his master's appeals to his reason and sense of duty,
+brought the wild creature back to a moderate pace and the air of a
+civilized horse. Mr. Carlisle transferred his grasp from the mane to
+Eleanor's hand.
+
+"Eleanor, what did you do that for?"
+
+"Do what? I did nothing."
+
+"You curbed him. You drew the rein, and he considered himself insulted.
+I told you he would not bear it."
+
+"He has had nothing to bear from me. I have not drawn the curb at all,
+Robert."
+
+"I must contradict you. I saw you do it. That started him."
+
+Eleanor remained silent and a little pale. Was Mr. Carlisle right? The
+ride had until then done her a great deal of good; roused up her
+energies and restored in some degree her spirit; the involuntary race
+together with the sudden sight of Mr. Rhys, had the effect to bring
+back all the soberness which for the moment the delight and stir of the
+exercise had dissipated. She went on pondering various things.
+Eleanor's letter to Mr. Carlisle was in the pocket of her habit, ready
+for use; she determined to give it him when he left her that evening;
+that was one of her subjects of thought. Accordingly he found her very
+abstracted and cold the rest of the way; grave and uninterested. He
+fancied she might have been startled by her run on Tippoo's back,
+though it was not very like her; but he did not know what to fancy. And
+true it is, that a remembrance of fear had come up to Eleanor after
+that gallop. _Afraid_ she was not, at the time; but she felt that she
+had been in a condition of some peril from which her own forces could
+not have extricated her; that brought up other considerations, and
+sadly in Eleanor's mind some words of the hymn they had sung last night
+in the barn floated over among her thoughts:
+
+
+"When I can read my title clear, To mansions in the skies, I'll bid
+farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes."
+
+
+Very simple words; words that to some ears have become trite with
+repetition; but thoughts that went down into the depths of Eleanor's
+heart and garrisoned themselves there, beyond the power of any attacks
+to dislodge. Her gravity and indifference piqued Mr. Carlisle,
+curiosity and affection both. He spent the evening in trying to
+overcome them; with very partial success. When he was leaving her,
+Eleanor drew the letter from her pocket.
+
+"What is this?" said he taking it.
+
+"Only a letter for you."
+
+"From you! The consideration of that must not be postponed." He broke
+the seal. "Come, sit down again. I will read it here."
+
+"Not now! Take it home, Macintosh, and read it there. Let it wait so
+long."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Never mind why. Do! Because I ask you."
+
+"I don't believe I can understand it without you beside me," said he
+smiling, and drawing the letter from its envelope while he looked at
+her.
+
+"But there is everybody here," said Eleanor glancing at another part of
+the room where the rest of the family were congregated. "I would rather
+you took it home with you."
+
+"It is something that requires serious treatment?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You are a wise little thing," said he, "and I will take your advice."
+He put the letter in his pocket; then took Eleanor's hand upon his arm
+and walked her off to the library. Nobody was there; lamplight and
+firelight were warm and bright. Mr. Carlisle placed his charge in an
+easy chair by the library table, much to her disappointment; drew
+another close beside it, and sat down with his arm over the back of
+hers to read the letter. Thus it ran:
+
+
+"It is right you should know a change which has taken place in me since
+the time when I first became known to you. I have changed very much,
+though it is a change perhaps which you will not believe in; yet I feel
+that it makes me very different from my old self, and alters entirely
+my views of almost everything. Life and life's affairs--and aims--do
+not look to me as they looked a few months ago; if indeed I could be
+said to have taken any view at all of them then. They were little more
+than names to me, I believe. They are great realities now.
+
+"I do not know how to tell you in what this change in me consists, for
+I doubt you will neither like it nor believe in it. Yet you _must_
+believe in it; for I am not the woman I was a little while ago; not the
+woman you think me now. If I suffered you to go on as you are, in
+ignorance of it, I should be deceiving you. I have opened my eyes to
+the fact that this life is not the end of life. I see another
+beyond,--much more lasting, unknown, strange, perhaps not very distant.
+The thought of it presses upon me like a cloud. I want to be ready for
+it--I feel I am not ready--and that before I can be ready, not only my
+views but my character must be changed. I am determined it shall. For,
+Mr. Carlisle, there is a Ruler whose government extends over this life
+and that, whose requisitions I have never met, whose commands I have
+never obeyed, whom consequently I fear; and until this fear is changed
+for another feeling I cannot be happy. I will not live the life I have
+been leading; careless and thoughtless; I will be the servant of this
+Ruler whom hitherto I have disregarded. Whatever his commands are,
+those I will follow; at all costs, at any sacrifice; whatever I have or
+possess shall be used for his service. One thing I desire; to be a true
+servant of God, and not fear his face in displeasure. To secure that, I
+will let everything else in the world go.
+
+"I wish you to understand this thoroughly. It will draw on consequences
+that you would not like. It will make me such a woman as you would not,
+I feel, wish your wife to be. I shall follow a course of life and
+action that in many things, I know, would be extremely distasteful to
+you. Yet I must follow them--I can do no other--I dare do no other. I
+cannot live as I have lived. No, not for any reward or consideration
+that could be offered me. Nor to avoid any human anger.
+
+"I think you would probably choose never to see me at the Priory,
+rather than to see me there such a woman as I shall be. In that case I
+shall be very sorry for all the disagreeable consequences which would
+to you attend the annulling of the contract formed between us. My own
+part of them I am ready to bear.
+
+"ELEANOR POWLE."
+
+
+The letter was read through almost under Eleanor's own eyes. She looked
+furtively, as she could, to see how Mr. Carlisle took it. He did not
+seem to take it at all; she could find no change in his face. If the
+brow slightly bent before her did slightly knit itself in sterner lines
+than common, she could not be sure of it, bent as it was; and when he
+looked up, there was no such expression there. He looked as pleasant as
+possible.
+
+"Do you want me to laugh at you?" he said.
+
+"That was not the precise object I had in writing," said Eleanor
+soberly.
+
+"I do not suppose it, and yet I feel very much like laughing at you a
+little. So you think you can make yourself a woman I would not
+like,--eh, my darling?"
+
+He had drawn Eleanor's head down to his shoulder, within easy reach of
+his lips, but he did not kiss her. His right hand smoothed back the
+masses of her beautiful hair, and then rested on her cheek while he
+looked into the face thus held for near inspection; much as one handles
+a child. The touch was light and caressing, and calm as power too.
+Eleanor breathed quick. She could not bear it. She forced herself back
+where she could look at him.
+
+"You are taking it lightly, but I mean it very seriously," she said. "I
+think I could--I think I shall. I did not write you such a letter
+without very deep reason."
+
+He still retained his hold of her, and in his right hand had captured
+one of hers. This hand he now brought to his lips, kissing and
+caressing it.
+
+"I do not think I understand it yet," he said. "What are you going to
+do with yourself? Is it your old passion for a monastic life come up
+again? do you want the old Priory built up, and me for a Father
+Confessor?"
+
+Did he mean ever to loose his hold of the little hand he held so
+lightly and firmly? Never! Eleanor's head drooped.
+
+"What is it, Eleanor?"
+
+"It is serious work, Mr. Carlisle; and you will not believe me."
+
+"Make me serious too. Tell me a little more definitely what dreadful
+thing I am to expect. What sort of a woman is my wife going to be?"
+
+"Such a one as you would not have, if you knew it;--such a one as you
+never would have sought, if I had known it myself earlier; I feel
+sure." Eleanor's colour glowed all over her face and brow; nevertheless
+she spoke steadily.
+
+"Enigmatical!" said Mr. Carlisle. "The only thing I understand is
+this--and this--" and he kissed alternately her cheek and lips. "_Here_
+is my wife--_here_ is what I wish her to be. It will be all right the
+twenty-first of next month. What will you do after that, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor was silent, mortified, troubled, silenced. What was the use of
+trying to explain herself?
+
+"What do you want to do, Eleanor? Give all your money to the poor? I
+believe that is your pet fancy. Is that what you mean to do?"
+
+Eleanor's cheeks burnt again. "You know I have very little money to
+give, Mr. Carlisle. But I have determined to give _myself_."
+
+"To me?"
+
+"No, no. I mean, to duties and commands higher than any human
+obligation. And they may, and probably will, oblige me to live in a way
+that would not please you."
+
+"Let us see. What is the novelty?"
+
+"I am going to live--it is right I should tell you, whether you will
+believe me or not,--I am going to live henceforth not for this world
+but the other."
+
+"How?" said he, looking at her with his clear brilliant eyes.
+
+"I do not know, in detail. But you know, in the Church service, the
+pomps and vanities of the world are renounced; whatever that involves,
+it will find me obedient."
+
+"What has put this fancy in your head, Eleanor?"
+
+"A sense of danger, first, I think."
+
+"A sense of danger! Danger of what?"
+
+"Yes. A feeling of being unready for that other life to which I might
+at any time go;--that other world, I mean. I cannot be happy so." She
+was agitated; her colour was high; her nerves trembled.
+
+"How came this 'sense of danger' into your head? what brought it, or
+suggested it?"
+
+"When I was ill last summer--I felt it then. I have felt it since. I
+feel my head uncovered to meet the storm that may at any time break
+upon it. I am going to live, if I can, as people live whom you would
+laugh at; you would call them fanatics and fools. It is the only way
+for me to be happy; but you would not like it in one near you."
+
+"Go in a black dress, Eleanor?"
+
+She was silent. She very nearly burst into tears, but prevented that.
+
+"You can't terrify me," said Mr. Carlisle, lazily throwing himself back
+in his chair. "I don't get up a 'sense of danger' as easily as you do,
+darling. One look in your face puts all that to flight at once. I am
+safe. You may do what you like."
+
+"You would not say that by and by," said Eleanor.
+
+"Would I not?" said he, rousing up and drawing her tenderly but
+irresistibly to his arms again. "But make proper amends to me for
+breaking rules to-night, and you shall have _carte blanche_ for this
+new fancy, Eleanor. How are you going to ask my forgiveness?"
+
+"You ought to ask mine--for you will not attend to me."
+
+"Contumacious?" said he lightly, touching her lips as if they were a
+goblet and he were taking sips of the wine;--"then I shall take my own
+amends. You shall live as you please, darling, only take me along with
+you."
+
+"You will not go."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Neither your feeling nor your taste agree with it."
+
+"What _are_ you going to do!" said he half laughing, holding her fast
+and looking down into her face. "My little Eleanor! Make yourself a
+grey nun, or a blue Puritan? Grey becomes you, darling; it makes a
+duchess of you; and blue is set off by this magnificent brown head of
+yours. I will answer for my taste in either event; and I think you
+could bear, and consequently I could, all the other colours in the
+rainbow. As for your idea, of making yourself a woman that I would not
+like, I do not think you can compass it. You may try. I will not let
+you go too far."
+
+"You cannot hinder it, Macintosh," said Eleanor in a low voice.
+
+"Kiss me!" said he laughingly.
+
+Eleanor slowly raised her head from his shoulder and obeyed, so far as
+a very dainty and shyly given permission went; feeling bitterly that
+she had brought herself into bonds from which only Mr. Carlisle's hand
+could release her. She could not break them herself. What possible
+reason could she assign? And so she was in his power.
+
+"Cheeks hot, and hands cold," said Mr. Carlisle to himself as he walked
+away through the rooms. "I wish the twenty-first were to-morrow!" He
+stopped in the drawing-room to hold a consultation of some length with
+Mrs. Powle; in which however he confided to her no more than that the
+last night's attention to her nurse's daughter had been quite too much
+for Eleanor, and he should think it extremely injudicious to allow it
+again. Which Mrs. Powle had no idea of doing.
+
+Neither had Eleanor any idea of attempting it. But she spent half that
+night in heart-ache and in baffled searchings for a path out of her
+difficulties. What could she do? If Mr. Carlisle _would_ marry her, she
+saw no help for it; and to disgust him with her would be a difficult
+matter. For oh, Eleanor knew, that though he would not like a religious
+wife, he had good reason to trust his own power of regulating any
+tendency of that sort which might offend him. Once his wife, once let
+that strong arm have a right to be round her permanently; and Eleanor
+knew it would be an effectual bar against whatever he wished to keep at
+a distance.
+
+Eleanor was armed with no Christian armour; no helmet or shield of
+protection had she; all she had was the strength of fear, and the
+resolute determination to seek until she should find that panoply in
+which she would be safe and strong. Once married to Mr. Carlisle, and
+she felt that her determination would be in danger, and her resolution
+meet another resolution with which it might have hard fighting to do.
+Ay, and who knew whether hers would overcome! She must not finish this
+marriage; yet how induce Mr. Carlisle to think of her as she wished?
+
+"I declare," said Mrs. Powle coming into her room the next day, "that
+one night's sitting up, has done the work of a week's illness upon you,
+Eleanor! Mr. Carlisle is right."
+
+"In what?"
+
+"He said you must not go again."
+
+"I think he is somewhat premature in arranging my movements."
+
+"Don't you like it?" said Mrs. Powle laughing a little. "You must learn
+to submit to that. I am glad there is somebody that can control you,
+Eleanor, at last. It does me good. It was just a happiness that you
+never took anything desperate into your head, for your father and you
+together were more than a match for me; and it's just the same with
+Julia. But Julia really is growing tame and more reasonable, I think,
+lately."
+
+"Good reason why," thought Eleanor moodily. "But that is a better sort
+of control she is under."
+
+"I am charged with a commission to you, Eleanor."
+
+"What is it, ma'am?"
+
+"To find out what particular kind of jewels you prefer. I really don't
+know, so am obliged to ask you--which was not in my commission."
+
+"Jewels, mamma!"
+
+"Jewels, my lady."
+
+"O mamma! don't talk to me of jewels!"
+
+"Nor of weddings, I suppose; but really I do not see how things are to
+be done unless they are to be talked about. For instance, this matter
+of your liking in jewellery--I think rubies become you, Eleanor; though
+to be sure there is nothing I like so well as diamonds. What is the
+matter?"
+
+For Eleanor's brown head had gone down on the table before her and her
+face was hidden in her hands. She slowly raised it at her mother's
+question.
+
+"Mamma, Mr. Carlisle does not know what he is doing!"
+
+"Pray what do you mean?"
+
+"He thinks he is marrying a person who will be gay and live for and in
+the world, as he lives--and as he would wish me. Mamma, I will not! I
+never will. I never shall be what he likes in that respect. I mean to
+live a religious life."
+
+"A religious life! What sort of a life is that?"
+
+"It is what you do not like--nor he."
+
+"A religious life! Eleanor, you do not suppose Mr. Carlisle would wish
+his wife to lead an irreligious life?"
+
+"Yes--I do."
+
+"I should not like you to tell _him_ that," said Mrs. Powle colouring
+with anger. "How dare you say it? What sort of a religious life do you
+want to live?"
+
+"Such a one as the Bible bids, mamma," Eleanor said in a low voice and
+drooping her head. "Such a one as the Prayer Book recommends, over and
+over."
+
+"And you think Mr. Carlisle would not like that? What insinuations you
+are making against us all, Eleanor. For of course, I, your mother, have
+wished you also to live this irreligious life. We are a set of heathens
+together. Dr. Cairnes too. He was delighted with it."
+
+"It changes nothing, mamma," said Eleanor. "I am resolved to live in a
+different way; and Mr. Carlisle would not like it; and if he only knew
+it, he would not wish to marry me; and I cannot make him believe it."
+
+"You have tried, have you?"
+
+"Yes, I have tried. It was only honest."
+
+"Well I did not think you were such a fool, Eleanor! and I am sure he
+did not. Believe you, you little fool? he knows better. He knows that
+he will not have had you a week at the Priory before you will be too
+happy to live what life he pleases. He is just the man to bring you
+into order. I only wish the wedding-day was to-morrow."
+
+Eleanor drew herself up, and her face changed from soft and sorrowful
+to stubborn. She kept silence.
+
+"In this present matter of jewels," said Mrs. Powle returning to the
+charge, "I suppose I am to tell him that a plain set of jet is as much
+as you can fancy; or that, as it would be rather uncommon to be married
+in black, you will take bugles. What he will say I am sure I don't
+know."
+
+"You had better not try, mamma," said Eleanor. "If the words you last
+said are true, and I should be unable to follow my conscience at
+Rythdale Priory, then I shall never go there; and in that case the
+jewels will not be wanted, except for somebody else whose taste neither
+bugles nor jet would suit."
+
+"Now you have got one of your obstinate fits on," said Mrs. Powle, "and
+I will go. I shall be a better friend to you than to tell Mr. Carlisle
+a word of all this, which I know will be vanished in another month or
+two; and if you value your good fortune, Eleanor, I recommend you to
+keep a wise tongue between your teeth in talking to him. I know one
+thing--I wish Dr. Cairnes, or the Government, or the Church, or whoever
+has it in hand, would keep all dissenting fools from coming to Wiglands
+to preach their pestiferous notions here! and that your father would
+not bring them to his house! That is what I wish. Will you be
+reasonable, and give me an answer about the jewels, Eleanor?"
+
+"I cannot think about jewels, mamma."
+
+Mrs. Powle departed. Eleanor sat with her head bowed in her hands; her
+mind in dim confusion, through which loomed the one thought, that she
+must break this marriage. Her mother's words had roused the evil as
+well as the good of Eleanor's nature; and along with bitter
+self-reproaches and longings for good, she already by foretaste champed
+the bit of an authority that she did not love. So, while her mind was
+in a sea of turmoil, there came suddenly, like a sun-blink upon the
+confusion, a soft question from her little sister Julia. Neither mother
+nor daughter had taken notice of her being in the room. The question
+came strangely soft, for Julia.
+
+"Eleanor, do you love Jesus?"
+
+Eleanor raised her head in unspeakable astonishment, startled and even
+shocked, as one is at an unheard-of thing. Julia's face was close
+beside her, looking wistful and anxious, and tender also. The look
+struck Eleanor's heart. But she only stared.
+
+"Do you?" said Julia wistfully.
+
+It wrought the most unaccountable convulsion in Eleanor's mind, this
+little dove's feather of a question, touching the sore and angry
+feelings that wrestled there. She flung herself off her chair, and on
+her knees by the table sobbed dreadfully. Julia stood by, looking as
+sober as if she had been a ministering angel.
+
+Eleanor knew what the question meant--that was all. She had heard Mr.
+Rhys speak of it; she had heard him speak of it with a quiver on his
+lip and a flush in his face, which shewed her that there was something
+in religion that she had never fathomed, nor ever before suspected;
+there was a hidden region of joy the entrance to which was veiled from
+her. To Eleanor the thing would have been a mere mystery, but that she
+had seen it to be a reality; once seen, that was never to be forgotten.
+And now, in the midst of her struggles of passion and pain, Julia's
+question came innocently asking whether she were a sharer in that
+unearthly wonderful joy which seemed to put its possessor beyond the
+reach of struggles. Eleanor's sobs were the hard sobs of pain. As
+wisely as if she had really been a ministering angel, her little sister
+stood by silent; and said not another word until Eleanor had risen and
+taken her seat again. Nor then either. It was Eleanor that spoke.
+
+"What do you know about it, Julia?"
+
+"Not much," said the child. "_I_ love the Lord Jesus--that is all,--and
+I thought, perhaps, from the way you spoke, that you did. Mr. Rhys
+would be so glad."
+
+"He? Glad? what do you mean, Julia?"
+
+"I know he would; because I have heard him pray for you a great many
+times."
+
+"No--no," said Eleanor turning away,--"I know nothing but fear. I do
+not feel anything better. And they want me to think of everything else
+in the world but this one thing!"
+
+"But you will think of it, Eleanor, won't you?"
+
+Eleanor was silent and abstracted. Her sister watched her with strange
+eyes for Julia, anxiously observant. The silence lasted some time.
+
+"When does Mr. Rhys--Is he going to preach again, Julia, that you know
+of?"
+
+"I guess not. He was very tired after he preached the other night; he
+lay on the couch and did not move the whole next day. He is better
+to-day."
+
+"You have seen him this morning?"
+
+"O yes. I see him every day; and he teaches me a great many things. But
+he always prays for you."
+
+Eleanor did not wish to keep up the conversation, and it dropped. And
+after that, things went on their train.
+
+It was a very fast train, too; and growing in importance and thickening
+in its urgency of speed. Every day the preparations converged more
+nearly towards their great focus, the twenty-first of December. Eleanor
+felt the whirl of circumstances, felt borne off her feet and carried
+away with them; and felt it hopelessly. She knew not what to urge that
+should be considered sufficient reason either by her mother or Mr.
+Carlisle for even delaying, much less breaking off the match. She was
+grave and proud, and unsatisfactory, as much as it was in her nature to
+be, partly on purpose; and Mr. Carlisle was not satisfied, and hurried
+on things all the more. He kept his temper perfectly, whatever thoughts
+he had; he rode and walked with Eleanor, when she would go, with the
+same cool and faultless manner; when she would not, he sometimes let it
+pass and sometimes made her go; but once or twice he failed in doing
+this; and recognized the possibility of Eleanor's ability to give him
+trouble. He knew his own power however; on the whole he liked her quite
+as well for it.
+
+"What is the matter with you, my darling?" he said one day. "You are
+not like yourself."
+
+"I am not happy," said Eleanor. "I told you I had a doubt unsettled
+upon my mind; and till that doubt is put at rest I cannot be happy; I
+cannot have peace; you will take no pleasure in me."
+
+"Why do you not settle it then?" said Mr. Carlisle, quietly.
+
+"Because I have no chance. I have not a moment to think, in this whirl
+where I am living. If you would put off the twenty-first of next month
+to the twenty-first of some month in the spring--or summer--I might
+have a breathing place, and get myself in order. I cannot, now."
+
+"You will have time to think, love, when you get to the Priory," Mr.
+Carlisle observed in the same tone--an absolute tone.
+
+"Yes. I know how that would be!" Eleanor answered bitterly. "But I can
+take no pleasure in anything,--I cannot have any rest or comfort,--as
+long as I know that if anything happened to me--if death came
+suddenly--I am utterly unready. I cannot be happy so."
+
+"I think I had better send Dr. Cairnes to see you," said Mr. Carlisle.
+"He is in duty bound to be the family physician in all things spiritual
+where they need him. But this is morbid, Eleanor. I know how it is.
+These are only whims, my darling, that will never outlive that day you
+dread so much."
+
+He had drawn her into his arms as he spoke; but in his touch and his
+kiss Eleanor felt or fancied something masterful, which irritated her.
+
+"If I thought that, Mr. Carlisle," she said,--"if I knew it was
+true,--that day would never come!"
+
+Mr. Carlisle's self-control was perfect; so was his tact. He made no
+answer at all to this speech; only gave Eleanor two or three more of
+those quiet ownership kisses. No appearance of discomposure in his
+manner or in his voice when he spoke; still holding her in his arms.
+
+"I shall know how to punish you one of these days for this," he said.
+"You may expect to be laughed at a little, my darling, when you turn
+penitent. Which will not hinder the moment from coming."
+
+And so, dismissing the matter and her with another light touch of her
+lips, he left her.
+
+"Will it be so?" thought Eleanor. "Shall I be so within his control,
+that I shall even sue to him to forget and pardon this word of my true
+indignation? Once his wife--once let the twenty-first of December
+come--and there will be no more help for me. What shall I do?"
+
+She was desperate, but she saw no opening. She saw however the next day
+that Mr. Carlisle was coldly displeased with her. She was afraid to
+have him remain so; and made conciliations. These were accepted
+immediately and frankly, but so at the same time as made her feel she
+had lost ground and given Mr. Carlisle an advantage; every inch of
+which he knew and took. Nobody had seen the tokens of any part of all
+this passage of arms; in three days all was just as it had been, except
+Eleanor's lost ground. And three days more were gone before the
+twenty-first of December.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+AT LUNCHEON.
+
+
+  "And, once wed,
+  So just a man and gentle, could not choose
+  But make my life as smooth as marriage-ring."
+
+
+"Macintosh, do you ever condescend to do such a thing as walk?--take a
+walk, I mean?"
+
+"You may command me," he answered somewhat lazily.
+
+"May I? For the walk; but I want further to make a visit in the
+village."
+
+"You may make twenty, if you feel inclined. I will order the horses to
+meet us there--shall I? or do you not wish to do anything but walk
+to-day?"
+
+"O yes. After my visit is paid, I shall be ready."
+
+"But it will be very inconvenient to walk so far in your habit. Can you
+manage that?"
+
+"I expect to enlighten you a good deal as to a woman's power of
+managing," said Eleanor.
+
+"Is that a warning?" said he, making her turn her face towards him.
+Eleanor gratified him with one of her full mischievous smiles.
+
+"Did anybody ever tell you," said he continuing the inspection, "that
+you were handsome?"
+
+"It never was worth anybody's while."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"Simply, that he would have gained nothing by it."
+
+"Then I suppose I should not, or you think so?"
+
+"Nothing in the world. Mr. Carlisle, if you please, I will go and put
+on my hat."
+
+The day was November in a mild mood; pleasant enough for a walk; and so
+one at least of the two found it. For Eleanor, she was in a divided
+mood; yet even to her the exercise was grateful, and brought some glow
+and stir of spirits through the body to the mind. At times, too, now,
+she almost bent before what seemed her fate, in hopelessness of
+escaping from it; and at those times she strove to accommodate herself
+to it, and tried to propitiate her captor. She did this from a twofold
+motive. She did fear him, and feared to have him anything but pleased
+with her; half slumbering that feeling lay; another feeling she was
+keenly conscious of. The love that he had for her; a gift that no woman
+can receive and be wholly unmoved by it; the affection she herself had
+allowed him to bestow, in full faith that it would not be thrown away;
+that stung Eleanor with grief and self-reproach; and made her at times
+question whether her duty did not lie where she had formally engaged it
+should. At such times she was very subdued in gentleness and in
+observance of Mr. Carlisle's pleasure; subdued to a meekness foreign to
+her natural mood, and which generally, to tell the truth, was
+accompanied by a very unwonted sedateness of spirits also; something
+very like the sedateness of despair.
+
+She walked now silently the first half of the way; managing her long
+habit in a way that she knew Mr. Carlisle knew, though he took no open
+notice of it. The day was quite still, the road footing good. A slight
+rime hung about the distance, veiled faintly the Rythdale woods,
+enshrouded the far-off village, as they now and then caught glimpses of
+it, in its tuft of surrounding trees. Yet near at hand, the air seemed
+clear and mellow; there was no November chill. It was a brown world,
+however, through which the two walked; life and freshness all gone from
+vegetation; the leaves in most cases fallen from the trees, and where
+they still hung looking as sear and withered as frost and decay could
+make them.
+
+"Do you abhor _all_ compliments?" said Mr. Carlisle, breaking a silence
+that for some time had been broken only by the quick ring of their
+footsteps upon the ground.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"That is frank; yet I am half afraid to present the one which is on my
+lips."
+
+"Perhaps it is not worth while," said Eleanor, with a gleam of a smile
+which was very alluring. "You are going to tell me, possibly, that I am
+a good walker."
+
+"I do not know why I should let you silence me. No, I was not going to
+tell you that you are a good walker; you know it already. The
+compliment of beauty, that you scorned, was also perhaps no news to
+you. What I admire in you now, is something you do not know you
+have--and I do not mean you shall, by my means."
+
+Eleanor's glance of amused curiosity, rewarded him.
+
+"Are you expecting now, that I shall ask for it?"
+
+"No; it would not be like you. You do not ask me for anything--that you
+can help, Eleanor. I shall have to make myself cunning in inventing
+situations of need that will drive you to it. It is pleasanter to me
+than you can imagine, to have your eyes seek mine with a request in
+them."
+
+Eleanor coloured.
+
+"There are the fieldfares!" she exclaimed presently.
+
+"What is there melancholy in that?" said Mr. Carlisle laughingly.
+
+"Nothing. Why?"
+
+"You made the announcement as if you found it so."
+
+"I was thinking of the time I saw the fieldfares last,--when they were
+gathering together preparing for their taking flight; and now here they
+are back again! It seems so little while--and yet it seems a long while
+too. The summer has gone."
+
+"I am glad it has!" said Mr. Carlisle. "And I am glad Autumn has had
+the discretion to follow it. I make my bow to the fieldfares."
+
+"You will not expect me to echo that," said Eleanor.
+
+"No. Not now. I will make you do it by and by."
+
+He thought a good deal of his power, Eleanor said to herself as she
+glanced at him; and sighed as she remembered that she did so too. She
+was afraid to say anything more. It had not been so pleasant a summer
+to her that she would have wished to live it over again; yet was she
+very sorry to know it gone, for more reasons than it would do to let
+Mr. Carlisle see.
+
+"You do not believe that?" he said, coming with his brilliant eyes to
+find her out where her thoughts had plunged her. Eleanor came forth of
+them immediately and answered.
+
+"No more, than that one of those fieldfares, if you should catch it and
+fasten a leash round its neck, would say it was well done that its time
+of free flying was over."
+
+"My bird shall soar higher from the perch where I will place her, than
+ever she ventured before."
+
+"Ay, and stoop to your lure, Mr. Carlisle!"
+
+He laughed at this flash, and took instant tribute of the lips whose
+sauciness tempted him.
+
+"Do you wonder," he said softly, "that I want to have my tassel-gentle
+on my hand?"
+
+Eleanor coloured again, and was wisely silent.
+
+"I am afraid you are not ambitious, Eleanor."
+
+"Is that such a favourite vice, that you wish I were?"
+
+"Vice! It is a virtue, say rather; but not for a woman," he added in a
+different tone. "No, I do not wish you any more of it, Nellie, than a
+little education will give."
+
+"You are mistaken, though, Macintosh. I am very ambitious," Eleanor
+said gravely.
+
+"Pray in what line? Of being able to govern Tippoo without my help?"
+
+"Is it Tippoo that I am to ride to-day?"
+
+"Yes. I will give you a lesson. What line does your ambition take,
+darling?"
+
+"I have a great ambition--higher and deeper than you can think--to be a
+great deal better than myself."
+
+She said it lowly and seriously, in a way that sufficiently spoke her
+earnestness. It was just as well to let Mr. Carlisle know now and then
+which way her thoughts travelled. She did not look up till the
+consciousness of his examining eyes upon her made her raise her own.
+His look was intent and silent, at first grave, and then changing into
+a very sunny smile with the words--
+
+"My little Saint Eleanor?"--
+
+They were inimitably spoken; it is difficult to say how. The
+graciousness, and affection, and only a very little tender raillery
+discernible with them, at once smote and won Eleanor. What could she do
+to make amends to this man for letting him love her, but to be his wife
+and give him all the good she could? She answered his smile, and if
+hers was shy and slight it was also so gentle that Mr. Carlisle was
+more than content.
+
+"If you have no other ambition than that," he said, "then the wise man
+is proved wrong who said that moderation is the sloth of the soul, as
+ambition is its activity."
+
+"Who said that?"
+
+"Rochefoucauld, I believe."
+
+"Like him--" said Eleanor.
+
+"How is that? wise?"
+
+"No indeed; false."
+
+"He was a philosopher, and you are not even a student in that school."
+
+"He was not a true man; and that I know by the lights he never knew."
+
+"He told the time of day by the world's clock, Eleanor. You go by a
+private sun-dial of your own."
+
+"The sun is right, Mr. Carlisle! He was a vile old maligner of human
+nature."
+
+"Where did you learn to know him so well?" said Mr. Carlisle, amused.
+
+"You may well ask. I used to study French sentences out of him; because
+they were in nice little detached bits; and when I came to understand
+him I judged him accordingly."
+
+"By the sun. Few men will stand that, Eleanor. Give an instance."
+
+"We are in the village."
+
+"I see it."
+
+"I told you I wanted to make a visit, Macintosh."
+
+"May I go too?"
+
+"Why certainly; but I am afraid you will not know what to do with
+yourself. It is at the house of Mrs. Lewis,--my old nurse."
+
+"Do you think I never go into cottages?" said he smiling.
+
+Eleanor did not know what to make of him; however, it was plain he
+would go with her into this one; so she took him in, and then had to
+tell who he was, and blushed for shame and vexation to see her old
+nurse's delighted and deep curtseys at the honour done her. She made
+her escape to see Jane; and leaving Mr. Carlisle to his own devices,
+gladly shut herself into the little stairway which led up from the
+kitchen to Jane's room. The door closed behind her, Eleanor let fall
+the spirit-mask she wore before Mr. Carlisle,--wore consciously for him
+and half unconsciously for herself,--and her feet went slowly and
+heavily up the stair. A short stairway it was, and she had short time
+to linger; she did not linger; she went into Jane's room. Eleanor had
+not been there since the night of her watch.
+
+It was like coming out of the woods upon an open champaign, as she
+stood by the side of the sick girl. Jane was lying bolstered up, as
+usual; disease shewed no stay of its ravages since Eleanor had been
+there last; all that was as it had been. The thin cheek with its
+feverish hue; the unnaturally bright eyes; the attitude of feebleness.
+But the mouth was quiet and at rest to-day; and that mysterious region
+of expression around the eyes had lost all its seams and lines of care
+and anxiety; and the eyes themselves looked at Eleanor with that calm
+full simplicity that one sees in an infant's eyes, before care or doubt
+has ever visited them. Eleanor was silent with surprise, and Jane spoke
+first.
+
+"I am glad to see you, Miss Eleanor."
+
+"You are better, Jane, to-day."
+
+"I think--I am almost well," said Jane, pausing for breath as she
+spoke, and smiling at the same time.
+
+"What has happened to you since I was here last? You do not look like
+the same."
+
+"Ma'am, I am not the same. The Lord's messenger has come--and I've
+heard the message--and O, Miss Eleanor, I'm happy!"
+
+"What do you mean, Jane?" said Eleanor; though it struck coldly through
+all her senses what it did mean.
+
+"Dear Miss Eleanor," said Jane, looking at her lovingly--"I wish you
+was as happy as I be!"
+
+"What makes you happy?"
+
+"O ma'am, because I love Jesus. I love Jesus!"
+
+"You must tell me more, Jane. I do not understand you. The other night,
+when I was here, you were not happy."
+
+"Miss Eleanor, I didn't know him then. Since then I've seen how good he
+is--and how beautiful--and what he has done for me;--and I'm happy!"
+
+"Can't you tell me more, Jane? I want to understand it."
+
+"Miss Eleanor, it's hard to tell. I'm thinking, one can't tell
+another--but the Lord must just shew himself."
+
+"What has he shewn to you?" said Eleanor gloomily. The girl lifted her
+eyes with a placid light in them, as she answered,
+
+"He has showed me how he loves me--and that he has forgiven me--O how
+good he is, Miss Eleanor!--and how he will take me home. And now I
+don't want for to stay--no more now."
+
+"You were afraid of dying, the other night, Jane."
+
+"That's gone,"--said the girl expressively.
+
+"But how did it go?"
+
+"I can't say, ma'am. I just saw how Jesus loves me--and I felt I loved
+him--and then how could I be feared, Miss Eleanor? when all's in his
+hand."
+
+Eleanor stood still, looking at the transformed face before her, and
+feeling ready to sink on the floor and cry out for very sorrow of
+heart. Had this poor creature put on the invisible panoply which made
+her dare to go among the angels, while Eleanor's own hand was
+empty--could not reach it--could not grasp it? She stood still with a
+cold brow and dark face.
+
+"Jane, I wish you could give me what you have got--so as not to lose it
+yourself."
+
+"Jesus will give it to you, Miss Eleanor," said the girl with a
+brightening eye and smile. "I know he will."
+
+"I do not know of him, Jane, as you do," Eleanor said gravely. "What
+did you do to gain this knowledge?"
+
+"I? I did nought, ma'am--what could I do? I just laid and cried in my
+bitterness of heart--like the night you was here, ma'am; till the day
+that Mr. Rhys came again and talked--and prayed--O he prayed!--and my
+trouble went away and the light came. O Miss Eleanor, if you would hear
+Mr. Rhys speak! I don't know how;--but if you'd hear him, you'd know
+all that man can tell."
+
+Eleanor stood silent. Jane looked at her with eyes of wistful regard,
+but panting already from the exertion of talking.
+
+"But how are you different to-day, Jane, from what you were the other
+night?--except in being happy."
+
+"Ma'am," said the girl speaking with difficulty, for she was
+excited,--"then I was blind. Now I see. I ain't different no ways--only
+I have seen what the Lord has done for me--and I know he loves me--and
+he's forgiven me my sins. He's forgiven me!--And now I go singing to
+myself, like, all the day and the night too, 'I love the Lord, and my
+Lord loves me.'"
+
+The water had slowly gathered in Jane's eyes, and the cheek flushed;
+but her sweet happy regard never varied except to brighten.
+
+"Jane, you must talk no more," said Eleanor. "What can I do for you?
+only tell me that."
+
+"Would Miss Eleanor read a bit?"
+
+What would become of Mr. Carlisle's patience? Eleanor desperately
+resolved to let it take care of itself, and sat down to read to Jane at
+the open page where the girl's look and finger had indicated that she
+wished her to begin. And the very first words were, "Let not your heart
+be troubled."
+
+Eleanor felt her voice choke; then clearing it with a determined effort
+she read on to the end of the chapter. But if she had been reading the
+passage in its original Greek, she herself would hardly have received
+less intelligence from it. She had a dim perception of the words of
+love and words of glory of which it is full; she saw that Mr. Rhys's
+"helmet" was at the beginning of it, and the "peace" he had preached
+of, at the end of it; yet those words which ever since the day they
+were spoken have been a bed of rest to every heart that has loved their
+Author, only straitened Eleanor's heart with a vision of rest afar off.
+
+"I must go now, dear Jane," she said as soon as the reading was ended.
+"What else would you like, that I can do for you?"
+
+"I'm thinking I want nothing, Miss Eleanor," said the girl calmly,
+without moving the eyes which had looked at Eleanor all through the
+reading. "But--"
+
+"But what? speak out."
+
+"Mother says you can do anything, ma'am."
+
+"Well, go on."
+
+"Dolly's in trouble, ma'am."
+
+"Dolly? why she was to have been married to that young Earle?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, but--mother'll tell you, Miss Eleanor--it tires me. He has
+been disappointed of his money, has James; and Dolly, she couldn't lay
+up none, 'cause of home;--and she's got to go back to service at Tenby;
+and they don't know when they'll come together now."
+
+A fit of coughing punished Jane for the exertion she had made, and put
+a stop to her communication. Eleanor staid by her till it was over,
+would not let her say another word, kissed her, and ran down to the
+lower room in a divided state of spirits. There she learnt from Mrs.
+Lewis the details of Jane's confused story. The young couple wanted
+means to furnish a house; the money hoarded for the purpose had been
+lent by James in some stress of his parents' affairs and could not now
+be got back again; and the secret hope of the family, Eleanor found,
+was that James might be advanced to the gamekeeper's place at Rythdale,
+which they took care to inform her was vacant; and which would put the
+young man in possession of better wages and enable him to marry at
+once. Eleanor just heard all this, and hurried out to the gate where
+Mr. Carlisle was waiting for her. Her interview with Jane had left her
+with a desperate feeling of being cut off from the peace and light her
+heart longed for; and yet she was glad to see somebody else happy. She
+stood by Mr. Carlisle's side in a sort of subdued mood. There also
+stood Miss Broadus.
+
+"Now Eleanor! here you are. Won't you help me? I want you two to come
+in and take luncheon with us. I shall never get over it if you do--I
+shall be so pleased. So will Juliana. Now do persuade this
+gentleman!--will you? We'll have luncheon in a little while--and then
+you can go on your ride. You'll never do it if you dc not to-day."
+
+"It is hardly time, Miss Broadus," said Mr. Carlisle "We must ride some
+miles before luncheon."
+
+"I think it must be very near time," said Miss Broadus "Do, Eleanor,
+look and tell us what it is. Now you are here, it would be such a good
+chance. Well, Eleanor? And the horses can wait."
+
+"It is half past twelve by me, Miss Broadus. I do not know how it is by
+the world's clock."
+
+"You can not take her word," said Mr. Carlisle, preparing to mount
+Eleanor. "She goes by an old-fashioned thing, that is always behind the
+time--or in advance of it."
+
+"Well, I declare!" said Miss Broadus. "That beautiful little watch Mr.
+Powle gave her! Then you will come in after your ride?"
+
+If they were near enough at luncheon time, Mr. Carlisle promised that
+should be done; and leaving Miss Broadus in startled admiration of
+their horses, the riders set forth. A new ride was promised Eleanor;
+they struck forward beyond Wiglands, leaving the road to Rythdale on
+the left hand. Eleanor was busily meditating on the question of making
+suit to Mr. Carlisle in James Earle's favour; but not as a question to
+be decided; she had resolved she would not do it, and was thinking
+rather how very unwilling she should be to do it; sensible at the same
+time that much power was in her hands to do good and give relief, of
+many kinds; but fixed in the mind that so long as she had not the
+absolute right and duty of Mr. Carlisle's wife, she would not assume
+it. Yet between pride and benevolence Eleanor's ride was likely to be
+scarce a pleasant one. It was extremely silent, for which Tippoo's
+behaviour on this occasion gave no excuse. He was as gentle as the day.
+
+"What did you find in that cottage to give your thoughts so profound a
+turn?" said Mr. Carlisle at last.
+
+"A sick girl."
+
+"Cottages do not seem to agree with you, Eleanor."
+
+"That would be unfortunate," said Eleanor rousing up, "for the people
+in them seem to want me very much."
+
+"Do not let that impose on you," said Mr. Carlisle smiling. "Speaking
+of cottages--two of my cottages at Rythmoor are empty still."
+
+"O are they!--" Eleanor exclaimed with sudden life.
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Is there anybody you mean to put in them, Mr. Carlisle?"
+
+"No. Is there anybody you mean to put in them?"
+
+"I know just who would like to have one."
+
+"Then I know just who shall have it--or I shall know, when you have
+told me."
+
+Did he smile to himself that his bait had taken? He did not smile
+outwardly. Riding close up to her, he listened with a bright face to
+the story which Eleanor gave with a brighter. She had a private smile
+at herself. Where were her scruples now? There was no help for it.
+
+"It is one of your--one of the under gardeners at Rythdale; his name is
+James Earle. I believe he is a good fellow."
+
+"We will suppose that. What has he done to enlist your sympathy?"
+
+"He wants to marry a sister of this girl I have been to see. They have
+been long betrothed; and James has been laying up money to set up
+housekeeping. They were to have been married this autumn,--now;--but
+James had lent all his earnings to get his old father out of some
+distress, and they are not forthcoming; and all Dolly's earnings go to
+support hers."
+
+"And what would you like to do for them, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor coloured now, but she could not go back. "If you think well of
+Earle, and would like to have him in one of the empty cottages at
+Rythmoor, I should be glad."
+
+"They shall go in, the day we are married; and I wish you would find
+somebody for the other. Now having made a pair of people happy and
+established a house, would you like a gallop?"
+
+Eleanor's cheeks were hot, and she would very much; but she answered,
+"One of Tippoo's gallops?"--
+
+"You do not know them yet. You have tried only a mad gallop. Tippoo!"
+said Mr. Carlisle stooping and striking his riding glove against the
+horse's shoulder,--"I am going a race with you, do you hear?"
+
+His own charger at the same time sprang forward, and Tippoo to match!
+But such a cradling flight through the air, Eleanor never knew until
+now. There seemed no exertion; there was no jar; a smooth, swift,
+arrowy passage over the ground, like what birds take under the clouds.
+This was the gentlest of gallops, certainly, and yet it was at a rare
+speed that cleared the miles very fast and left striving grooms in the
+distance. Eleanor paid no attention to anything but the delight of
+motion; she did not care where or how far she was carried on such
+magical hoofs; but indeed the ride was beyond her beat and she did not
+know the waymarks if she had observed them. A gradual slackening of
+this pace of delight brought her back to the earth and her senses again.
+
+"How was that?" said Mr. Carlisle. "It has done you no harm."
+
+"I do not know how it was," said Eleanor, caressing the head and neck
+of the magnificent animal she rode--"but I think this creature has come
+out of the Arabian Nights. Tippoo is certainly an enchanted prince."
+
+"I'll take care he is not disenchanted, then," said Mr. Carlisle. "That
+gallop did us some service. Do you know where we are?"
+
+"Not in the least."
+
+"You will know presently."
+
+And accordingly, a few minutes of fast riding brought them to a lodge
+and a gate.
+
+"Is this Rythdale?" said Eleanor, who had noticed the manner of the
+gate-opener.
+
+"Yes, and this entrance is near the house. You will see it in a moment
+or two."
+
+It appeared presently, stately and lovely, on the other side of an
+extensive lawn; a grove of spruce firs making a beautiful setting for
+it on one side. The riders passed round the lawn, through a part of the
+plantations, and came up to the house at the before-mentioned left
+wing. Mr. Carlisle threw himself off his horse and came to Eleanor.
+
+"What now, Macintosh?"
+
+"Luncheon."
+
+"O, I do not want any luncheon."
+
+"I do. And so do you, love. Come!"
+
+"Macintosh," said Eleanor, bending down with her hand resting on his
+shoulder to enforce her request, "I do not want to go in!"
+
+"I cannot take you any further without rest and refreshment; and we are
+too far from Miss Broadus's now. Come, Eleanor!"
+
+He took her down, and then observing the discomposed colour of
+Eleanor's cheek, he went on affectionately, as he was leading her
+in,--"What is there formidable in it, Nellie? Nothing but my mother and
+luncheon; and she will be much pleased to see you."
+
+Eleanor made no answer; she doubted it; at all events the pleasure
+would be all on one side. But the reception she got justified Mr.
+Carlisle. Lady Rythdale was pleased. She was even gracious. She sent
+Eleanor to her dressing-room to refresh herself, not to change her
+dress this time; and received her when she came into her presence again
+with a look that was even benign.
+
+Bound, bound,--Eleanor felt it in everything her eye lit upon; she had
+thought it all over in the dressing-room, while she was putting in
+order the masses of hair which had been somewhat shaken down by the
+gallop. She was irritated, and proud, and afraid of displeasing Mr.
+Carlisle; and above all this and keeping it down, was the sense that
+she was bound to him. He did love her, if he also loved to command her;
+and he would do the latter, and it was better not to hinder his doing
+the other. But higher than this consideration rose the feeling of
+_right_. She had given him leave to love her; and now it seemed that
+his love demanded of her all she had, if it was not all he wanted; duty
+and observance and her own sweet self, if not her heart's absorbing
+affection. And this would satisfy Mr. Carlisle, Eleanor knew; she could
+not ease her conscience with the thought that it would not. And here
+she was in his mother's dressing-room putting up her hair, and down
+stairs he and his mother were waiting for her; she was almost in the
+family already. Eleanor put several feelings in bonds, along with the
+abundant tresses of brown hair which made her hands full, and went down.
+
+She looked lovely as she came in; for the pride and irritation and
+struggling rebellion which had all been at work, were smothered or at
+least kept under by her subdued feeling, and her brow wore an air of
+almost shy modesty. She did not see the two faces which were turned
+towards her as soon as she appeared, though she saw Mr. Carlisle rise.
+She came forward and stood before Lady Rythdale.
+
+The feeling of shyness and of being bound were both rather increased by
+all she saw and felt around her. The place was a winter parlour or
+sitting-room, luxuriously hung and furnished with red, which made a
+rich glow in the air. At one side a glass door revealed a glow of
+another sort from the hues of tropical flowers gorgeously blooming in a
+small conservatory; on another side of the room, where Lady Rythdale
+sat and her son stood, a fire of noble logs softly burned in an ample
+chimney. All around the evidences of wealth and a certain sort of power
+were multiplied; not newly there but native; in a style of things very
+different from Eleanor's own simple household. She stood before the
+fire, feeling all this without looking up, her eye resting on the
+exquisite mat of Berlin wool on which Lady Rythdale's foot rested. That
+lady surveyed her.
+
+"So you have come," she said. "Macintosh said he would bring you."
+
+Eleanor answered for the moment with tact and temper almost equal to
+her lover's, "Madam--you know Mr. Carlisle."
+
+How satisfied they both looked, she did not see; but she felt it,
+through every nerve, as Mr. Carlisle took her hands and placed her in a
+great chair, that she had pleased him thoroughly. He remained standing
+beside her, leaning on her chair, watching her varying colour no doubt.
+A few commonplaces followed, and then the talk fell to the mother and
+son who had some affairs to speak about. Eleanor's eye went to the
+glass door beyond which the flowers beckoned her; she longed to go to
+them; but though feeling that bands were all round her which were
+drawing her and would draw her to be at home in that house, she would
+not of her own will take one step that way; she would assume nothing,
+not even the right of a stranger. So she only looked at the distant
+flowers, and thought, and ceased to hear the conversation she did not
+understand. But all this while Lady Rythdale was taking note of her. A
+pause came, and Eleanor became conscious that she was a subject of
+consideration.
+
+"You will have a very pretty wife, Macintosh," said the baroness
+bluntly and benignly.
+
+The rush of colour to her face Eleanor felt as if she could hardly
+bear. She had much ado not to put up her hands like a child.
+
+"You must have mercy on her, mamma," said Mr. Carlisle, walking off to
+a bookcase. "She has the uncommon grace of modesty."
+
+"It is no use," said Lady Rythdale. "She may as well get accustomed to
+it. Others will tell her, if you do not."
+
+There was silence. Eleanor felt displeased.
+
+"Is she as good as she is pretty?" enquired Lady Rythdale.
+
+"No, ma'am," said Eleanor in a low voice. The baroness laughed. Her son
+smiled. Eleanor was vexed at herself for speaking.
+
+"Mamma, is not Rochefoucauld here somewhere?"
+
+"Rochefoucauld? what do you want of him?"
+
+"I want to call this lady to account for some of her opinions. Here he
+is. Now Eleanor," said he tossing the book into her lap and sitting
+down beside her,--"justify yourself."
+
+Eleanor guessed he wanted to draw her out. She was not very ready. She
+turned over slowly the leaves of the book. Meanwhile Lady Rythdale
+again engaged her son in conversation which entirely overlooked her;
+and Eleanor thought her own thoughts; till Mr. Carlisle said with a
+little tone of triumph, "Well, Eleanor?--"
+
+"What is it?" said Lady Rythdale.
+
+"Human nature, ma'am; that is the question."
+
+"Only Rochefoucauld's exposition of it," said Eleanor.
+
+"Well, go on. Prove him false."
+
+"But when I have done it by the sun-dial, you will make me wrong by the
+clock."
+
+"Instance! instance!" said Mr. Carlisle laughing.
+
+"Take this. 'La magnanimité est assez bien définie par son nom même;
+néanmoins on pourroit dire que c'est le bon sens de l'orgueil, et la
+voie la plus noble pour recevoir des louanges.' Could anything be
+further from the truth than that?"
+
+"What is your idea of magnanimity? You do not think 'the good sense of
+pride' expresses it?"
+
+"It is not a matter of calculation at all; and I do not think it is
+beholden to anything so low as pride for its origin."
+
+"I am afraid we should not agree in our estimation of pride," said Mr.
+Carlisle, amused; "you had better go on to something else. The want of
+ambition may indicate a deficiency in that quality--or an excess of it.
+Which, Eleanor?"
+
+"Rochefoucauld says, 'La modération est comme la sobriété: on voudroit
+bien manger davantage, mais on craint de se faire mal.'"
+
+"What have you to say against that?"
+
+"Nothing. It speaks for itself. And these two sayings alone prove that
+he had no knowledge of what is really noble in men."
+
+"Very few have," said Mr. Carlisle dryly.
+
+"But you do not agree with him?"
+
+"Not in these two instances. I have a living confutation at my side."
+
+"Her accent is not perfect by any means," said Lady Rythdale.
+
+"You are right, madam," said Eleanor, with a moment's hesitation and a
+little colour. "I had good advantages at school, but I did not avail
+myself of them fully."
+
+"I know whose temper is perfect," said Mr. Carlisle, drawing the book
+from her hand and whispering, "Do you want to see the flowers?"
+
+He was not pleased, Eleanor saw; he carried her off to the conservatory
+and walked about with her there, watching her pleasure. She wished she
+could have been alone. The flowers were quite a different society from
+Lady Rythdale's, and drew off her thoughts into a different channel.
+The roses looked sweetness at her; the Dendrobium shone in purity;
+myrtles and ferns and some exquisite foreign plants that she knew not
+by name, were the very prime of elegant refinement and refreshing
+suggestion. Eleanor plucked a geranium leaf and bruised it and thoughts
+together under her finger. Mr. Carlisle was called in and for a moment
+she was left to herself. When he came back his first action was to
+gather a very superb rose and fasten it in her hair. Eleanor tried to
+arrest his hand, but he prevented her.
+
+"I do not like it, Macintosh. Lady Rythdale does not know me. Do not
+adorn me here!"
+
+"Your appearance here is my affair," said he coolly. "Eleanor, I have a
+request to make. My mother would like to hear you sing."
+
+"Sing! I am afraid I should not please Lady Rythdale."
+
+"Will you please me?"
+
+Eleanor quitted his hand and went to the door of communication with the
+red parlour, which was by two or three steps, on which she sat down.
+Her eyes were on the floor, where the object they encountered was Mr.
+Carlisle's spurs. That would not do; she buried them in the depths of a
+wonderful white lily, and so sang the old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.
+And so sweet and pure, so natural and wild, was her giving of the wild
+old song, as if it could have come out of the throat of the flower. The
+thrill of her voice was as a leaf trembles on its stem. No art there;
+it was unadulterated nature. A very delicious voice had been spoiled by
+no master; the soul of the singer rendered the soul of the song. The
+listeners did both of them, to do them justice, hold their breath till
+she had done. Then Mr. Carlisle brought her in, to luncheon, in
+triumph; rose and all.
+
+"You have a very remarkable voice, my dear!" said Lady Rythdale. "Do
+you always sing such melancholy things?"
+
+"You must take my mother's compliments, Nellie, as you would olives--it
+takes a little while to get accustomed to them."
+
+Eleanor thought so.
+
+"Do not you spoil her with sweet things," said the baroness. "Come
+here, child--let me look at you. You have certainly as pretty a head of
+hair as ever I saw. Did you put in that rose?"
+
+"No, ma'am," said Eleanor, blushing with somewhat besides pleasure.
+
+Much to her amazement, the next thing was Lady Rythdale's taking her in
+her arms and kissing her. Nor was Eleanor immediately released; not
+until she had been held and looked over and caressed to the content of
+the old baroness, and Eleanor's cheeks were in a state of furious
+protestation. She was dismissed at last with the assurance to Mr.
+Carlisle that she was "an innocent little thing."
+
+"But she is not one of those people who are good because they have not
+force to be anything else, Macintosh."
+
+"I hope not."
+
+After this, however, Eleanor was spared further discussion. Luncheon
+came in; and during the whole discussion of that she was well petted,
+both by the mother and son. She felt that she could never break the
+nets that enclosed her; this day thoroughly achieved that conclusion to
+Eleanor's mind. Yet with a proud sort of mental reservation, she
+shunned the delicacies that belonged to Rythdale House, and would have
+made her luncheon with the simplicity of an anchorite on honey and
+bread, as she might at home. She was very gently overruled, and made to
+do as she would not at home. Eleanor was not insensible to this sort of
+petting and care; the charm of it stole over her, even while it made
+her hopeless. And hopelessness said, she had better make the most of
+all the good that fell to her lot. To be seated in the heart of
+Rythdale House and in the heart of its master, involved a worldly lot
+as fair at least as imagination could picture. Eleanor was made to
+taste it to-day, all luncheon time, and when after luncheon Mr.
+Carlisle pleased himself with making his mother and her quarrel over
+Rochefoucauld; in a leisurely sort of enjoyment that spoke him in no
+haste to put an end to the day. At last, and not till the afternoon was
+waning, he ordered the horses. Eleanor was put on Black Maggie and
+taken home at a gentle pace.
+
+"I do not understand," said Eleanor as they passed through the ruins,
+"why the House is called 'the Priory.' The priory buildings are here."
+
+"There too," said Mr. Carlisle. "The oldest foundations are really up
+there; and part of the superstructure is still hidden within the modern
+walls. After they had established themselves up there, the monks became
+possessed of the richer sheltered lands of the valley and moved
+themselves and their headquarters accordingly."
+
+The gloom of the afternoon was already gathering over the old tower of
+the priory church. The influence of the place and time went to swell
+the under current of Eleanor's thoughts and bring it nearer to the
+surface. It would have driven her into silence, but that she did not
+choose that it should. She met Mr. Carlisle's conversation, all the
+way, with the sort of subdued gentleness that had been upon her and
+which the day's work had deepened. Nevertheless, when Eleanor went in
+at home, and the day's work lay behind her, and Rythdale's master was
+gone, and all the fascinations the day had presented to her presented
+themselves anew to her imagination, Eleanor thought with sinking of
+heart--that what Jane Lewis had was better than all. So she went to bed
+that night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+AT BROMPTON.
+
+
+  "Why, and I trust, and I may go too. May I not?
+  What, shall I be appointed hours: as though, belike,
+  I know not what to take and what to leave? Ha!"
+
+
+"Eleanor, what is the matter?" said Julia one day. For Eleanor was
+found in her room in tears.
+
+"Nothing--I am going to ruin only;--that is all."
+
+"Going to _what?_ Why Eleanor--what is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing--if not that."
+
+"Why Eleanor!" said the little one in growing astonishment, for
+Eleanor's distress was evidently great, and jumping at conclusions with
+a child's recklessness,--"Eleanor!--don't you want to be married?"
+
+"Hush! hush!" exclaimed Eleanor rousing herself up. "How dare you talk
+so, I did not say anything about being married."
+
+"No, but you don't seem glad," said Julia.
+
+"Glad! I don't know that I ever shall feel glad again--unless I get
+insensible--and that would be worse."
+
+"Oh Eleanor! what is it? do tell me!"
+
+"I have made a mistake, that is all, Julia," her sister said with
+forced calmness. "I want time to think and to get right, and to be
+good--then I could be in peace, I think; but I am in such a confusion
+of everything, I only know I am drifting on like a ship to the rocks. I
+can't catch my breath."
+
+"Don't you want to go to the Priory?" said the little one, in a low,
+awe-struck voice.
+
+"I want something else first," said Eleanor evasively. "I am not ready
+to go anywhere, or do anything, till I feel better."
+
+"I wish you could see Mr. Rhys," said Julia. "He would help you to feel
+better, I know."
+
+Eleanor was silent, shedding tears quietly.
+
+"Couldn't you come down and see him, Eleanor?"
+
+"Child, how absurdly you talk! Do not speak of Mr. Rhys to me or to any
+one else--unless you want him sent out of the village."
+
+"Why, who would send him?" said Julia. "But he is going without
+anybody's sending him. He is going as soon as he gets well, and he says
+that will be very soon." Julia spoke very sorrowfully. "He is well
+enough to preach again. He is going to preach at Brompton. I wish I
+could hear him."
+
+"When?"
+
+"Next Monday evening."
+
+"_Monday_ evening?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I shall want to purchase things at Brompton Monday," said Eleanor to
+herself, her heart leaping up light. "I shall take the carriage and go."
+
+"Where will he preach in Brompton, Julia? Is it anything of an
+extraordinary occasion?"
+
+"No. I don't know. O, he will be in the--I don't know! You know what
+Mr. Rhys is. He is something--he isn't like what we are."
+
+"Now if I go to the Methodist Chapel at Brompton," thought Eleanor, "it
+will raise a storm that will either break me on the rocks, or land me
+on shore. I will do it. This is my very last chance."
+
+She sat before the fire, pondering over her arrangements. Julia nestled
+up beside her, affectionate but mute, and laid her head caressingly
+against her sister's arm. Eleanor felt the action, though she took no
+notice of it. Both remained still for some little time.
+
+"What would you like, Julia?" her sister began slowly. "What shall I do
+to please you, before I leave home? What would you choose I should give
+you?"
+
+"Give _me?_ Are you going to give me anything?"
+
+"I would like to please you before I go away--if I knew how. Do you
+know how I can?"
+
+"O Eleanor! Mr. Rhys wants something very much--If I could give it to
+him!--"
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"He has nothing to write on--nothing but an old portfolio; and that
+don't keep his pens and ink; and for travelling, you know, when he goes
+away, if he had a writing case like yours--wouldn't it be nice? O
+Eleanor, I thought of that the other day, but I had no money. What do
+you think?"
+
+"Excellent," said Eleanor. "Keep your own counsel, Julia; and you and I
+will go some day soon, and see what we can find."
+
+"Where will you go? to Brompton?"
+
+"Of course. There is no other place to go to. But keep your own
+counsel, Julia."
+
+If Julia kept her own counsel, she did not so well know how to keep her
+sister's; for the very next day, when she was at Mrs. Williams's
+cottage, the sight of the old portfolio brought up her talk with
+Eleanor and all that had led to it; and Julia out and spoke.
+
+"Mr. Rhys, I don't believe that Eleanor wants to be married and go to
+Rythdale Priory."
+
+Mr. Rhys's first movement was to rise and see that the door of
+communication with the next room was securely shut; then as he sat down
+to his writing again he said gravely,
+
+"You ought to be very careful how you make such remarks, Julia. You
+might without knowing it, do great harm. You are probably very much
+mistaken."
+
+"I am careful, Mr. Rhys. I only said it to you."
+
+"You had better not say it to me. And I hope you will say it to nobody
+else."
+
+"But I want to speak to somebody," said Julia; "and she was crying in
+her room yesterday as hard as she could. I do not believe, she wants to
+go to Rythdale!"
+
+Julia spoke the last words with slow enunciation, like an oracle. Mr.
+Rhys looked up from his writing and smiled at her a little, though he
+answered very seriously.
+
+"You ought to remember, Julia, that there might be many things to
+trouble your sister on leaving home for the last time, without going to
+any such extravagant supposition as that she does not want to leave it.
+Miss Eleanor may have other cause for sorrow, quite unconnected with
+that."
+
+"I know she has, too," said Julia. "I think Eleanor wants to be a
+Christian."
+
+He looked up again with one of his grave keen glances.
+
+"What makes you think it, Julia?"
+
+"She said she wanted to be good, and that she was not ready for
+anything till she felt better; and I know _that_ was what she meant. Do
+you think Mr. Carlisle is good, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I have hardly an acquaintance with Mr. Carlisle. Pray for your sister,
+Julia, but do not talk about her; and now let me write."
+
+The days rolled on quietly at Ivy Lodge, until Monday came. Eleanor had
+kept herself in order and given general satisfaction. When Monday came
+she announced boldly that she was going to give the afternoon of that
+day to her little sister. It should be spent for Julia's pleasure, and
+so they two would take the carriage and go to Brompton and be alone. It
+was a purpose that could not very well be interfered with. Mr. Carlisle
+grumbled a little, not ill-humouredly, but withdrew opposition; and
+Mrs. Powle made none. However the day turned very disagreeable by
+afternoon, and she proposed a postponement.
+
+"It is my last chance," said Eleanor. "Julia shall have this afternoon,
+if I never do it again." So they went.
+
+The little one full of joy and anticipation; the elder grave,
+abstracted, unhappy. The day was gloomy and cloudy and windy. Eleanor
+looked out upon the driving grey clouds, and wondered if she was
+driving to her fate, at Brompton. She could not help wishing the sun
+would shine on her fate, whatever it was; but the chill gloom that
+enveloped the fields and the roads was all in keeping with the piece of
+her life she was traversing then. Too much, too much. She could not
+rouse herself from extreme depression; and Julia, felling it, could
+only remark over and over that it was "a nasty day."
+
+It was better when they got to the town. Brompton was a quaint old
+town, where comparatively little modernising had come, except in the
+contents of the shops, and the exteriors of a few buildings. The tower
+of a very beautiful old church lifted its head above the mass of
+house-roofs as they drew near the place; in the town the streets were
+irregular and narrow and of ancient fashion in great part. Here however
+the gloom of the day was much lost. What light there was, was broken
+and shadowed by many a jutting out stone in the old mason-work, many,
+many a recess and projecting house-front or roof or doorway; the broad
+grey uniformity of dulness that brooded over the open landscape, was
+not here to be felt. Quaint interest, quaint beauty, the savour of
+things old and quiet and stable, had a stimulating and a soothing
+effect too. Eleanor roused up to business, and business gave its usual
+meed of refreshment and strength. She and Julia had a good shopping
+time. It was a burden of love with the little one to see that
+everything about the proposed purchase was precisely and entirely what
+it should be; and Eleanor seconded her and gave her her heart's content
+of pleasure; going from shop to shop, patiently looking for all they
+wanted, till it was found. Julia's joy was complete, and shone in her
+face. The face of the other grew dark and anxious. They had got into
+the carriage to go to another shop for some trifle Eleanor wanted.
+
+"Julia, would you like to stay and hear Mr. Rhys speak to-night?"
+
+"O wouldn't I! But we can't, you know."
+
+"I am going to stay."
+
+"And going to hear him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"O Eleanor! Does mamma know?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But she will be frightened, if we are not come home."
+
+"Then you can take the carriage home and tell her; and send the little
+waggon or my pony for me."
+
+"Couldn't you send one of the men?"
+
+"Yes, and then I should have Mr. Carlisle come after me. No, if I send,
+you must go."
+
+"Wouldn't he like it?"
+
+"It is no matter whether he would like it or no. I am going to stay.
+You can do as you please."
+
+"I would like to stay!" said Julia eagerly. "O Eleanor, I want to stay!
+But mamma would be so frightened. Eleanor, do you think it is right?"
+
+"It is right for me," said Eleanor. "It is the only thing I can do. If
+it displeased all the world, I should stay. You may choose what you
+will do. If the horses go home, they cannot come back again; the waggon
+and old Roger, or my pony, would have to come for me--with Thomas."
+
+Julia debated, sighed, shewed great anxiety for Eleanor, great
+difficulty of deciding, but finally concluded even with tears that it
+would not be _right_ for her to stay. The carriage went home with her
+and her purchases; Thomas, the old coachman, having answered with
+surprised alacrity to the question, whether he knew where the Wesleyan
+chapel in Brompton was. He was to come back for Eleanor and be with the
+waggon there. Eleanor herself went to spend the intermediate time
+before the hour of service, and take tea, at the house of a little
+lawyer in the town whom her father employed, and whose wife she knew
+would be overjoyed at the honour thus done her. It was not perhaps the
+best choice of a resting-place that Eleanor could have made; for it was
+a sure and certain fountain head of gossip; but she was in no mood to
+care for that just now, and desired above all things, not to take
+shelter in any house where a message or an emissary from the Lodge or
+the Priory would be likely to find her; nor in one where her
+proceedings would be gravely looked into. At Mrs. Pinchbeck's
+hospitable tea-table she was very secure from both. There was nothing
+but sweetmeats there!
+
+Mrs. Pinchbeck was a lively lady, in a profusion of little fair curls
+all over her head and a piece of flannel round her throat. She was very
+voluble, though her voice was very hoarse. Indeed she left nothing
+untold that there was time to tell. She gave Eleanor an account of all
+Brompton's doings; of her own; of Mr. Pinchbeck's; and of the doings of
+young Master Pinchbeck, who was happily in bed, and who she declared,
+when _not_ in bed was too much for her. Meanwhile Mr. Pinchbeck, who
+was a black-haired, ordinarily somewhat grim looking man, now with his
+grimness all gilded in smiles, pressed the sweetmeats; and looked his
+beaming delight at the occasion. Eleanor felt miserably out of place;
+even Mrs. Pinchbeck's flannel round her throat helped her to question
+whether she were not altogether wrong and mistaken in her present
+undertaking. But though she felt miserable, and even trembled with a
+sort of speculative doubt that came over her, she did not in the least
+hesitate in her course. Eleanor was not made of that stuff. Certainly
+she was where she had no business to be, at Mrs. Pinchbeck's tea-table,
+and Mr. Pinchbeck had no business to be offering her sweetmeats; but it
+was a miserable necessity of the straits to which she found herself
+driven. She must go to the Wesleyan chapel that evening; she would,
+_coûte que coûte_. _There_ she dared public opinion; the opinion of the
+Priory and the Lodge. _Here_, she confessed said opinion was right.
+
+One good effect of the vocal entertainment to which she was subjected,
+was that Eleanor herself was not called upon for many words. She
+listened, and tasted sweetmeats; that was enough, and the Pinchbecks
+were satisfied. When the time of durance was over, for she was
+nervously impatient, and the hour of the chapel service was come,
+Eleanor had not a little difficulty to escape from the offers of
+attendance and of service which both her host and hostess pressed upon
+her. If her carriage was to meet her at a little distance, let Mr.
+Pinchbeck by all means see her into it; and if it was not yet come, at
+least let her wait where she was while Mr. P. went to make inquiries.
+Or stay all night! Mrs. Pinchbeck would be delighted. By steady
+determination Eleanor at last succeeded in getting out of the house and
+into the street alone. Her heart beat then, fast and hard; it had been
+giving premonitory starts all the evening. In a very sombre mood of
+mind, she made her way in the chill wind along the streets, feeling
+herself a wanderer, every way. The chapel she sought was not far off;
+lights were blazing there, though the streets were gloomy. Eleanor made
+a quiet entrance into the warm house, and sat down; feeling as if the
+crisis of her fate had come. She did not care now about hiding herself;
+she went straight up the centre aisle and took a seat about half way in
+the building, at the end of a pew already filled all but that one
+place. The house was going to be crowded and a great many people were
+already there, though it was still very early.
+
+The warmth after the cold streets, and the silence, and the solitude,
+after being exposed to Mrs. Pinchbeck's tongue and to her observation,
+made a lull in Eleanor's mind for a moment. Then, with the waywardness
+of action which thought and feeling often take in unwonted situations,
+she began to wonder whether it could be right to be there--not only for
+her, but for anybody. That large, light, plain apartment, looking not
+half so stately as the saloon of a country house; could that be a
+proper place for people to meet for divine service? It was better than
+a barn, still was that a fit _church?_ The windows blank and staring
+with white glass; the woodwork unadorned and merely painted; a little
+stir of feet coming in and garments rustling, the only sound. She
+missed the full swell of the organ, which itself might have seemed to
+clothe even bare boards. Nothing of all that; nothing of what she
+esteemed dignified, or noble, or sacred; a mere business-looking house,
+with that simple raised platform and little desk--was Eleanor right to
+be there? Was anybody else? Poor child, she felt wrong every way, there
+or not there; but these thoughts tormented her. They tormented her only
+till Mr. Rhys came in. When she saw him, as it had been that evening in
+the barn, they quieted instantly. To her mind he was a guaranty for the
+righteousness of all in which he was concerned; different as it might
+be from all to which she had been accustomed. Such a guaranty, that
+Eleanor's mind was almost ready to leap to the other conclusion, and
+account wrong whatever the difference put on another side from him. She
+watched him now, as he went with a quick step to the pulpit, or
+platform as she called it, and mounting it, kneeled down beside one of
+the chairs that stood there. Eleanor was accustomed to that action; she
+had seen clergymen a million of times come into the pulpit, and always
+kneel; but it was not like this. Always an ample cushion lay ready for
+the knees that sank upon it; the step was measured; the movement slow;
+every line was of grace and propriety; the full-robed form bowed
+reverently, and the face was buried in a white cloud of cambric. Here,
+a tall figure, attired only in his ordinary dress, went with quick,
+decided step up to the place; there dropped upon one knee, hiding his
+face with his hand; without seeming to care where, and certainly
+without remembering that there was nothing but an ingrain carpet
+between his knee and the floor. But Eleanor knew what this man was
+about; and an instant sense of sacredness and awe stole over her,
+beyond what any organ-peals or richness of Gothic work had ever
+brought. Then she rejoiced that she was where she was. To be there,
+could not be wrong.
+
+The house was full and still. The beginning of the service again was
+the singing; here richer and fuller voiced than it had been in the
+barn. Somebody else made the prayers; to her sorrow; but then Mr. Rhys
+rose, and her eye and ear were all for him. She threw back her veil
+now. She was quite willing that he should see her; quite willing that
+if he had any message of help or warning for her in the course of his
+sermon, he should deliver it. He saw her, she knew, immediately. She
+rather fancied that he saw everybody.
+
+It was to be a missionary sermon, Eleanor had understood; but she
+thought it was a very strange one. The text was, "Render to Caesar the
+things that are Caesar's; and to God the things that are God's."
+
+The question was, "What are the Lord's things?"
+
+Mr. Rhys seemed to be only talking to the people, as his bright eye
+went round the house and he went on to answer this question. Or rather
+to suggest answers.
+
+Jacob's offering of devotion and gratitude was a tenth part of his
+possessions. "And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me,
+and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat,
+and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in
+peace; then shall the Lord be my God: and this stone, which I have set
+for a pillar, shall be God's house; and of all that thou shalt give me,
+I will surely give the tenth unto thee."
+
+Mr. Rhys announced this. He did not comment upon it at all. He went on
+to say, that the commandment given by Moses appointed the same offering.
+
+"And all the tithe of the land, whether of the seed of the land, or of
+the fruit of the tree, is the Lord's: it is holy unto the Lord. And if
+a man will at all redeem ought of his tithes, he shall add thereto the
+fifth part thereof. And concerning the tithe of the herd, or of the
+flock, even of whatsoever passeth under the rod, the tenth shall be
+holy unto the Lord. He shall not search whether it be good or bad,
+neither shall he change it; and if he change it at all, then both it
+and the change thereof shall be holy; it shall not be redeemed."
+
+So that it appeared, that the least the Lord would receive as a due
+offering to him from his people, was a fair and full tenth part of all
+they possessed. This was required, from those that were only nominally
+his people. How about those that render to him heart-service?
+
+David's declaration, when laying up provision for the building of the
+temple, was that _all_ was the Lord's. "Who am I, and what is my
+people, that we should be able to offer so willingly after this sort?
+for all things come of thee, and of thine own have we given thee... O
+Lord our God, all this store that we have prepared to build thee an
+house for thy holy name cometh of thine hand, and is all thine own."
+And God himself, in the fiftieth psalm, claims to be the one sole owner
+and proprietor, when he says, "Every beast of the forest is mine, and
+the cattle upon a thousand hills."
+
+But some people may think, that is a sort of natural and providential
+right, which the Creator exercises over the works of his hands. Come a
+little closer.
+
+"The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the Lord of
+Hosts."--So it was declared by his prophet Haggai. And by another of
+his servants, the Lord told the people that their own prospering in the
+various goods of this world, would be according to their faithfulness
+in serving him with them.
+
+"Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we
+robbed thee? In tithes and offerings. Ye are cursed with a curse; for
+ye have robbed me, even this whole nation.
+
+"Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in
+mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I
+will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing,
+that there shall not be room enough to receive it."
+
+So that it is not grace nor bounty the Lord receives at our hands in
+such offerings; it is simply _his own_.
+
+Then it must be considered that those were the times of the old
+dispensation; of an expensive system of sacrifices and temple worship;
+with a great body of the priesthood to be maintained and supplied in
+all their services and private household wants. We live in changed
+times, under a different rule. What do the Lord's servants owe him now?
+
+The speaker had gone on with the utmost quietness of manner from one of
+these instances to another; using hardly any gestures; uttering only
+with slow distinctness and deliberation his sentences one after the
+other; his face and eye meanwhile commanding the whole assembly. He
+went on now with the same quietness, perhaps with a little more
+deliberateness of accentuation, and an additional spark of fire now and
+then in his glance.
+
+There was a widow woman once, who threw into the Lord's treasury two
+mites, which make a farthing; but it was _all her living_. Again, we
+read that among the first Christians, "all that believed were together,
+and had all things common; and sold their possessions and goods, and
+parted them to all men, as every man had need." "The multitude of them
+that believed were of one heart, and of one soul; neither said any of
+them that ought of the things which he possessed was his own; but they
+had all things common."
+
+Were these people extravagant? They overwent the judgment of the
+present day. By what rule shall we try them?
+
+Christ's rule is, "Freely ye have received; freely give." What have we
+received?
+
+Friends, "you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he
+was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his
+poverty might be rich." And the judgment of the old Christian church
+accorded with this; for they said,--"The love of Christ constraineth
+us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all
+dead; and that he died for all, that they which live should not
+henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them, and
+rose again." Were they extravagant?
+
+But Christ has given us a closer rule to try the question by. He told
+his disciples, "This is my commandment, That ye love one another, _as I
+have loved you_." Does any one ask how that was? The Lord tells us in
+the next breath. It was no theoretical feeling. "_Greater love hath no
+man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends_." "A new
+commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved
+you, that ye also love one another."
+
+Pausing there in his course, with fire and tenderness breaking out in
+his face and manner, that gave him a kind of seraphic look, the speaker
+burst forth into a description of the love of Christ, that before long
+bowed the heads and hearts of his audience as one man. Sobs and
+whispers and smothered cries, murmured from all parts of the church;
+the whole assembly was broken down, while the preacher stood like some
+heavenly messenger and spoke his Master's name. When he ceased, the
+suppressed noise of sobs was alone to be heard all over the house. He
+paused a little, and began again very quietly, but with an added
+tenderness in his voice,
+
+"He that saith he abideth in him, ought himself also so to walk, even
+as he walked."--"Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid
+down his life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the
+brethren."
+
+He paused again; every one there knew that he was ready to act on the
+principle he enounced; that he was speaking only of what he had proved;
+and the heads of the assembly bent lower still.
+
+Does any one ask, What shall we do now? there is no temple to be
+maintained, nor course of sacrifices to be kept up, nor ceremonial
+worship, nor Levitical body of priests to be supported and fed. What
+shall we give our lives and our fortunes to now, if we give them?
+
+"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."
+Is the gospel dear to you? Is salvation worth having? Think of those
+who know nothing of it; and then think of Christ's command, "Feed my
+sheep." They are scattered upon all lands, the sheep that he died for;
+who shall gather them in? In China they worship a heap of ashes; in
+India they adore monsters; in Fiji they live to kill and eat one
+another; in Africa they sit in the darkness of centuries, till almost
+the spark of humanity is quenched out. "Whosoever shall call upon the
+name of the Lord shall be saved." But "how shall they call on him in
+whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom
+they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? and
+how shall they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How
+beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and
+bring glad tidings of good things!"
+
+"O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high
+mountain: O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy voice
+with strength; lift it up, be not afraid; say unto the cities of Judah,
+Behold your God!"
+
+"The Spirit and the bride say, come. And let him that heareth say,
+come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him
+take the water of life freely."----
+
+It was in the midst of the deepest stillness, and in low kept-under
+tones, that the last words were spoken. And when they ceased, a great
+hush still remained upon the assembly. It was broken by prayer; sweet,
+solemn, rapt, such as some there had never heard before; such as some
+there knew well. When Mr. Rhys had stopped, another began. The whole
+house was still with tears.
+
+There was one bowed heart there, which had divided subjects of
+consideration; there was one hidden face which had a double motive for
+being hid. Eleanor had been absorbed in the entrancing interest of the
+time, listening with moveless eyes, and borne away from all her own
+subjects of care and difficulty on the swelling tide of thought and
+emotion which heaved the whole assembly. Till her own head was bent
+beneath its power, and her tears sought to be covered from view. She
+did not move from that attitude; until, lifting her head near the close
+of the sermon, as soon as she could get it up in fact, that she might
+see as much as possible of those wonderful looks she might never see
+again; a slight chance turn of her head brought another idea into her
+mind. A little behind her in the aisle, standing but a pace or two off,
+was a figure that for one instant made all Eleanor's blood stand still.
+She could not see it distinctly; she did not see the face of the person
+at all; it was only the merest glimpse of some outlines, the least line
+of a coat and vision of an arm and hand resting on a pew door. But if
+that arm and hand did not belong to somebody she knew, in Eleanor's
+belief it belonged to nobody living. It was not the colour of cloth nor
+the cut of a dress; it was the indefinable character of that arm and
+man's glove, seen with but half an eye. But it made her sure that Mr.
+Carlisle, in living flesh and blood, stood there, in the Wesleyan
+chapel though it was. Eleanor cared curiously little about it, after
+the first start. She felt set free, in the deep high engagement of her
+thoughts at the time, and the roused and determined state of feeling
+they had produced. She did not fear Mr. Carlisle. She was quite willing
+he should have seen her there. It was what she wished, that he should
+know of her doing. And his neighbourhood in that place did not hinder
+her full attention and enjoyment of every word that was spoken. It did
+not check her tears, nor stifle the swelling of her heart under the
+preaching and under the prayers. Nevertheless Eleanor was conscious of
+it all the time; and became conscious too that the service would before
+very long come to a close; and then without doubt that quiet glove
+would have something to do with her. Eleanor did not reason nor stop to
+think about it. Her heart was full, full, under the appeals made and
+the working of conscience with them; conscience and tenderer feelings,
+which strove together and yet found no rest; and this action the sight
+of Mr. Carlisle rather intensified. Were her head but covered by that
+helmet of salvation, under which others lived and walked so royally
+secure,--and she could bid defiance to any disturbing force that could
+meet her, she thought, in this world.
+
+It was while Eleanor's head was yet bowed, and her heart busy with
+these struggling feelings, that she heard an invitation given to all
+people who were not at peace in their hearts and who desired that
+Christians should pray for them,--to come forward and so signify their
+wish. Eleanor did not understand what this could mean; and hearing a
+stir in the church, she looked up, if perhaps her eyes might give her
+information. To her surprise she saw that numbers of people were
+leaving their seats, and going forward to what she would have called
+the chancel rails, where they all knelt down. All these persons, then,
+were in like condition with her; unhappy in the consciousness of their
+wants, and not knowing how to supply them. So many! And so many willing
+openly to confess it. Eleanor's heart moved strangely towards them. And
+then darted into her head an impulse, quick as lightning and almost as
+startling, that she should join herself to them and go forward as they
+were doing. Was not her heart mourning for the very same want that they
+felt? She had reason enough. No one in that room sought the forgiveness
+of God and peace with him more earnestly than she, nor with a sorer
+heart; nor felt more ignorant how to gain it. Together with that
+another thought, both of them acting with the swiftness and power of a
+lightning flash, moved Eleanor. Would it not utterly disgust Mr.
+Carlisle, if she took this step? would he wish to have any more to do
+with her, after she should have gone forward publicly to ask for
+prayers in a Wesleyan chapel? It would prove to him at least how far
+apart they were in all their views and feelings. It would clear her way
+for her; and the next moment, doing it cunningly that she might not be
+intercepted, Eleanor Powle slipped out of her seat with a quick
+movement, just before some one else who was coming up the aisle, and so
+put that person for that one second of danger between her and the
+waiting figure whom she knew without looking at. That second was
+gained, and she went trembling with agitation, yet exultingly, up the
+aisle and knelt on the low bench where the others were.
+
+Mr. Carlisle and escape from him, had been Eleanor's one thought till
+she got there. But as her knees sank upon the cushion and her head
+bowed upon the rails, a flood of other feeling swept over her and Mr.
+Carlisle was forgotten. The sense of what she was committing herself
+to--of the open stand she was taking as a sinner, and one who desired
+to be a forgiven sinner,--overwhelmed her; and her heart's great cry
+for peace and purity broke forth to the exclusion of everything else.
+
+In the confusion of Eleanor's mind, she did not know in the least what
+was going on around her in the church. She did not hear if they were
+praying or singing. She tried to pray for herself; she knew not what
+others were doing; till she heard some low whispered words near her.
+That sound startled her into attention; for she knew the accent of one
+voice that spoke. The other, if one answered, she could not discern;
+but she found with a start of mingled fear and pleasure that Mr. Rhys
+was speaking separately with the persons kneeling around the rails. She
+had only time to clear her voice from tears, before that same low
+whisper came beside her.
+
+"What is your difficulty?"
+
+"Darkness--confusion--I do not see what way to go."
+
+"Go _no_ way," said the whisper impressively, "until you see clearly.
+Then do what is right. That is the first point. You know that Christ is
+the fountain of light?"
+
+"But I see none."
+
+"Seek him trustingly, and obediently; and then look for the light to
+come, as you would for the dawning after a dark night. It is sure, if
+you will trust the Lord. His going forth is prepared as the morning. It
+is sure to come, to all that seek him, trust him, and obey him. Seek
+him in prayer constantly, and in studying your Bible; and what you find
+to be your duty, do; and the Lord be with you!"
+
+He passed away from Eleanor; and presently the whole assembly struck up
+a hymn. It sounded like a sweet shout of melody at the time; but
+Eleanor could never recall a note of it afterwards. She knew the
+service was nearly ended, and that in a few minutes she must quit her
+kneeling, sheltered position, and go out into the world again. She bent
+her heart to catch all the sweetness of the place and the time; for
+strange and confused as she felt, there was nevertheless an atmosphere
+fragrant with peace about both. The hymn came to an end; the
+congregation were dismissed, and Eleanor perforce turned her face to go
+down the aisle again.
+
+Her veil was down and she did not look, but she knew without looking
+just when she reached the spot where Mr. Carlisle stood. He stood there
+yet; he had only stepped a little aside to let the stream of people go
+past him; and now as Eleanor came up he assumed his place by her side
+and put her hand upon his arm as quietly as if he had been waiting
+there for her by appointment all along. So he led her out to the
+carriage in waiting for her, helped her into it, and took his place
+beside her; in silence, but with the utmost gentleness of demeanour.
+The carriage door was closed, they drove off; Eleanor's evening was
+over, and she was alone with Mr. Carlisle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+AT SUPPER.
+
+
+  _Mar_.     "Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan."
+  _Sir And_. "O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog."
+  _Sir Tob_. "What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason,
+             dear knight?"
+  _Sir And_. "I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason
+             good enough."
+
+
+What was to come now; as in darkness and silence the carriage rolled
+over the road towards Wiglands? Eleanor did not greatly care. She felt
+set free; outwardly, by her own daring act of separation; inwardly and
+more effectually perhaps, by the influence of the evening upon her own
+mind. In her own settled and matured conclusions, she felt that Mr.
+Carlisle's power over her was gone. It was a little of an annoyance to
+have him sitting there; nevertheless Eleanor's mind did not trouble
+itself much with him. Leaning back in the carriage, she gave herself up
+to the impressions of the scene she had been through. Her companion was
+quiet and made no demands upon her attention. She recalled over and
+over the words, and looks, of the sermon;--the swell of the music--it
+had been like angel's melody; and the soft words which had been so
+energetic in their whispered strength as she knelt at the railing. She
+remembered with fresh wonder and admiration, with what effect the Bible
+words in the first part of the sermon had come upon the audience
+through that extreme quietness of voice and delivery; and then with
+what sudden fire and life, as if he had become another man, the speaker
+had burst out to speak of his Master; and how it had swayed and bent
+the assembly. It was an entirely new view of Mr. Rhys, and Eleanor
+could not forget it. In general, as she had always seen him, though
+perfectly at ease in his manners he was very simple and
+undemonstrative. She had not guessed there was such might in him. It
+awed her; it delighted her. To live such a life and to do such work as
+that man lived for,--that was living indeed! That was noble, high,
+pure; unlike and O how far above all the manner of lives Eleanor had
+ever seen before. And such, in so far as the little may resemble the
+great, such at least so far as in her sphere and abilities and sadly
+inferior moral qualities it might lie--such in aim and direction at
+least, her own life should be. What had she to do with Mr. Carlisle?
+
+Eleanor never spoke to him during the long drive, forgetting as far as
+she could, though a little uneasiness grew upon her by degrees, that he
+was even present. And he did not speak to her, nor remind her of his
+presence otherwise than by pulling up the glass on her side when the
+wind blew in too chill. It was _his_ carriage they were in, Eleanor
+then perceived; and she wanted to ask a question; but on the whole
+concluded it safe to be still; according to the proverb, _Let sleeping
+dogs lie_. One other time he drew her shawl round her which she had let
+slip off.
+
+Mr. Carlisle was possessed of large self-control and had great
+perfection of tact; and he never shewed either more consummately than
+this night. What he underwent while standing in the aisle of the
+Chapel, was known to himself; he made it known to nobody else. He was
+certainly silent during the drive; that shewed him displeased; but
+every movement was calm as ordinary; his care of Eleanor was the same,
+in its mixture of gentle observance and authority. He had laid down
+neither. Eleanor could have wished he had been unable to keep one or
+the other. Would he keep her too, and everything else that he chose?
+Nothing is more subduing in its effect upon others, than evident power
+of self-command. Eleanor could not help feeling it, as she stepped out
+of the carriage at home, and was led into the house.
+
+"Will you give me a few minutes, when you have changed your dress?" her
+conductor asked.
+
+It must come, thought Eleanor, and as well now as ever; and she
+assented. Mr. Carlisle led her in. Nobody was in waiting but Mrs.
+Powle; and she waited with devouring anxiety. The Squire and Julia she
+had carefully disposed of in good time.
+
+"Eleanor is tired, Mrs. Powle, and so am I," said Mr. Carlisle. "Will
+you let us have some supper here, by this fire--and I think Eleanor had
+better have a cup of tea; as I cannot find out the wine that she
+likes." And as Eleanor moved away, he added,--"And let me beg you not
+to keep yourself from your rest any longer--I will take care of my
+charge; at least I will try."
+
+Devoutly hoping that he might succeed to his wishes, and not daring to
+shew the anxiety he did not move to gratify, Mrs. Powle took the hint
+of his gentle dismission; ordered the supper and withdrew. Meanwhile
+Eleanor went to her room, relieved at the quiet entrance that had been
+secured her, where she had looked for a storm; and a little puzzled
+what to make of Mr. Carlisle. A little afraid too, if the truth must be
+known; but she fell back upon Mr. Rhys's words of counsel--"Go no way,
+till you see clearly; and then do what is right." She took off her
+bonnet and smoothed her hair; and was about to go down, when she was
+checked by the remembrance of Mr. Carlisle's words, "when you have
+changed your dress." She told herself it was absurd; why should she
+change her dress for that half hour that she would be up; why should
+she mind that word of intimation; she called herself a fool for it;
+nevertheless, while saying these things Eleanor did the very thing she
+scouted at. She put off her riding dress, which the streets of Brompton
+and the Chapel aisles had seen that day, and changed it for a light
+grey drapery that fell about her in very graceful folds. She looked
+very lovely when she reëntered the drawing-room; the medium tint set
+off her own rich colours, and the laces at throat and wrist were just
+simple enough to aid the whole effect. Mr. Carlisle was a judge of
+dress; he was standing before the fire and surveyed her as she came in;
+and as Eleanor's foot faltered half way in the room, he came forward,
+took both her hands and led her to the fire, where he set her in a
+great chair by the supper-table; and then before he let her go, did
+what he had not meant to do; gave a very frank kiss to the lips that
+were so rich and pure and so near him. Eleanor's heart had sunk a
+little at perceiving that her mother was not in the room; and this
+action was far from reassuring. She would rather Mr. Carlisle had been
+angry. He was far more difficult to meet in this mood.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Carlisle brought her chair into more convenient
+neighbourhood to the table, and set a plate before her on which he went
+on to place whatever he thought fit. "I know what you are wanting," he
+said;--"but you shall not have a cup of tea unless I see you eat." And
+Eleanor eat, feeling the need of it, and the necessity of doing
+something likewise.
+
+Mr. Carlisle poured himself out a glass of wine and slowly drank it,
+watching her. Midway set it down; and himself made and poured out and
+sugared and creamed a cup of tea which he set beside Eleanor. It was
+done in the nicest way possible, with a manner that any woman would
+like to have wait on her. Eleanor tasted, and could not hold her tongue
+any more.
+
+"I did not know this was one of your accomplishments,"--she said
+without raising her eyes.
+
+"For you"--said Mr. Carlisle. "I believe it will never be exercised for
+anybody else."
+
+He slowly finished his wine while he watched her. He eat nothing
+himself, though Eleanor asked him, till she turned from her plate, and
+did what she had not done till then but could no longer withhold; let
+her eyes meet his.
+
+"Now," said he throwing himself into an opposite chair,--"I will take a
+cup of tea, if you will make it for me."
+
+Eleanor blushed--what made her?--as she set about performing this
+office. The tea was cold; she had to make fresh, and wait till it was
+ready; and she stood by the table watching and preparing it, while Mr.
+Carlisle sat in his chair observing her. Eleanor's cheeks flushed more
+and more. There was something about this little piece of domesticity,
+and her becoming the servitor in her turn, that brought up things she
+did not wish to think of. But her neighbour liked what she did not
+like, for he sat as quiet as a mouse until Eleanor's trembling hand
+offered him the cup. She had to take a step or two for it, but he never
+stirred to abridge them. Eleanor sat down again, and Mr. Carlisle
+sipped his tea with an appearance of gratification.
+
+"That is a young man of uncommon abilities"--he remarked
+composedly,--"whom we heard this evening. Do you know who he is,
+Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor felt as if the sky was falling. "It is Mr. Rhys--Alfred's old
+tutor--" she answered, in a voice which she felt was dry and
+embarrassed to the quick ears that heard her. "You have seen him."
+
+"I thought I had, somewhere. But that man has power. It is a pity he
+could not be induced to come into the Church--he would draw better
+houses than Dr. Cairnes. Do you think we could win him over, Eleanor?"
+
+"I believe--I have heard"--said Eleanor, "that he is going away from
+England. He is going a missionary to some very far away region." She
+was quite willing Mr. Carlisle should understand this.
+
+"Just as well," he answered. "If he would not come into his right
+place, such a man would only work to draw other persons out of theirs.
+There is a sort of popular power of speech which wins with the common
+and uneducated mind. I saw it won upon you, Nellie; how was that?"
+
+The light tone, in which a smile seemed but half concealed,
+disconcerted Eleanor. She was not ashamed, she thought she was not, but
+she did not know how to answer.
+
+"You are a little _tête-montée_," he said. "If I had been a little
+nearer to you to-night, I would have saved you from taking one step;
+but I did not fancy that you could be so suddenly wrought upon. Pray
+how happened you to be in that place to-night?'
+
+"I told you," said Eleanor after some hesitation, "that I had an
+unsatisfied wish of heart which made me uneasy--and you would not
+believe me."
+
+"If you knew how this man could speak, I do not wonder at your wanting
+to hear him. Did you ever hear him before?"
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor, feeling that she was getting in a wrong position
+before her questioner. "I have heard him once--I wanted to hear him
+again."
+
+"Why did you not tell me your wish, that you might gratify it safely,
+Eleanor?"
+
+"I supposed--if I did--I should lose my chance of gratifying it at all."
+
+"You are a real _tête-montée_," he said, standing now before her and
+taking hold lightly and caressingly of Eleanor's chin as he spoke. "It
+was well nobody saw you to-night but me. Does my little wife think she
+can safely gratify many of her wishes without her husband's knowledge?"
+
+Eleanor coloured brightly and drew herself back. "That is the very
+thing," she said; "now you are coming to the point. I told you I had
+wishes with which yours would not agree, and it was better for you to
+know it before it was too late."
+
+"Too late for what?"
+
+"To remedy a great evil."
+
+"There is generally a remedy for everything," said Mr. Carlisle coolly;
+"and this sort of imaginative fervour which is upon you is sure to find
+a cold bath of its own in good time. My purpose is simply in future,
+whenever you wish to hear another specimen of the kind of oratory we
+have listened to this evening, to be with you that I may protect you."
+
+"Protect me from what?"
+
+"From going too far, further than you know, in your present _exaltée_
+state. The Lady of Rythdale must not do anything unworthy of herself,
+or of me."
+
+"What do you mean, Mr. Carlisle?" Eleanor exclaimed with burning
+cheeks. But he stood before her quite cool, his arms folded, looking
+down at her.
+
+"Do you wish me to speak?"
+
+"Certainly! I do."
+
+"I will tell you then. It would not accord with my wishes to have my
+wife grant whispered consultations in public to any man; especially a
+young man and one of insinuating talents, which this one well may be. I
+could have shot that man, as he was talking to you to-night, Eleanor."
+
+Eleanor put up her hands to her face to hide its colour for a moment.
+Shame and anger and confusion struggled together. _Had_ she done
+anything unworthy of her? Others did the same, but they belonged to a
+different class of persons; had she been where Eleanor Powle, or even
+Eleanor Carlisle, would be out of place? And then there was the
+contrasted consciousness, how very pleasant and precious that whispered
+"consultation" had been to her. Mr. Carlisle stooped and took away her
+hands from her face, holding them in his own.
+
+"Eleanor--had that young man anything to do with those unmanageable
+wishes you expressed to me?"
+
+"So far as his words and example set me upon thinking," said Eleanor.
+"But there was nothing in what was said to-night that all the world
+might not hear." She rose, for it was an uncomfortable position in
+which her hands were held.
+
+"All the world did not hear it, you will remember. Eleanor, you are
+honest, and I am jealous--will you tell me that you have no regard for
+this young man more than my wife ought to have?"
+
+"Mr. Carlisle, I have never asked myself the question!" exclaimed
+Eleanor with indignant eyes. "If you doubt me, you cannot wish to have
+anything more to do with me."
+
+"Call me Macintosh," said he drawing her within his arm.
+
+Eleanor would not. She would have freed herself, but she could not
+without exerting too much force. She stood silent.
+
+"Will you tell me," he said in a gentle changed tone, "what words did
+pass between you and that young man,--that you said all the world might
+hear?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated. Her head was almost on Mr. Carlisle's shoulder; his
+lips were almost at her downcast brow; the brilliant hazel eyes were
+looking with their powerful light into her face. And she was his
+affianced wife. Was Eleanor free? Had this man, who loved her, no
+rights? Along with all other feelings, a keen sense of self-reproach
+stole in again.
+
+"Macintosh," she said droopingly, "it was entirely about religious
+matters--that you would laugh at, but would not understand."
+
+"Indulge me--and try me--" he said pressing his lips first on Eleanor's
+cheek and then on her mouth. She answered in the same tone as before,
+drooping in his arms as a weary child.
+
+"He asked me--as I suppose he asked others--what the difficulties in my
+mind were,--religious difficulties; and I told him my mind was in
+confusion and I did not see clearly before me. He advised me to do
+nothing in the dark, but when I saw duty clear, then to do it. That was
+what passed."
+
+"What did all these difficulties and rules of action refer to?"
+
+"Everything, I suppose," said Eleanor drooping more and more inwardly.
+
+"And you do not see, my love, what all this tended to?"
+
+"I do not see what you mean."
+
+"This is artful proselytism, Eleanor. In your brave honesty, in your
+beautiful enthusiasm, you did not know that the purpose of all this has
+been, to make a Methodist of Eleanor Powle, and as a necessary
+preliminary or condition, to break off her promised marriage with me.
+If that fellow had succeeded, he should have been made to feel my
+indignation--as it is, I shall let him go."
+
+"You are entirely mistaken,--" began Eleanor.
+
+"Am I? Have you not been led to doubt whether you could live a right
+life, and live it with me?"
+
+"But would you be willing in everything to let me do as I think right?"
+
+"Would I let you? You shall do what you will, my darling, except go to
+whispering conventicles. Assuredly I will not let you do that. But when
+you tell me seriously that you think a thing is wrong, I will never put
+my will in the way of your conscience. Did you think me a Mahometan?
+Hey?"
+
+"No--but--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+Eleanor only sighed.
+
+"I think I have something to forgive to-night, Eleanor,--but it is easy
+to forgive you." And wrapping both arms round her now, he pressed on
+brow and lip and cheek kisses that were abundantly reconciled.
+
+"My presence just saved you to night. Eleanor--will you promise not to
+be naughty any more?--Eleanor?--"
+
+"I will try," burst out Eleanor,--"O I will try to do what is right! I
+will try to do what is right!"
+
+And in bitter uncertainty what that might be, she gave way under the
+strain of so many feelings, and the sense of being conquered which
+oppressed her, and burst into tears. Still held fast, the only
+hiding-place for her eyes was Mr. Carlisle's breast, and they flowed
+there bitterly though restrained as much as possible. He hardly wished
+to restrain them; he would have been willing to stand all night with
+that soft brown head resting like a child's on him. Nevertheless he
+called her to order with words and kisses.
+
+"Do you know, it is late," he said,--"and you are tired. I must send
+you off. Eleanor! look up. Look up and kiss me."
+
+Eleanor overcame the passion of tears as soon as possible, yet not till
+a few minutes had passed; and looked up; at least raised her head from
+its resting-place. Mr. Carlisle whispered, "Kiss me!"
+
+How could Eleanor refuse? what could she do? though it was sealing
+allegiance over again. She was utterly humbled and conquered. But there
+was a touch of pride to be satisfied first. Laying one hand on Mr.
+Carlisle's shoulder, so as to push herself a little back where she
+could look him in the face, with eyes glittering yet, she confronted
+him; and asked, "Do you doubt me now?"
+
+Holding her in both arms, at just that distance, he looked down at her,
+a smile as calm as brilliant playing all over his face, which spoke
+perfect content as well as secure possession. But the trust in his eyes
+was as clear.
+
+"No more than I doubt myself," he answered.
+
+Pride was laid asleep; and yielding to what seemed her fate, Eleanor
+gave the required token of fealty--or subjugation--for so it seemed to
+her. Standing quite still, with bent head and moveless attitude, the
+slightest smile in the world upon the lips, Mr. Carlisle's whole air
+said silently that it was not enough. Eleanor yielded again, and once
+more touched her lips to those of her master. He let her go then; lit
+her candle and attended her to the foot of the staircase and dismissed
+her with all care.
+
+"I wonder if he is going to stay here himself to-night, and meet me in
+the morning," thought Eleanor as she went up the stairs. "It does not
+matter--I will go to sleep and forget everything, for a while."
+
+Would she? There was no sleep for Eleanor that night, and she knew it
+as soon as she reached her room. She set down her candle and then
+herself in blank despair.
+
+What had she done? Nothing at all, The stand she had meant to take at
+the beginning of the evening, she had been unable even to set foot
+upon. The bold step by which she had thought to set herself free from
+Mr. Carlisle, had only laid her more completely at his feet. Eleanor
+got up and walked the room in agony.
+
+What had she done? She was this man's promised wife; she had made her
+own bonds; it was her own doing; he had a right to her, he had claims
+upon her, he had given his affection to her. Had _she_ any rights now,
+inconsistent with his? Must she not fulfil this marriage? And yet,
+could she do so, feeling as she did? would _that_ be right? For no
+sooner was Eleanor alone than the subdued cry of her heart broke out
+again, that it could not be. And that cry grew desperate. Yet this
+evening's opportunity had all come to nothing. Worse than nothing, for
+it had laid an additional difficulty in her way. By her window, looking
+out into the dark night, Eleanor stopped and looked at this difficulty.
+She drew from its lurking-place in the darkness of her heart the
+question Mr. Carlisle had suggested, and confronted it steadily.
+
+_Had_ "that young man," the preacher of this evening, Eleanor's really
+best friend, had he anything to do with her "unmanageable wishes?"
+_Had_ she any regard for him that influenced her mind in this
+struggle--or that raised the struggle? With fiercely throbbing heart
+Eleanor looked this question for the first time in the face. "No!" she
+said to herself,--"no! I have not. I have no such regard for him. How
+debasing to have such a doubt raised! But I _might_ have--I think that
+is true--if circumstances put me in the way of it. And I think, seeing
+him and knowing his superior beauty of character--how superior!--has
+wakened me up to the consciousness of what I do like, and what I like
+best; and made me conscious too that I do not love Mr. Carlisle as well
+as I ought, to be his wife--not as he loves me. _That_ I see now,--too
+late. Oh, mother, mother! why were you in such a hurry to seal this
+marriage--when I told you, I told you, I was not ready. But then I did
+not know any more than that. And now I cannot marry him--and yet I
+shall--and I do not know but I ought. And yet I cannot."
+
+Eleanor walked her floor or stood by her window that live-long night.
+It was a night of great agony and distracted searching for relief.
+Where should relief come from? To tell Mr. Carlisle frankly that she
+did not bear the right kind of love towards him, she knew would be the
+vainest of expedients. "He can make me do anything--he would say he can
+make me love him; and so, perhaps, he could--I believe he would--if I
+had not seen this other man." And then Eleanor drew the contrast
+between one person and the other; the high, pure, spiritual nobleness
+of the one, and the social and personal graces and intellectual power
+of the other, all used for selfish ends. It was a very unprofitable
+speculation for Eleanor; it left her further than ever from the
+conclusion, and distressed her bitterly. From her mother she knew sadly
+there was no help to be had. No consideration, of duty or pleasure,
+would outweigh with her the loss of a splendid alliance and the scandal
+of breaking off the preparations for it. The Sphynx would not look out
+more calmly over the desert waste of all things, than Mrs. Powle's fair
+face would overview a moral desolation more hopeless and more
+cheerless, if but the pyramid of her ambition were firmly planted
+there. And Eleanor's worst trouble after all was her doubt about duty.
+If Mr. Carlisle had not loved her--but he did love her truly and
+tenderly, and she, however misled, had given him permission. Could she
+now withdraw it? Could she do anything but, at whatever risk, go on and
+meet the obligations she had brought upon herself? Nature cried out
+strongly that it must not be; but conscience and remorse, aided by
+circumstances, withstood nature, and said it must be no other way.
+Eleanor must marry Mr. Carlisle and be as good to him as she could. And
+Eleanor's whole soul began to rise up stronger and stronger in protest
+against it, and cry that she never would marry him.
+
+The weary long night seemed but as one thought of pain; and when the
+morning broke, Eleanor felt that she had grown old.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+IN DOUBT.
+
+
+  "We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
+  And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday."
+
+
+Eleanor was too sick to go down even to a late breakfast; and a raging
+headache kept off any inquiries or remonstrances that Mrs. Powle might
+have made to her if she had been well. Later in the day her little
+sister Julia came dancing in.
+
+"Aren't you going to get up, Eleanor? What's the matter? I am going to
+open your window. You are all shut up here."
+
+Back went the curtain and up went the window; a breath of fresh mild
+air came sweetly in, and Julia danced back to the bedside. There
+suddenly sobered herself.
+
+"Eleanor, aren't you better? Can't you get up? It is so nice to-day."
+
+Julia's fresh, innocent, gay manner, the very light play of her waving
+hair, not lighter than the childlike heart, were almost too much for
+her sister. They made Eleanor's heart ache.
+
+"Where is everybody?"
+
+"Nowhere," said Julia. "I am all the house. Mr. Carlisle went home
+after breakfast; and mamma and Alfred are gone in the carriage to
+Brompton; and papa is out somewhere. Are you better, Nellie?"
+
+"I shall never be better!" said Eleanor. She turned and hid her face.
+
+"Oh why, Eleanor? What makes you say that? What is the matter? I knew
+yesterday you were not happy."
+
+"I am never going to be happy. I hope you will."
+
+"I am happy," said Julia. "And you will be. I told Mr. Rhys you were
+not happy,--and he said you would be by and by."
+
+"Julia!" said Eleanor raising herself on her elbow and with a colour
+spreading all over her face,--"don't talk to Mr. Rhys about me or my
+concerns! What makes you do such a thing?"
+
+"Why I haven't anybody else to talk to," said Julia. "Give me your
+foot, and I'll put on your stocking. Come! you are going to get up. And
+besides, he thinks a great deal of you, and we pray for you every day."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"He does, and I. Come!--give me your foot."
+
+"_He, and you!_" said Eleanor.
+
+"Yes," said Julia looking up. "We pray for you every day. What's the
+matter, Eleanor?"
+
+Her hand was laid sorrowfully and tenderly on the shoulder of the
+sister whose face was again hid from her. But at the touch Eleanor
+raised her head.
+
+"You seem a different child, Julia, from what you used to be."
+
+"What's the matter, Nellie?"--very tenderly.
+
+"I wish I was different too," said Eleanor, springing out of bed; "and
+I want time to go away by myself and think it out and battle it out,
+until I know just what is right and am ready to do it; and instead of
+that, mamma and Mr. Carlisle have arranged--"
+
+"Stop and sit down," said Julia taking hold of her; "you look white and
+black and all colours. Wait and rest, Eleanor."
+
+But Eleanor would not till she had tried the refreshment of cold water,
+and had put her beautiful hair in order; then she sat down in her
+dressing-gown. Julia had watched and now stood anxiously beside her.
+
+"Oh, what _is_ the matter, Eleanor?"
+
+"I don't know, Julia. I do not know what is right."
+
+"Have you asked God to make you know?"
+
+"No," said Eleanor, drooping.
+
+"That's what Mr. Rhys always does, so he is never troubled. I will tell
+you what he says--he says, 'What time I am afraid, I will trust in
+thee.' Then he feels safe, you know."
+
+"It is a pity you cannot go to the South Seas with Mr. Rhys. You talk
+of nothing but him."
+
+"I would like to go with him," said Julia simply. "But I have learned
+how to feel safe too, for I trust in Jesus too; and I know he will
+teach me right. So he will teach you, Eleanor."
+
+Eleanor bowed her head on her hands, and wept and wept; but while she
+wept, resolutions were taking form in her mind. Mr. Rhys's words came
+back to her--"Go no way, till you see clear." The renewed thought of
+that helmet of salvation, and of that heavenly guidance, that she
+needed and longed for; so supremely, so much above everything else;
+gradually gained her strength to resolve that she would have them at
+all hazards. She must have time to seek them and to be sure of her
+duty; and then, she would do it. She determined she would not see Mr.
+Carlisle; he would conquer her; she would manage the matter with her
+mother. Eleanor thought it all over, the opposition and the
+difficulties, and resolved with the strength of desperation. She had
+grown old during this night. She had a long interval of quiet before
+her mother came.
+
+"Well, Eleanor! in your dressing-gown yet, and only your hair done!
+When do you expect to be down stairs? Somebody will be here presently
+and expect to see you."
+
+"Somebody will be disappointed. My head is splitting, mamma."
+
+"I should think it would! after yesterday's gambade, What did Mr.
+Carlisle say to you, I should like to know? I thought you would have
+offended him past forgiveness. I was relieved beyond all expression
+this morning, at breakfast, when I saw all was right again. But he told
+me not to scold you, and I will not talk about it."
+
+"Mamma, if you will take off your bonnet and sit down--I will talk to
+you about something else."
+
+Mrs. Powle sat down, took her bonnet in her lap, and pushed her fair
+curls into place. They were rarely out of place; it was more a form
+than anything else. Yet Mrs. Powle looked anxious; and her anxiety
+found natural expression as she said,
+
+"I wish the twenty-first was to-morrow!"
+
+"That is the thing I wish to speak about. Mamma, that day, the day for
+my marriage, has been appointed too early--I feel hurried, and not
+ready. I want to study my own mind and know exactly what I am doing. I
+am going to ask you to have it put off."
+
+"Put it off!--" cried Mrs. Powle. Language contained no other words of
+equal importance to be spoken in the same breath with those three.
+
+"Yes. I want it put off."
+
+"Till when, if you please. It might as well be doomsday at once."
+
+"Till doomsday, if necessary; but I want it put off. I do not stipulate
+for so long a time as that," said Eleanor putting her hand to her head.
+
+"What day would you name, in lieu of the twenty-first? I should like to
+know how far your arrangements extend."
+
+"I want time to collect my thoughts and be ready for so great a change.
+I want time to study, and think,--and pray. I shall ask for at least
+three months."
+
+"Three months! Till April! And pray, what has ailed your ladyship not
+to study and think and pray if you like, all these months that have
+passed?"
+
+"I have no chance. My time is all taken up. I can do nothing, but go
+round in a whirl--till my head is spinning."
+
+"And what will you do in these three months to come? I should like to
+know all you propose."
+
+"I propose to go away from home--somewhere that I can be quiet and
+alone. Then, if there is no reason against it, I promise to come back
+and fulfil my engagement with Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Eleanor, you are a fool!" burst out her mother. "You are a fool, or
+worse. How dare you talk such stuff to me? I can hardly believe you
+serious, only for your face. Do you suppose I will think for one moment
+of such a thing as putting off the day?--and if I would, have you any
+idea that Mr. Carlisle would give _his_ assent to it?!"
+
+"If you do not, both you and he, I shall break off the marriage
+altogether."
+
+"I dare you to do it!" said Mrs. Powle. "With the wedding-dresses made,
+and almost the wedding-cake--every preparation--the whole world to be
+scandalized and talking at any delay--your family disgraced, and
+yourself ruined for ever;--and Mr. Carlisle--Eleanor, I think you are
+crazy! only you sit there with such a wicked face!--"
+
+"It is in danger of being wicked," said Eleanor, drawing both her hands
+over it;--"for I warn you, mother, I am determined. I have been hurried
+on. I will be hurried no further. I will take poison, before I will be
+married on the twenty-first! As well lose my soul one way as another.
+You and Mr. Carlisle must give me time--or I will break the match
+altogether. I will bear the consequences."
+
+"Have you spoken to him of this precious arrangement?"
+
+"No," said Eleanor, her manner failing a little.--"You must do it."
+
+"I thought so!" said Mrs. Powle. "He knows how to manage you, my young
+lady! which I never did yet. I will just bring him up here to you--and
+you will be like a whipped child in three minutes. O you know it. I see
+it in your face. Eleanor, I am ashamed of you!"
+
+"I will not see him up here, mamma."
+
+"You will, if you cannot help it. Eleanor I wouldn't try him too far.
+He is very fond of you--but he will be your husband in a few days; and
+he is not the sort of man I should like to have displeased with me, if
+I were you."
+
+"He never will, mamma, unless he waits three months for it."
+
+"Now I will tell you one thing," said Mrs. Powle rising in great
+anger--"I can put down my foot too. I am tired of this sort of thing,
+and I cannot manage you, and I will give you over to one who can.
+To-day is Tuesday--the twenty-first is exactly one fortnight off. Well
+my young lady, _I_ will change the day. Next Monday I will give you to
+Mr. Carlisle, and he will be your master; and I fancy he is not at all
+afraid to assume the responsibility. He may take you to as quiet a
+place as he likes; and you may think at your leisure, and more properly
+than in the way you propose. So, Eleanor, you shall be married o'
+Monday."
+
+Mrs. Powle flourished out with her bonnet in her hand. Eleanor's first
+movement was to go after her and turn the key in the door securely;
+then she threw up the window and flung herself on her face on the bed.
+Her mother was quite capable of doing as she had said, for her fair
+features covered a not very tender heart. Mr. Carlisle would second
+her, no doubt, all the more eagerly for the last night's adventures.
+Could Eleanor make head against those two? And between Tuesday and
+Monday was very little time to mature plans or organize resistance. Her
+head felt like splitting now indeed, for very confusion.
+
+"Eleanor," said Julia's voice gravely and anxiously, "you will take
+cold--mayn't I shut the window?"
+
+"There's no danger. I am in a fever."
+
+"Is your head no better?"
+
+"I hardly think I have a head. There is nothing there but pain and
+snapping."
+
+"Poor Eleanor!" said her little sister, standing by the bedside like a
+powerless guardian angel. "Mr. Carlisle isn't good, if he wouldn't do
+what you want him."
+
+"Do not open the door, Julia, if anybody knocks!"
+
+"No. But wouldn't he, Eleanor, if you were to ask him?"
+
+Eleanor made no answer. She knew, it needed but a glance at last
+night's experience to remind her, that she could not make head against
+Mr. Carlisle. If he came to talk to her about her proposed scheme, all
+was lost. Suddenly Eleanor threw herself off the bed, and began to
+dress with precipitation.
+
+"Why, are you better, Eleanor?" Julia asked in surprise.
+
+"No--but I must go down stairs. Bring me my blue dress, Julia;--and go
+and get me some geranium leaves--some strong-scented ones. Here--go
+down the back way."
+
+No matter for head-splitting. Eleanor dressed in haste, but with
+delicate care; in a dress that Mr. Carlisle liked. Its colour suited
+her, and its simple make shewed her beauty; better than a more
+furbelowed one. The aromatic geranium leaves were for her head--but
+with them Julia had brought some of the brilliant red flowers; and
+fastened on her breast where Eleanor could feel their sweetness, they
+at the same time made a bright touch of adornment to her figure. She
+was obliged to sit down then and rest; but as soon as she could she
+went to the drawing-room.
+
+There were as usual several people there besides the family; Dr.
+Cairnes and Miss Broadus and her sister making part. Entering with a
+slow quiet movement, most unlike the real hurry of her spirits, Eleanor
+had time to observe how different persons were placed and to choose her
+own plan of action. It was to slip silently into a large chair which
+stood empty at Mr. Carlisle's side, and which favoured her by
+presenting itself as the nearest attackable point of the circle. It was
+done with such graceful noiselessness that many did not at the moment
+notice her; but two persons were quick of vision where she was
+concerned. Mr. Carlisle bent over her with delight, and though Mrs.
+Powle's fair curls were not disturbed by any sudden motion of her head,
+her grey eyes dilated with wonder and curiosity as she listened to a
+story of Miss Broadus which was fitted to excite neither. Eleanor was
+beyond her, but she concluded that Mr. Carlisle held the key of this
+extraordinary docility.
+
+Eleanor sat very quiet in her chair, looking lovely, and by degrees
+using up her geranium leaves; with which she went through a variety of
+manipulations. They were picked to pieces and rubbed to pieces and
+their aromatic essence crushed out of them with every kind of
+formality. Mr. Carlisle finding that she had a headache did not trouble
+her to talk, and relieved her from attention; any further than his arm
+or hand mounting guard on her chair constantly gave. For it gathered
+the broken geranium leaves out of her way and picked them up from her
+feet. At last his hand came after hers and made it a prisoner.
+
+"You have a mood of destructiveness upon you," said he. "See there--you
+have done to death all the green of your bouquet."
+
+"The geranium leaves are good to my head," said Eleanor. "I want some
+more. Will you go with me to get them?"
+
+It gave her heart a shiver, the hold in which her hand lay. Though
+taken in play, the hold was so very cool and firm. Her hand lay there
+still, for Mr. Carlisle sat a moment after she spoke, looking at her.
+
+"I will go with you--wherever you please," he said; and putting
+Eleanor's hand on his arm they walked off towards the conservatory.
+This was at some distance, and opened out of the breakfast room. It was
+no great matter of a conservatory, only pretty and sweet. Eleanor began
+slowly to pull geranium leaves.
+
+"You are suffering, Eleanor,"--said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"I do not think of it--you need not. Macintosh, I want to ask a favour
+of you."
+
+She turned to him, without raising her eyes, but made the appeal of her
+whole pretty presence. He drew his arm round her and suspended the
+business of geranium leaves.
+
+"What is it, my darling?"
+
+"You know," said Eleanor, "that when the twenty-first of December was
+fixed upon--for what you wished--it was a more hurried day than I would
+have chosen, if the choice had been left to me. I wanted more time--but
+you and my mother said that day, and I agreed to it. Now, my mother has
+taken a notion to make it still earlier--she wants to cut off a whole
+week from me--she wants to make it next Monday. Don't join with her!
+Let me have all the time that was promised me!"
+
+Eleanor could not raise her eyes; she enforced her appeal by laying her
+hand on Mr. Carlisle's arm. He drew her close up to him, held her fast,
+stooped his head to hers.
+
+"What for, Eleanor? Laces and plums can be ready as well Monday as
+Monday s'ennight."
+
+"For myself, Macintosh."
+
+"Don't you think of me?"
+
+"No!" said Eleanor, "I do not. It is quite enough that you should have
+your wish after Monday s'ennight--I ought to have it before."
+
+He laughed and kissed her. He always liked any shew of spirit in
+Eleanor.
+
+"My darling, what difference does a week make?"
+
+"Just the difference of a week; and more than that in my mind. I want
+it. Grant me this favour, Mackintosh! I ask it of you."
+
+Mr. Carlisle seemed to find it amazingly pleasant to have Eleanor
+sueing to him for favours; for he answered her as much with caresses as
+with words; both very satisfied.
+
+"You try me beyond my strength, Eleanor. Your mother offers to give you
+to me Monday--Do you think I care so little about this possession that
+I will not take it a week earlier than I had hoped to have it?"
+
+"But the week is mine--it is due to me, Macintosh. No one has a right
+to take it from me. You may have the power; and I ask you not to use
+it."
+
+"Eleanor, you break my heart. My love, do you know that I have business
+calling for me in London?--it is calling for me now, urgently. I must
+carry you up to London at once; and this week that you plead for, I do
+not know how to give. If I can go the fifteenth instead of the
+twenty-second, I must. Do you see, Nellie?" he asked very tenderly.
+
+Eleanor hardly saw anything; the world and all in it seemed to be in a
+swimming state before her eyes. Only Mr. Carlisle's "can's" and
+"must's" obeyed him, she felt sure, as well as everything else. She
+felt stunned. Holding her on one arm, Mr. Carlisle began to pluck
+flowers and myrtle sprays and to adorn her hair with them. It was a
+labour of love; he liked the business and played with it. The beautiful
+brown masses of hair invited and rewarded attention.
+
+"Then my mother has spoken to you?" she said at length.
+
+"Yes,"--he said, arranging a spray of heath with white blossoms. "Do
+you blame me?" Eleanor sought to withdraw herself from his arm, but he
+detained her.
+
+"Where are you going?"
+
+"Up stairs--to my room."
+
+"Do you forgive me, Eleanor?" he said, looking down at her.
+
+"No,--I think I do not."
+
+He laughed a little, kissing her downcast face.
+
+"I will make you my wife, Monday, Eleanor; and after that I will make
+you forgive me; and then--my wife shall ask me nothing that she shall
+not have."
+
+Keeping her on his arm, he led her slowly from the conservatory,
+through the rooms, and up the staircase, to the door of her own
+apartment.
+
+Eleanor tore out the flowers as soon as she was alone, locked her door,
+meaning at least not to see her mother that night; took off her dress
+and lay down. Refuge failed her. She was in despair. What could she
+arrange between Tuesday night and Monday?--short of taking poison, or
+absconding privately from the house, and so disgracing both herself and
+her family. Yet Eleanor was in such desperation of feeling that both
+those expedients occurred to her in the course of the night, although
+only to be rejected. Worn-out nature must have some rest however; and
+towards morning she slept.
+
+It was late when she opened her eyes. They fell first upon Julia,
+standing at her bedside.
+
+"Are you awake, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes. I wish I could sleep on."
+
+"There's news."
+
+"News! What sort of news?" said Eleanor, feeling that none concerned
+her.
+
+"It's bad news--and yet--for you--it is good news."
+
+"What is it, child? Speak."
+
+"Lady Rythdale--she is dead."
+
+Eleanor raised herself on her elbow and stared at Julia. "How do you
+know? how do you know?" she said.
+
+"A messenger came to tell us--she died last night. The man came a good
+while ago, but--"
+
+She never finished her sentence; for Eleanor threw herself out of bed,
+exclaiming, "I am saved! I am saved!"--and went down on her knees by
+the bedside. It was hardly to pray, for Eleanor scarce knew how to
+pray; yet that position seemed an embodiment of thanks she could not
+speak. She kept it a good while, still as death. Julia stood
+motionless, looking on.
+
+"Don't think me wicked," said Eleanor getting up at last. "I am not
+glad of anything but my own deliverance. Oh, Julia!"
+
+"Poor Eleanor!" said her little sister wonderingly. "Then you don't
+want to be married and go to Rythdale?"
+
+"Not Monday!" said Eleanor. "And now I shall not. It is not possible
+that a wedding and a funeral should be in one house on the same day. I
+know which they would put off if they could, but they have got to put
+off the other. O Julia, it is the saving of me!"
+
+She caught the little one in her arms and sat with her so, their two
+heads nestling together, Eleanor's bowed upon her sister's neck.
+
+"But Eleanor, will you not marry Mr. Carlisle after all?"
+
+"I cannot,--for a good while, child."
+
+"But then?"
+
+"I shall _never_ be married in a hurry. I have got breathing time--time
+to think. And I'll use it."
+
+"And, O Eleanor! won't you do something else?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Won't you be a servant of the Lord?"
+
+"I will--if I can find out how," Eleanor answered low.
+
+It poured with rain. Eleanor liked it that day, though generally she
+was no lover of weather that kept her within. A spell of soothing had
+descended upon her. Life was no longer the rough thing it had seemed to
+her yesterday. A constant drop of thankfulness at her heart kept all
+her words and manner sweet with its secret perfume. Eleanor's temper
+was always as sound as a nut; but there was now a peculiar grace of
+gentleness and softness in all she did. She was able to go faultlessly
+through all the scenes of that day and the following days; through her
+mother's open discomfiture and half expressed disappointment, and Mr.
+Carlisle's suppressed impatience. His manner was perfect too; his
+impatience was by no word or look made known; grave, quiet,
+self-contained, he only allowed his affectionateness towards Eleanor to
+have full play, and the expression of that was changed. He did not
+appeal to her for sympathy which perhaps he had a secret knowledge she
+could not give; but with lofty good breeding and his invariable tact he
+took it for granted. Eleanor's part was an easy one through those days
+which passed before Mr. Carlisle's going up to London. He went
+immediately after the funeral.
+
+It was understood, however, between him and Mrs. Powle, that the
+marriage should be delayed no longer than till some time in the spring.
+Then, Mr. Carlisle declared, he should carry into effect his original
+plan of going abroad, and take Eleanor with him. Eleanor heard them
+talk, and kept silence; letting them arrange it their own way.
+
+"For a little while, Eleanor!" were the parting words which Mr.
+Carlisle's lips left upon hers. And Eleanor turned then to look at what
+was before her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+AT THE RECTORY.
+
+
+  "The earth has lost its power to drag me downward;
+  Its spell is gone;
+  My course is now right upward, and right onward,
+  To yonder throne."
+
+
+She had three months of quiet time. Not more; and they would quickly
+speed away. What she had to do, she could not do too soon. Eleanor knew
+it. The soothed feeling of the first few days gave place to a restless
+mood almost as soon as Mr. Carlisle was gone. Three years seemed more
+like what she wanted than three months. She felt ignorant, dark, and
+unhappy; how was she to clear up this moral mist and see how the plan
+of life lay, without any hand to lead her or help her? There was only
+one she knew in the world that could; and from any application to him,
+or even any chance contact with him, Eleanor consciously shrank. _That_
+would never do; that must never be heard of her. With all this, she
+began to dread the disturbing and confusing effects of Mr. Carlisle's
+visits to the country. He would come; he had said so; and Mrs. Powle
+kept reminding her of it upon every occasion.
+
+Eleanor had been forbidden to ride alone. She did not dare; she took to
+long lonely walks. It was only out of doors that she felt quite free;
+in her own room at home, though never so private, her mother would at
+any time come with distracting subjects of conversation. Eleanor fled
+to the moor and to the wilds; walked, and rested on the stones, and
+thought; till she found thinking degenerate into musing; then she
+started up and went on. She tired herself. She did not find rest.
+
+One day she took her course purposely to the ruined priory. It was a
+long walk; but Eleanor courted long walks. And when she got there,
+musing, it must be confessed, had a good time. She stepped slowly down
+the grass-grown nave of the old church, recalling with much bitterness
+the day of her betrothal there; blaming herself, and blaming her mother
+more. Yet at any rate that day she had set seal to her own fate; would
+she be able, and had she a right,--that was the worst question,--to
+break it now? She wandered on, out of the church, away from the
+beautiful old ivied tower, which seemed to look down on her with grave
+reproach from the staidness of years and wisdom; wound about over and
+among the piles of shapeless ruin and the bits of lichened and
+moss-grown walls, yet standing here and there; not saying to herself
+exactly where she was going, but trying if she could find out the way;
+till she saw a thicket of thorn and holly bushes that she remembered.
+Yes, the latches too, and the young growth of beech trees. Eleanor
+plunged through this thicket, as well as she could; it was not easy;
+and there before her was the clear spot of grass, the angle of the
+thick old wall, and the deep window that she wanted to see again. All
+still and lonely and wild. Eleanor went across and took a seat in the
+window as she had done once before, to rest and think.
+
+And then what she thought of, was not the old monks, nor the exquisite
+fair view out of the window that had belonged to them; though it was a
+soft December day, and the light was as winning fair on house and hill
+and tree-top as if it had been a different season of the year. No cloud
+in the sky, and no dark shadows upon the earth. But Eleanor's thoughts
+went back to the thunderstorm, and her need then first felt of an
+inward sunshine that would last in cloudy times. She recalled the talk
+about the Christian's helmet; with a weary, sorrowful, keen renewal of
+regret at her own want of it. The words Mr. Rhys had spoken about it at
+that time she could not very well remember; but well she remembered the
+impression of them, and the noble, clear calmness of his face and
+manner. Very unlike all other calmness and nobleness that she had seen.
+The nobleness of one whose head was covered by that royal basnet; the
+fearlessness of one whose brows were consciously shaded by it. The
+simplicity that had nothing to feign or conceal; the poise of manner
+that came from an established heart and conscience. Eleanor presently
+caught herself up. What was she thinking about Mr. Rhys for? True, the
+thought of him was very near the thought of his teaching; nevertheless
+the one thing concerned her, the other did not. Did it not? Eleanor
+sighed, and wished she could have a little of his wise guidance; for
+notwithstanding all she had heard him say, she felt in the dark.
+
+In the midst of all this, Eleanor heard somebody humming a scrap of a
+tune on the other side of the holly bushes. Another instant told her it
+was a tune she had heard never but once before, and that once in Mr.
+Brooks's barn. There was besides a little rustling of the thorn bushes.
+Eleanor could think of but one person coming to that spot of the ruins;
+and in sudden terror she sprang from the window and rushed round the
+other corner of the wall. The tune ceased; Eleanor heard no more; but
+she dared not falter or look back. She was in a thicket on this side
+too, and in a mass of decayed ruins and rubbish which almost stopped
+her way. By determination and perseverance, with some knocks and
+scratches, she at last got free and stopped to breathe and think. Why
+was she so frightened? Mr. Carlisle. But what should she do now?
+Suppose she set off to walk home; she might be joined by the person she
+wished to shun; it was impossible to foresee that he would sit an hour
+meditating in the old window. Over against Eleanor, a little distance
+off, only plantations of shrubbery and soft turf between, was the
+Rector's house. Best go there and take refuge, and then be guided by
+circumstances. She went accordingly, feeling sorrowful that she should
+have to run away from the very person whose counsel of all others she
+most needed.
+
+The door was opened to Eleanor by the Rector himself.
+
+"Ha! my dear Miss Powle," said the good doctor,--"this is an honour to
+me. I don't know what you will do now, for my sister is away at
+Brompton--will you come in and see an old bachelor like myself?"
+
+"If you will let me, sir."
+
+"I shall be delighted, my dear Miss Eleanor! You were always welcome,
+ever since you were so high; and now that you are going to occupy so
+important a position here, I do not know a lady in the neighbourhood
+that deserves so much consideration as yourself. Come in--come in! How
+did you get here?"
+
+"Taking a long walk, sir. Perhaps you will give me some refreshments."
+
+"I shall be delighted. Come in here, and we will have luncheon together
+in my study--which was never so honoured before; but I think it is the
+pleasantest place in the house. The other rooms my sister fills with
+gimcracks, till I cannot turn round there without fear of breaking
+something, Now my old folios and octavos have tried a fall many a
+time--and many a one has tried a fall with them--ha! ha!--and no harm
+to anybody. Sit down there now, Miss Eleanor, and rest. That's what I
+call a pretty window. You see I am in no danger of forgetting my friend
+Mr. Carlisle here."
+
+Eleanor looked out of the window very steadily; yet she was not
+refreshing her remembrance of Mr. Carlisle neither. There were glimpses
+of a tall, alert figure, passing leisurely in and out among the trees
+and the ruins; finally coming out into full view and walking with brisk
+step over the greensward till he was out of sight. Eleanor knew it very
+well, the figure and the quick step; the energy and life in every
+movement. She heard no more of Dr. Cairnes for some time; though
+doubtless he was talking, for he had ordered luncheon and now it was
+served, and he was pressing her to partake of it. Dr. Cairnes' cheese
+was excellent; his hung beef was of prime quality; and the ale was of a
+superior brand, and the wine which he poured out for Eleanor was, he
+assured her, as its sparkling drops fell into the glass, of a purity
+and flavour "that even his friend Mr. Carlisle would not refuse to
+close his lips upon." Eleanor felt faint and weary, and she knew Mr.
+Carlisle's critical accuracy; but she recollected at the same time Mr.
+Rhys's cool abstinence, and she put the glass of wine away.
+
+"_Not?_" said the doctor. "You would prefer a cup of chocolate. Bad
+taste, Miss Eleanor--wine is better for you, too. Ladies will sup
+chocolate, I believe; I wonder what they find in it. The thing is, my
+sister being away to-day, I don't know--"
+
+Eleanor begged he would not mind that, nor her; however the chocolate
+was ordered and in due time brought.
+
+"Now that will make you dull," said the doctor,--"sleepy. It does not
+have, even on you, the reviving, brilliant effect of _this_ beverage."
+And he put the bright glass of wine to his lips. It was not the first
+filled.
+
+"Before I get dull, dear doctor, I want to talk to you."
+
+"Aye?" said the doctor, looking at her over the wine. "You do? What
+about? Say on, Miss Eleanor. I am yours doubly now, by the past and the
+future. You may command me."
+
+"It is about the present, I wish to talk," said Eleanor.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"My mind is not at rest," said Eleanor, laying her hands in her lap,
+and looking off again towards the ruins with their green and grey
+silent reminders,--"about religious subjects."
+
+"Ah?" said Dr. Cairnes. "How is that, Miss Eleanor? Be a little more
+explicit with me, will you not."
+
+"I will. Dr. Cairnes, I am young now, but by and by decay must come to
+me, as it has come to that old pile yonder--as it comes to everything.
+I want security for my head and heart when earthly security fails."
+
+Eleanor spoke slowly, looking out as she spoke all the while.
+
+"Security!" said the doctor. "But my dear Miss Eleanor, you know the
+articles of our holy religion?"
+
+"Yes,--" she said without stirring her position.
+
+"Security is given by them, most amply and abundantly, to every sincere
+applicant. Your life has been a sheltered one, Miss Eleanor, and a kind
+one; you can have no very grievous sins to charge yourself with."
+
+"I would like to get rid of such as I have," answered Eleanor without
+moving.
+
+"You were baptized in infancy?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You have never been confirmed?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Every baptized child of the Church, Miss Eleanor, owes it to God, to
+herself, and the Church, upon arriving at a proper age, to come forward
+and openly take upon herself--or himself--but I am talking of you,--the
+vows made for her in her infancy, at her baptism, by her sponsors. Upon
+doing this, she is received into full membership with the Church and
+entitled to all its privileges; and undoubtedly security is one of
+them. That is what you want to do, Miss Eleanor; and I am truly
+rejoiced that your mind is setting itself to the contemplation of its
+duties--and responsibilities. In the station you are preparing to
+occupy, the head of all this neighbourhood--Wiglands and Rythdale
+both--it is most important, most important, that your example should be
+altogether blameless and your influence thrown altogether on the right
+side. That influence, my dear Miss Eleanor, is very great."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, my one single present desire, is to do right and feel
+safe, myself."
+
+"Precisely. And to do right, is the way to feel safe. I will give you a
+little work, preparatory to the ordinance of confirmation, Miss
+Eleanor, which I entreat you to study and prayerfully follow. That will
+relieve all your difficulties, I have no fear. There it is, Miss
+Eleanor."
+
+"Will this rite--will this ordinance," said Eleanor closing her fingers
+on the book and for the first time looking the doctor straight in the
+face,--"will it give me that helmet of salvation, of which I have
+heard?"
+
+"Hey? what is that?" said the doctor.
+
+"I have heard--and read--of the Christian 'helmet of salvation.' I have
+seen that a person whose brows are covered by it, goes along fearless,
+hopeful, and happy, dreading nothing in this life or the next.--Will
+being confirmed, put this helmet upon my head?--make me fearless and
+happy too?"
+
+"My dear Miss Eleanor, I cannot express how you astonish me. I always
+have thought you were one of the strongest-hearted persons I knew; and
+in your circumstances I am sure it was natural--But to your question.
+The benefit of confirmation, my dear young lady, as well as of every
+other ordinance of the Church, depends of course on the manner and
+spirit with which we engage in it. There is confirming and
+strengthening grace in it undoubtedly for all who come to the ordinance
+in humble obedience, with prayer and faith, and who truly take upon
+them their vows."
+
+"But, Dr. Cairnes, I might die before I could be confirmed; and I want
+rest and security now. I do not have it, day nor night. I have not,
+ever since the time when I was so ill last summer. I want it _now_."
+
+"My dear Miss Eleanor, the only way to obtain security and rest, is in
+doing one's duty. Do your duty now, and it will come. Your conscience
+has taken up the matter, and will have satisfaction. Give it
+satisfaction, and rest will come."
+
+"How can I give it satisfaction?" said Eleanor sitting up and looking
+at the doctor. "I feel myself guilty--I know myself exposed to ruin, to
+death that means death; what can I give to my conscience, to make it be
+still?"
+
+"The Church offers absolution for their sins to all that are truly
+sorry for them," said the doctor. "Are you penitent on account of your
+sins, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"Penitent?--I don't know," said Eleanor drooping a little from her
+upright position. "I feel them, and know them, and wish them away; but
+if I were penitent, they would be gone, wouldn't they? and they are not
+gone."
+
+"I see how it is," said the doctor. "You have too much leisure to
+think, and your thoughts are turning in upon themselves and becoming
+morbid. I think this is undue sensitiveness, my dear Miss Eleanor. The
+sins we wish away, will never be made a subject of judgment against us.
+I shall tell my friend Mr. Carlisle that his presence is wanted here,
+for something more important than the interests of the county. I shall
+tell him he must not let you think too much. I think he and I together
+can put you right. In the mean while, you read my little book."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, what I have said to you is said in strict confidence. I
+do not wish it spoken of, even to my mother."
+
+"Of course, of course!" said the doctor. "_That_ is all understood. The
+Church never reveals her children's secrets. But I shall only give him
+a little gentle hint, which will be quite sufficient, I have no doubt;
+and I shall have just the co-operation that I desire."
+
+"How excellent your cheese is, Dr. Cairnes."
+
+"Ah! you like it," said the doctor. "I am proud. I always purchase my
+cheese myself--that is one thing I do not leave to my sister. But this
+one I think is particularly fine. You won't take a half glass of ale
+with it?--no,--I know Mr. Carlisle does not like ale. But it would be a
+good sequent of your ride, nevertheless."
+
+"I did not ride, sir. I walked."
+
+"Walked from Ivy Lodge! All this way to see me, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"No sir--only for a walk, and to see the ruins. Then I was driven to
+take shelter here."
+
+"I am very glad of it! I am very glad of it!" said the doctor. "I have
+not enjoyed my luncheon so much in a year's time; and you delight me
+too, my dear Miss Eleanor, by your present dispositions. But walk all
+the way here! I shall certainly write to Mr. Carlisle."
+
+Eleanor's cheeks flushed, and she rose. "Not only all the way here, but
+all the way back again," said she; "so it is time I bade you good bye."
+
+The doctor was very anxious to carry her home in the chaise; Eleanor
+was more determined that he should not; and determination as usual
+carried the day. The doctor shook his head as he watched her off.
+
+"Are you going to shew this spirit to Mr. Carlisle?" he said.
+
+Which remark gave Eleanor an impetus that carried her a third of her
+way home. During the remaining two thirds she did a good deal of
+thinking; and arrived at the Lodge with her mind made up. There was no
+chance of peace and a good time for her, without going away from home.
+Dr. Cairnes' officiousness would be sure to do something to arouse Mr.
+Carlisle's watchfulness; and then--"the game will be up," said Eleanor
+to herself. "Between his being here and the incessant expectation of
+him, there will be no rest for me. I must get away." She laid her plans.
+
+After dinner she slipped away and sought her father in his study. It
+was called his study, though very little of that character truly
+belonged to it. More truly it balanced between the two purposes of a
+smoking-room and an office; for county business was undoubtedly done
+there; and it was the nook of retirement where the Squire indulged
+himself in his favoured luxury, the sweet weed. The Squire took it
+pure, in a pipe; no cigars for him; and filling his pipe Eleanor found
+him. She lit the pipe for him, and contrary to custom sat down. The
+Squire puffed away.
+
+"I thought you didn't care for this sort of thing, Eleanor," he
+remarked. "Are you learning not to mind it already? It is just as well!
+Perhaps your husband will want you to sit with him when he smokes."
+
+"I would not do that for any man in the world, papa, except you!"
+
+"Ho! Ho!" said the Squire. "Good wives, my dear, do not mind trifles.
+They had better not, at any rate."
+
+"Papa," said Eleanor, whose cheeks were flaming, "do you not think,
+since a girl must give up her liberty so completely in marrying, that
+she ought to be allowed a good little taste of it beforehand?"
+
+"St. George and the Dragon! I do," said the Squire. "Your mother says
+it tends to lawlessness--and I say, I don't care. That is not my
+concern. If a man cannot rule his wife, he had better not have
+one--that is my opinion; and in your case, my dear, there is no fear.
+Mr. Carlisle is quite equal to his duties, or I am mistaken in him."
+
+Eleanor felt nearly wild under her father's speeches; nevertheless she
+sat perfectly quiet, only fiery about her cheeks.
+
+"Then, papa, to come to the point, don't you think in the little time
+that remains to me for my own, I might be allowed to do what I please
+with myself?"
+
+"I should say it was a plain case," said the Squire. "Take your
+pleasure, Nellie; I won't tether you. What do you want to do, child? I
+take it, you belong to me till you belong to somebody else."
+
+"Papa, I want to run away, and make a visit to my aunt Caxton. I shall
+never have another chance in the world--and I want to go off and be by
+myself and feel free once more, and have a good time."
+
+"Poor little duck!" said her father. "You are a sensible girl, Nellie.
+Go off; nobody shall hinder you."
+
+"Papa, unless you back me, mamma and Mr. Carlisle will not hear of it."
+
+"I'd go before he comes down then," said the Squire, knocking the ashes
+out of his pipe energetically. "St. George! I believe that man half
+thinks, sometimes, that I am one of his tenantry? The lords of Rythdale
+always did lord it over everything that came in their way. Now is your
+only chance, Eleanor; run away, if you're a mind to; Mr. Carlisle is
+master in his own house, no doubt, but he is not master in mine; and I
+say, you may go. Do him no harm to be kept on short commons for a
+little while."
+
+With a joyful heart Eleanor went back to the drawing-room, and sat
+patiently still at some fancy work till Mrs. Powle waked up from a nap.
+
+"Mamma, Dr. Cairnes wants me to be confirmed."
+
+"Confirmed!"--Mrs. Powle echoed the word, sitting bolt upright in her
+chair and opening her sleepy eyes wide at her daughter.
+
+"Yes. He says I ought to be confirmed. He has given me a book upon
+confirmation to study."
+
+"I wonder what you will do next!" said Mrs. Powle, sinking back. "Well,
+go on, if you like. Certainly, if you are to be confirmed, it ought to
+be done before your marriage. I wish anything _would_ confirm you in
+sober ways."
+
+"Mamma, I want to give this subject serious study, if I enter into it;
+and I cannot do it properly at home. I want to go away for a visit."
+
+"Well?" said Mrs. Powle, thinking of some cousins in London.
+
+"I want to be alone and quiet and have absolute peace for awhile; and
+this death of Lady Rythdale makes it possible. I want to go and make a
+visit to my aunt Caxton."
+
+"Caxton!"--Mrs. Powle almost screamed. "Caxton! _There!_ In the
+mountains of Wales! Eleanor, you are perfectly absurd. It is no use to
+talk to you."
+
+"Mamma, papa sees no objection."
+
+"_He_ does not! So you have been speaking to him! Make your own
+fortunes, Eleanor! I see you ruined already. With what favour do you
+suppose Mr. Carlisle will look upon such a project? Pray have you asked
+yourself?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am; and I am not going to consult him in the matter."
+
+The tea-equipage and the Squire came in together and stopped the
+conversation. Eleanor took care not to renew it, knowing that her point
+was gained. She took her father's hint, however, and made her
+preparations short and sudden. She sent that night a word, telling of
+her wish, to Mrs. Caxton; and waited but till the answer arrived,
+waited on thorns, to set off. The Squire looked rather moody the next
+day after his promise to Eleanor; but he would not withdraw it; and no
+other hindrance came. Eleanor departed safely, under the protection of
+old Thomas, the coachman, long a faithful servitor in the family. The
+journey was only part of the distance by railway; the rest was by
+posting; and a night had to be spent on the road.
+
+Towards evening of the second day, Eleanor began to find herself in
+what seemed an enchanted region. High mountains, with picturesque bold
+outlines, rose against the sky; and every step was bringing her deeper
+and deeper among them, in a rich green meadow valley. The scenery grew
+only wilder, richer, and lovelier, until the sun sank behind the high
+western line; and still its loveliness was not lost; while grey shades
+and duskiness gathered over the mountain sides and gradually melted the
+meadows and their scattered wood growth into one hue. Then only the
+wild mountain outline cut against the sky, and sometimes the rushing of
+a little river, told Eleanor of the varied beauty the evening hid.
+
+Little else she could see when the chaise stopped and she got out.
+Dimly a long, low building stretched before her at the side of the
+road; the rippling of water sounded softly at a little distance; the
+fresh mountain air blew in her face; then the house-door opened.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+IN THE HILLS.
+
+
+  "Face to face with the true mountains
+  I stood silently and still,
+  Drawing strength from fancy's dauntings,
+  From the air about the hill,
+  And from Nature's open mercies, and most debonair good will."
+
+
+The house-door opened first to shew a girl in short petticoats and blue
+jacket holding up a light. Eleanor made towards it, across a narrow
+strip of courtyard. She saw only the girl, and did not feel certain
+whether she had come to the right house. For neither Mrs. Caxton nor
+her home had ever been seen by any of Mr. Powle's children; though she
+was his own sister. But Mrs. Caxton had married quite out of _Mrs_.
+Powle's world; and though now a widow, she lived still the mistress of
+a great cheese farm; quite out of Mrs. Powle's world still. The latter
+had therefore never encouraged intercourse. Mrs. Caxton was an
+excellent woman, no doubt, and extremely respectable; still, Ivy Lodge
+and the cheese farm were further apart in feeling than in geographical
+miles; and though Mrs. Caxton often invited her brother's children to
+come and pick butter-cups in her meadows, Mrs. Powle always proved that
+to gather primroses in Rythdale was a higher employment, and much
+better for the children's manners, if not for their health. The Squire
+at this late day had been unaffectedly glad of Eleanor's proposal;
+avowing himself not ashamed of his sister or his children either. For
+Eleanor herself, she had no great expectation, except of rural
+retirement in a place where Mr. Carlisle would not follow her. That was
+enough. She had heard besides that the country was beautiful, and her
+aunt well off.
+
+As she stepped up now doubtfully to the girl with the light, looking to
+see whether she were right or wrong, the girl moved a little aside so
+as to light the entrance, and Eleanor passed on, discerning another
+figure behind. A good wholesome voice exclaimed, "You are welcome, my
+dear! It is Eleanor?" and the next instant Mr Powle's daughter found
+herself taken into one of those warm, gentle, genial embraces, that
+tell unmistakeably what sort of a heart moves the enfolding arms. It
+was rest and strength at once; and the lips that kissed her--there is a
+great deal of character in a kiss--were at once sweet and firm.
+
+"You have been all day travelling, my dear. You must be in want of
+rest."
+
+There was that sort of clear strength in the voice, to which one gives,
+even in the dark, one's confidence. Eleanor's foot fell more firmly on
+the tiled floor, as she followed her aunt along a passage or two; a
+little uncertainty in her heart was quieted; she was ready prepared to
+expect anything pleasant; and as they turned in at a low door, the
+expectation was met.
+
+The door admitted them to a low-ceiled room, also with a tiled floor,
+large and light. A good wood fire burned in the quaint chimney-piece;
+before it a table stood prepared for supper. A bit of carpet was laid
+down under the table and made a spot of extra comfort in the middle of
+the floor. Dark plain wainscotting, heavy furniture of simplest
+fashion, little windows well curtained; all nothing to speak of; all
+joined inexplicably to produce the impression of order, stability and
+repose, which seized upon Eleanor almost before she had time to observe
+details. But the mute things in a house have an odd way of telegraphing
+to a stranger what sort of a spirit dwells in the midst of them. It is
+always so; and Mrs. Caxton's room assured Eleanor that her first
+notions of its mistress were not ill-founded. She had opportunity to
+test and strengthen them now, in the full blaze of lamp and firelight;
+as her aunt stood before her taking off her bonnet and wrappers and
+handing them over to another attendant with a candle and a blue jacket.
+
+In the low room Mrs. Caxton looked even taller than belonged to her;
+and she was tall, and of noble full proportions that set off her
+height. Eleanor thought she had never seen a woman of more dignified
+presence; the head was set well back on the shoulders, the carriage
+straight, and the whole moral and physical bearing placid and quiet. Of
+course the actual movement was easy and fine; for that is with every
+one a compound of the physical and moral. Scarcely Elizabeth Fry had
+finer port or figure. The face was good, and strong; the eyes full of
+intelligence under the thick dark brows; all the lines of the face kind
+and commanding. A cap of very plain construction covered the abundant
+hair, which was only a little grey. Nothing else about Mrs. Caxton
+shewed age. Her dress was simple to quaintness; but, relieved by her
+magnificent figure, that effect was forgotten, or only remembered as
+enhancing the other. Eleanor sat down in a great leather chair, where
+she had been put, and looked on in a sort of charmed state; while her
+aunt moved about the table, gave quiet orders, made quiet arrangements,
+and finally took Eleanor's hand and seated her at the tea-table.
+
+"Not poppies, nor mandragora" could have had such a power of soothing
+over Eleanor's spirits. She sat at the table like a fairy princess
+under a friendly incantation; and the spell was not broken by any word
+or look on the part of her hostess. No questions of curiosity; no
+endeavours to find out more of Eleanor than she chose to shew; no
+surprise expressed at her mid-winter coming; nor so much pleasure as
+would have the effect of surprise. So naturally and cordially and with
+as much simplicity her visit was taken, as if it had been a yearly
+accustomed thing, and one of Mr. Powle's children had not now seen her
+aunt for the first time. Indeed so rare was the good sense and kindness
+of this reception, that Eleanor caught herself wondering whether her
+aunt could already know more of her than she seemed to know; and not
+caring if she did! Yet it was impossible, for her mother would not tell
+her story, and her father could not; and Eleanor came round to admiring
+with fresh admiration this noble-looking, new-found relation, whose
+manner towards herself inspired her with such confidence and exercised
+already such a powerful attraction. And _this_ was the mistress of a
+cheese-farm! Eleanor could not help being moved with a little curiosity
+on her part. This lady had no children; no near relations; for she was
+ignored by her brother's family. She lived alone; was she not lonely?
+Would she not wear misanthropical or weary traces of such a life? None;
+none were to be seen. Clear placidness dwelt on the brow, that looked
+as if nothing ever ruffled it; the eye was full of business and
+command; and the mouth,--its corners told of a fountain of sweetness
+somewhere in the region of the heart. Eleanor looked, and went back to
+her cup of tea and her supper with a renewed sense of comfort.
+
+The supper was excellent too. It would have belied Mrs. Caxton's look
+of executive capacity if it had not been. No fault was to be discerned
+anywhere. The tea-service was extremely plain and inexpensive; such as
+Mrs. Powle could not have used; that was certain. But then the bread,
+and the mutton chops, and the butter, and even the tea, were such as
+Mrs. Powle's china was never privileged to bear. And though Mrs. Caxton
+left in the background every topic of doubtful agreeableness, the talk
+flowed steadily with abundance of material and animation, during the
+whole supper-time. Mrs. Caxton was the chief talker. She had plenty to
+tell Eleanor of the country and people in the neighbourhood; of things
+to be seen and things to be done; so that supper moved slowly, and was
+a refreshment of mind as well as of body.
+
+"You are very weary, my dear," said Mrs. Caxton, after the table was
+cleared away, and the talk had continued through all that time. And
+Eleanor confessed it. In the calm which was settling down upon her, the
+strain of hours and days gone by began to be felt.
+
+"You shall go to your room presently," said Mrs. Caxton; "and you shall
+not get up to breakfast with me. That would be too early for you."
+
+Eleanor was going to enter a protest, when her aunt turned and gave an
+order in Welsh to the blue jacket then in the room. And then Eleanor
+had a surprise. Mrs. Caxton took a seat at a little distance, before a
+stand with a book; and the door opening again, in poured a stream of
+blue jackets, three or four, followed by three men and a boy. All
+ranged themselves on seats round the room, and Mrs. Caxton opened her
+book and read a chapter in the Bible. Eleanor listened, in mute wonder
+where this would end. It ended in all kneeling down and Mrs. Caxton
+offering a prayer. An extempore prayer, which for simplicity, strength,
+and feeling, answered all Eleanor's sense of what a prayer ought to be;
+though how a woman could speak it before others and before _men_,
+filled her with astonishment. But it filled her with humility too,
+before it was done; and Eleanor rose to her feet with an intense
+feeling of the difference between her aunt's character and her own;
+only equalled by her deep gladness at finding herself under the roof
+where she was.
+
+Her aunt then took a candle and lighted her through the tiled passages,
+up some low wooden stairs, uncarpeted; along more passages; finally
+into a large low matted chamber, with a row of little lattice windows.
+Comfort and simplicity were in all its arrangements; a little fire
+burning for her; Eleanor's trunks in a closet. When Mrs. Caxton had
+shewed her all that was necessary, she set down her candle on the low
+mantelshelf, and took Eleanor in her arms. Again those peculiar, gentle
+firm kisses fell upon her lips. But instead of "good night," Mrs.
+Caxton's words were,
+
+"Do you pray for yourself, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor dropped her head like a child on the breast before her. "Aunt
+Caxton, I do not know how!"
+
+"Then the Lord Jesus has not a servant in Eleanor Powle?"
+
+Eleanor was silent, thoughts struggling.
+
+"You have not learned to love him, Eleanor?"
+
+"I have only learned to wish to do it, aunt Caxton! I do wish that. It
+was partly that I might seek it, that I wanted to come here."
+
+Then Eleanor heard a deep-spoken, "Praise the Lord!" that seemed to
+come out from the very heart on which she was leaning. "If you have a
+mind to seek him, my dear, he is willing that you should find. 'The
+Lord is good to the soul that seeketh him.'"
+
+She kissed Eleanor on the two temples, released her and went down
+stairs. And Eleanor sat down before her fire, feeling as if she were in
+a paradise.
+
+It was all the more so, from the unlikeness of everything that met her
+eye, to all she had known before. The chimney-piece at which she was
+looking as she sat there--it was odd and quaint as possible, to a
+person accustomed only to the modern fashions of the elegant world; the
+fire-tongs and shovel would have been surely consigned to the kitchen
+department at Ivy Lodge. Yet the little blazing fire, framed in by its
+rows of coloured tiles, looked as cheerfully into Eleanor's face as any
+blaze that had ever greeted it. All was of a piece with the fireplace.
+Simple to quaintness, utterly plain and costless, yet with none of the
+essentials of comfort forgotten or neglected; from the odd little
+lattice windows to the tiled floor, everything said she was at a great
+distance from her former life, and Mr. Carlisle. The room looked as if
+it had been made for Eleanor to settle her two life-questions in it.
+Accordingly she took them up without delay; but Eleanor's mind that
+night was like a kaleidoscope. Images of different people and things
+started up, with wearying perversity of change and combination; and the
+question, whether she would be a servant of God like her aunt Caxton,
+was inextricably twisted up with the other question; whether she could
+escape being the baroness of Rythdale and the wife of Mr. Carlisle. And
+Eleanor did nothing but tire herself with thinking that night; until
+the fire was burnt out and she went to bed. Nevertheless she fell
+asleep with a sense of relief more blissful than she had known for
+months. She had put a little distance at least between her and her
+enemies.
+
+Eleanor had meant to be early next day, but rest had taken too good
+hold of her; it was long past early when she opened her eyes. The rays
+of the morning sun were peeping in through the lattices. Eleanor sprang
+up and threw open, or rather threw back, one of the windows, for the
+lattice slid in grooves instead of hanging on hinges. She would never
+have found out how to open them, but that one lattice stood slightly
+pushed back already. When it was quite out of her way, Eleanor's breath
+almost stopped. A view so wild, so picturesque, so rare in its outlines
+of beauty, she thought she had never seen. Before her, at some
+distance, beyond a piece of broken ground, rose a bare-looking height
+of considerable elevation, crowned by an old tower massively
+constructed, broken, and ivy-grown. The little track of a footpath was
+visible that wound round the hill; probably going up to the tower.
+Further beyond, with evidently a deep valley or gorge between, a line
+of much higher hills swept off to the left; bare also, and moulded to
+suit a painter of weird scenes, yet most lovely, and all seen now in
+the fair morning beams which coloured and lighted them and the old
+tower together. Nothing else. The road indeed by which she had come
+passed close before Eleanor's window; but trees embowered it, though
+they had been kept down so as not to hinder this distant view. Eleanor
+sat a long while spell-bound before the window.
+
+A noise disturbed her. It was one of the blue jackets bringing a tray
+with breakfast. Eleanor eagerly asked if Mrs. Caxton had taken
+breakfast; but all she got in return was a series of unintelligible
+sounds; however as the girl pointed to the sun, she concluded that the
+family breakfast hour was past. Everything strange again! At Ivy Lodge
+the breakfast hour lasted till the lagging members of the family had
+all come down; and here there was no family! How could happiness belong
+to anybody in such circumstances? The prospect within doors, Eleanor
+suddenly remembered, was yet more interesting than the view without.
+She eat her breakfast and dressed and went down.
+
+But to find the room where she had been the evening before, was more
+than her powers were equal to. Going from one passage to another,
+turning and turning back, afraid to open doors to ask somebody; Eleanor
+was quite bewildered, when she happily was met by her aunt. The morning
+kiss and greeting renewed in her heart all the peace of last night.
+
+"I cannot find my way about in your house, aunt Caxton. It seems a
+labyrinth."
+
+"It will not seem so long. Let me shew you the way out of it."
+
+Through one or two more turnings Mrs. Caxton led her niece, and opening
+a door took her out at the other side, the back of the house, where
+Eleanor's eyes had not been. Here there was a sort of covered gallery,
+extending to some length under what was either an upper piazza or the
+projection of the second story floor. The ground was paved with tiles
+as usual, and wooden settles stood along the wall, and plain stone
+pillars supported the roof. But as Eleanor's eyes went out further she
+caught her aunt's hand in ecstasy.
+
+From almost the edge of the covered gallery, a little terraced garden
+sloped down to the edge of a small river. The house stood on a bank
+above the river, at a commanding height; and on the river's further
+shore a rich sweep of meadow and pasture land stretched to the right
+and left and filled the whole breadth of the valley; on the other side
+of which, right up from the green fields, rose another line of hills.
+These were soft, swelling, round-topped hills, very different in their
+outlines from those in another quarter which Eleanor had been enjoying
+from her window. It was winter now, and the garden had lost its glory;
+yet Eleanor could see, for her eye was trained in such matters, that
+good and excellent care was at home in it; and some delicate things
+were there for which a slight protection had been thought needful. The
+river was lost to view immediately at the right; it wound down from the
+other hand through the rich meadows under a thick embowering bosky
+growth of trees; and just below the house it was spanned by a rude
+stone bridge, from which a hedged lane led off on the other side. All
+along the fences or hedges which enclosed the fields grew also
+beautiful old trees; the whole landscape was decked with wood growth,
+though the hills had little or none. All the more the sweet contrast;
+the rare harmony; the beautiful mingling of soft cultivation with what
+was wild and picturesque and barren. And the river gurgled on, with a
+fresh sound that told of its activity; and a very large herd of cows
+spotted the green turf in some of the meadows on the other side of the
+stream.
+
+"I never saw any place so lovely," exclaimed Eleanor; "never!"
+
+"This is my favourite walking place in winter," said Mrs. Caxton; "when
+I want to walk under shelter, or not to go far from home."
+
+"How charming that garden must be when the spring comes!"
+
+"Are you fond of gardening?" said Mrs. Caxton.
+
+A talk upon the subject followed, in which Eleanor perceived with some
+increase of respect that her aunt was no ignoramus; nay, that she was
+familiar with delicacies both in the practice and the subjects of
+horticulture that were not well known to Eleanor, in spite of her
+advantages of the Lodge and Rythdale conservatories and gardens both
+together. In the course of this talk, Eleanor noticed anew all the
+indications that had pleased her last night; the calm good sense and
+self-possession; the quiet dignity; the decision; the kindness. And
+perhaps Mrs. Caxton too made her observations. But this was the
+mistress of the cheese-farm!
+
+A pause fell in their talk at length; probably both had matter for
+reflection.
+
+"Have you settled that question, Eleanor?" said her aunt meaningly.
+
+"That question?--O no, aunt Caxton! It is all confusion; and it is all
+confused with another question."
+
+There was more than talk in this evidently, for Eleanor's face had all
+darkened. Mrs. Caxton answered calmly,
+
+"My dear, the first thing I would do, would be to separate them."
+
+"Aunty, they are like two wrestlers; I cannot seem to separate them. If
+I think of the one, I get hold of he other; and if I take up the other,
+I am obliged to think of the one; and my mind is the fighting ground."
+
+"Then the two questions are in reality one?"
+
+"No, aunt Caxton--they are not. Only they both press for attention at
+once."
+
+"Which is the most important?"
+
+"This one--about which you asked me," Eleanor said, drooping her head a
+little.
+
+"Then decide that to-day, Eleanor."
+
+"Aunty, I have decided it--in one way. I am determined what I will
+be--if I can. Only I do not see how. And before I do see
+how,--perhaps--the other question may have decided itself; and
+then--Aunty, I cannot tell you about it to-day. Let me wait a few days;
+till I know you better and you have time to know me."
+
+"Then, as it is desirable you should lose no time, I shall keep you
+with me, Eleanor. Would you like to-morrow to go through the dairies
+and see the operation of cheese-making? Did you ever see it?"
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I know no more about cheese than that I have eaten it
+sometimes. I would like to go to-morrow, or to-day; whenever you
+please."
+
+"The work is nearly over for to-day."
+
+"Do they make cheese in your dairy every day, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"Two every day."
+
+"But you must have a great number of cows, ma'am?"
+
+"There they are," said her aunt, looking towards the opposite meadows.
+"We milk between forty and fifty at present; there are about thirty
+dry."
+
+"Seventy or eighty cows!" exclaimed Eleanor. "Why aunt Caxton, you must
+want the whole valley for their pasturing."
+
+"I want no more than I have," said Mrs. Caxton quietly. "You see, those
+meadows on the other side of the river look rich. It is a very good
+cheese farm."
+
+"How far does it extend, aunty?"
+
+"All along, the meadowland, as far as you see."
+
+"I do not believe there is a pleasanter or prettier home in all the
+kingdom!" Eleanor exclaimed. "How charming, aunt Caxton, all this must
+be in summer, when your garden is in bloom."
+
+"There is a way of carrying summer along with us through all the year,
+Eleanor; do you know that?"
+
+"Do you wear the 'helmet' too?" thought Eleanor. "I have no doubt but
+you do, over that calm brow!" But she only looked wistfully at her
+aunt, and Mrs. Caxton changed the conversation. She sat down with
+Eleanor on a settle, for the day was mild and the place sheltered; and
+talked with her of home and her family. She shewed an affectionate
+interest in all the details concerning her brother's household and
+life, but Eleanor admired with still increasing and profound respect,
+the delicacy which stopped every inquiry at the point where delicacy
+might wish to withhold the answer. The uprightest self-respect went
+hand in hand with the gentlest regard and respect for others. To this
+reserve Eleanor was more communicative than she could have been to
+another manner; and on some points her hesitancy told as much, perhaps,
+as her disclosures on other points; so that Mrs. Caxton was left with
+some general idea, if not more, of the home Eleanor had lived her life
+in and the various people who had made it what it was. On all things
+that touched Rythdale Eleanor was silent; and so was Mrs. Caxton.
+
+The conversation flowed on to other topics; and the whole day was a
+gentle entertainment to Eleanor. The perpetual good sense, information,
+and shrewdness of her hostess was matter of constant surprise and
+interest. Eleanor had never talked with anybody who talked so well; and
+she felt obliged unconsciously all the time to produce the best of
+herself. That is not a disagreeable exercise; and on the whole the day
+reeled off on silver wheels. It concluded as the former day had done;
+and in the warm prayer uttered by her aunt, Eleanor could not help
+feeling there was a pulse of the heart for _her;_ for her darkness and
+necessities. It sent her to her room touched, and humbled, and
+reminded; but Eleanor's musings this night were no more fruitful of
+results than those of last night had been. They resolved themselves
+into a long waking dream. Mr. Carlisle exercised too much mastery over
+her imagination, for any other concern to have fair chance till his
+question was disposed of. Would he come to look for her there? It was
+just like him; but she had a little hope that her mother's pride would
+prevent his being furnished with the necessary information. That
+Eleanor should be sought and found by him on a cheese farm, the
+mistress of the farm her own near relation, would not probably meet
+Mrs. Powle's notions of what it was expedient to do or suffer. A
+slender thread of a hope; but that was all. Supposing he came? Eleanor
+felt she had no time to lose. She could only deal with Mr. Carlisle at
+a distance. In his presence, she knew now, she was helpless. But a
+vague sense of wrong combated all her thoughts of what she wished to
+do; with a confused and conflicting question of what was right. She
+wearied herself to tears with her dreaming, and went to bed to
+aggravate her troubles in actual dreams; in which the impossible came
+in to help the disagreeable.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+AT THE FARM.
+
+
+  "What if she be fastened to this fool lord,
+  Dare I bid her abide by her word?"
+
+
+The next morning nevertheless was bright, and Eleanor was early down
+stairs. And now she found that the day was begun at the farmhouse in
+the same way in which it was ended. A reverent, sweet, happy committing
+of all her affairs and her friends to God, in the presence and the
+company of her household, was Mrs. Caxton's entrance, for her and them,
+upon the work of the day. Breakfast was short and very early, which it
+had to be if Eleanor wanted to see the operations of the dairy; and
+then Mrs. Caxton and she went thither; and then first Eleanor began to
+have a proper conception of the magnitude and complication of the
+business her aunt presided over.
+
+The dairies were of great extent, stretching along the ground floor of
+the house, behind and beyond the covered gallery where she and her aunt
+had held their first long conversation the day before. Tiled floors, as
+neat as wax; oaken shelves, tubs, vats, baskets, cheese-hoops, presses;
+all as neat and sweet as it was possible for anything to be, looked
+like a confusion of affairs to Eleanor's eye. However, the real
+business done that morning was sufficiently simple; and she found it
+interesting enough to follow patiently every part of the process
+through to the end. Several blue jackets were in attendance; some
+Welsh, some English; each as diligent at her work as if she only had
+the whole to do. And among them Eleanor noticed how admirably her aunt
+played the mistress and acted the executive head. Quietly, simply, as
+her words were spoken, they were nevertheless words that never failed
+to be instantly obeyed; and the service that was rendered her was given
+with what seemed the alacrity of affection, as well as the zeal of
+duty. Eleanor stood by, watching, amused, intent; yet taking in a
+silent lesson of character all the while, that touched her heart and
+made her draw a deep breath now and then. The last thing visited was
+the cheese house, the room where the cheeses were stored for ripening,
+quite away from all the dairies. Here there was a forest of cheeses;
+standing on end and lying on shelves, in various stages of maturity.
+
+"Two a day!" said Eleanor looking at them. "That makes a wonderful many
+in the course of the year."
+
+"Except Sundays," said Mrs. Caxton. "No cheese is made on Sunday in my
+dairy, nor any dairywork done, except milking the cows and setting the
+milk."
+
+"I meant except Sundays, of course."
+
+"It is not 'of course' here," said Mrs. Caxton. "The common practice in
+large dairy-farms is to do the same work on the seventh day that is
+done all the six."
+
+"But that is wrong, aunty, it seems to me."
+
+"Wrong? Of course it is wrong; but the defence is, that it is
+necessary. If Sunday's milk is not made at once into cheese, it must
+wait till Monday; and not only double work must be done then, for
+Monday will have its own milk, but double sets of everything will be
+needed; tubs and presses and all. So people think they cannot afford
+it."
+
+"Well, how can they, aunt Caxton? There seems reason in that."
+
+"Reason for what?"
+
+"Why, I mean, it seems they have some reason for working on the
+Sabbath--not to lose all that milk. It is one seventh of all they have."
+
+Mrs. Caxton replied in a very quiet manner,--"'Thou shalt remember the
+Lord thy God; for it is he that giveth thee power to get wealth.'"
+
+"But aunt Caxton," said Eleanor a little doubtfully,--"he gives it in
+the use of means?"
+
+"Do you think he blesses the use of means he has forbidden?"
+
+Eleanor was silent a moment.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, people do get rich so, do they not?"
+
+"'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich,'" said Mrs. Caxton,
+contentedly,--"'and he addeth no sorrow with it.' That is the sort of
+riches I like best."
+
+Eleanor did not answer; a kind of moisture came up in her eyes, for she
+felt poor in those riches.
+
+"It is mere want of faith, Eleanor, that pleads such a reason," Mrs.
+Caxton went on. "It is taking the power to get wealth into our own
+hands. If it is in God's hands, it is just as easy certainly for him to
+give it to us in the obedient use of means as in the disobedient use of
+them; and much more likely that he will. Many a man has become poor by
+his disobedience, for one that has been allowed to prosper awhile in
+spite of it. If the statistics were made up, men would see. Meanwhile,
+never anybody trusted the Lord and was confounded."
+
+"Then what do you do with the seventh day's milk, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"I make butter of it. But I would pour it away down the river, Eleanor,
+before I would make it an excuse for disobeying God."
+
+This was said without any heat, but as the quietest of conclusions.
+Eleanor stood silent, wondering at her aunt's cheeses and notions
+together. She was in a new world, surely. Yet a secret feeling of
+respect was every moment mounting higher.
+
+"The principle is universally true, Eleanor, that the safe way in
+everything is the way of obedience. Consequences are not in our hands.
+It is only unbelief that would make consequences a reason for going out
+of the way. 'Trust in the Lord, and keep his way; so shall he exalt
+thee to inherit the land.' I have had nothing but prosperity, Eleanor,
+ever since I began the course which my neighbours and servants thought
+would destroy me."
+
+"I wanted to ask you that, aunt Caxton;--how it had been."
+
+"But my dear," said Mrs. Caxton, the smile with which she had turned to
+Eleanor fading into placid gravity again,--"if it had been otherwise,
+it would have made no difference. I would rather be poor, with my
+Lord's blessing, than have all the principality without it."
+
+Eleanor went away thinking. All this applied to the decision of her own
+affairs; and perhaps Mrs. Caxton had intended it should. But yet, how
+should she decide? To do the thing that was right,--Eleanor wished
+that,--and did not know what it was. Her wishes said one thing, and
+prayed for freedom. A vague, trammelling sense of engagements entered
+into and expectations formed and pledges given, at times confused all
+her ideas; and made her think it might be her duty to go home and
+finish wittingly what she had begun in ignorance what she was doing. It
+would be now to sacrifice herself. Was she called upon to do that? What
+was right?
+
+Mrs. Caxton never alluded any further to Eleanor's private affairs; and
+Eleanor never forgetting them, kept them in the darkness of her own
+thoughts and did not bring them up to the light and her aunt's eye.
+Only for this drawback, the days would have passed delightfully. The
+next day was Sunday.
+
+"We have a long drive to church, Eleanor," said her aunt. "How will you
+go?"
+
+"With you, aunty."
+
+"I don't know about that; my car has no place for you. Are you a
+horsewoman?"
+
+"O aunty, nothing would be so delightful! if you have anything I can
+ride. Nothing would be so delightful. I half live in the saddle at
+home."
+
+"You do? Then you shall go errands for me. I will furnish you with a
+Welsh pony."
+
+And this very day Eleanor mounted him to ride to church. Her aunt was
+in a light car that held but herself and the driver. Another vehicle, a
+sort of dog cart, followed with some of the servants. The day was mild
+and pleasant, though not brilliant with sunbeams. It made no matter.
+Eleanor could not comprehend how more loveliness could have been
+crowded into the enjoyment of two hours. On her pony she had full
+freedom for the use of her eyes; the road was excellent, and winding in
+and out through all the crookedness of the valley they threaded, she
+took it at all points of view. Nothing could be more varied. The valley
+itself, rich and wooded, with the little river running its course,
+marked by a thick embowering of trees; the hills that enclosed the
+valley taking every form of beauty, sometimes wild and sometimes tame,
+heathery and barren, rough and rocky, and again rounded and soft. Along
+these hills came into view numberless dwellings, of various styles and
+sizes; with once in a while a bold castle breaking forth in proud
+beauty, or a dismantled ruin telling of pride and beauty that had been.
+Eleanor had no one to talk to, and she did not want to talk. On
+horseback, and on a Welsh pony, no Black Maggie or Tippoo, and in these
+wonderful new strange scenes, she felt free; free from Mr. Carlisle and
+his image for the moment; and though knowing that her bondage would
+return, she enjoyed her freedom all the more. The little pony was
+satisfactory; and as there was no need of taking a gallop to-day,
+Eleanor had nothing to desire.
+
+The ride ended at the loveliest of all picturesque villages; so Eleanor
+thought; nestled in what seemed the termination of the valley. A little
+village, with the square tower of the church rising up above the trees;
+all the houses stood among trees; and the river was crossed by a bridge
+just above, and tore down a precipice just below; so near that its roar
+was the constant lullaby of the inhabitants. It was the only sound
+to-day, rising in Sabbath stillness over the hills. After all this
+ride, the service in the little church did not disappoint expectation;
+it was sound, warm and good; and Eleanor mounted her pony and rode home
+again, almost wishing she could take service with her aunt as a
+dairymaid forever. All the day was sweet to Eleanor. But at the end of
+it a thought darted into her mind, with the keenness of an arrow. Mr.
+Carlisle in a few days more might have learned of her run-away freak
+and of her hiding-place and have time to come after her. There was a
+barb to the thought; for Eleanor could not get rid of it.
+
+She begged the pony the next day, and the next, and went very long
+rambling rides; in the luxury of being alone. They would have been most
+delightful, but for the idea that haunted her, and which made her
+actually afraid to enter the house on her return home. This state of
+things was not to be borne much longer.
+
+"You have let the pony tire you, Eleanor," Mrs. Caxton remarked. It was
+the evening of the second day, and the two ladies were sitting in the
+light of the wood fire.
+
+"Ma'am, he could not do that. I live half my life on horseback at home."
+
+"Then how am I to understand the long-drawn breaths which I hear from
+you every now and then?"
+
+Mrs. Caxton was twisting up paper lighters. She was rarely without
+something in her fingers. Eleanor was doing nothing. At her aunt's
+question she half laughed, and seized one of the strips of paper to
+work upon. Her laugh changed into a sigh.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, do you always find it easy to know what is the right
+thing to do--in all circumstances?"
+
+"I have always infallible counsel that I can take."
+
+"You mean the Bible? But the Bible does not tell one everything."
+
+"I mean prayer."
+
+"Prayer!--But my dear aunt Caxton!--"
+
+"What is it, my dear?"
+
+"I mean, that one wants an answer to one's perplexing questions."
+
+"Mine never fail of an answer," said Mrs. Caxton. "If it is to be found
+in the Bible, I find it; if not, I go to the Lord, and get it from him."
+
+"How, my dear aunt Caxton? How can you have an answer----in that way?"
+
+"I ask to be directed--and I always am, Eleanor; always right. What do
+you think prayer is good for?"
+
+"But aunt Caxton!--I never heard of such a thing in my life! Please
+forgive me."
+
+"'If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men
+liberally, and upbraideth not; _and it shall be given him_.' Did you
+never hear that, Eleanor?"
+
+"Aunty--excuse me,--it is something I know nothing about."
+
+"You never had an answer to your own prayers?"
+
+"No, ma'am," said Eleanor drooping.
+
+"My dear, there may be two reasons for that. Whoever wishes direction
+from the Lord, must be absolutely willing to follow it, whatever it
+be--we may not ask counsel of him as we do of our fellow-creatures,
+bent upon following our own all the while. The Lord knows our hearts,
+and withholds his answer when we ask so."
+
+"How do you know what the answer is, aunty?"
+
+"It may be given in various ways. Sometimes circumstances point it out;
+sometimes attention is directed to a word in the Bible; sometimes,
+'thine ears shall hear a voice behind thee, saying, This is the way,
+walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the
+left.'"
+
+Eleanor did not answer; she thought her aunt was slightly fanatical.
+
+"There is another reason for not getting an answer, Eleanor. It is, not
+believing that an answer will be given."
+
+"Aunty, how can one help that?"
+
+"By simply looking at what God has promised, and trusting it. 'But let
+a man ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a
+wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man
+think that he shall receive anything of the Lord.'"
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I am exactly like such a wave of the sea. And in danger
+of being broken to pieces like one."
+
+"Many a one has been," said Mrs Caxton. But it was tenderly said, not
+coldly; and the impulse to go on was irresistible. Eleanor changed her
+seat for one nearer.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I want somebody's help dreadfully."
+
+"I see you do."
+
+"Do you see it, ma'am?"
+
+"I think I have seen it ever since you have been here."
+
+"But at the same time, aunty, I do not know how to ask it."
+
+"Those are sometimes the neediest eases. But I hope you will find a
+way, my dear."
+
+Eleanor sat silent nevertheless, for some minutes; and then she spoke
+in a lowered and changed tone.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, you know the engagements I am under?"
+
+"Yes. I have heard."
+
+"What should a woman do--what is it her duty to do--who finds herself
+in every way bound to fulfil such engagements, except--"
+
+"Except what?"
+
+"Except her own heart, ma'am," Eleanor said low and ashamed.
+
+"My dear, you do not mean that your heart was not in these engagements
+when you made them?"
+
+"I did not know where it was, aunty. It had nothing to do with them."
+
+"Where is it now?"
+
+"It is not in them, ma'am."
+
+"Eleanor, let us speak plainly. Do you mean that you do not love this
+gentleman whom you have promised to marry?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated, covered her face, and hesitated; at last spoke.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I thought I did;--but I know now I do not; not as I think
+I ought;--I do not as he loves me." Eleanor spoke with burning cheeks,
+which her aunt could see even in the firelight and though Eleanor's
+hand endeavoured to shield them.
+
+"What made you enter into these engagements, my dear?"
+
+"The will and power of two other people, aunt Caxton--and, I am afraid,
+now, a little ambition of my own was at work in it. And I liked him
+too. It was not a person that I did not like. But I did not know what I
+was doing. I liked him, aunt Caxton."
+
+"And now it is a question with you whether you will fulfil these
+engagements?"
+
+"Yes ma'am,--because I do not wish to fulfil them. I do not know
+whether I ought, or ought not."
+
+Mrs. Caxton was silent in her turn.
+
+"Eleanor,--do you like some one else better?"
+
+"Nobody else likes me better, aunt Caxton--there is nothing of that
+kind--"
+
+"Still my question is not answered, Eleanor. Have _you_ more liking for
+any other person?"
+
+"Aunt Caxton--I do not know--I have seen--I do not know how to answer
+you!" Eleanor said in bitter confusion; then hiding her face she went
+on--"Just so much as this is true, aunt Caxton,--I have seen, what
+makes me know that I do not love Mr. Carlisle; not as he loves me."
+
+Mrs. Caxton stooped forward, took Eleanor's hands down from her face
+and kissed her. It was a sad, drooping, pained face, hot with shame.
+
+"My child," she said, "your honesty has saved you. I could not have
+advised you, Eleanor, if you had not been frank with me. Poor child!"
+
+Eleanor came down on the floor and hid her face in Mrs. Caxton's lap.
+Her aunt kept one hand softly resting on her hair while she spoke. She
+was silent first, and then she spoke very tenderly.
+
+"You did not know, at the time you engaged yourself to this gentleman,
+that you were doing him wrong?"
+
+"No, ma'am--I thought rather of wrong to myself."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"They were in such a hurry, ma'am."
+
+"Since then, you have seen what you like better."
+
+"Yes, ma'am,"--said Eleanor doubtfully,--"or what I know I _could_ like
+better, if there was occasion. That is all."
+
+"Now the question is, in these circumstances, what is your duty to Mr.
+Carlisle."
+
+Eleanor lifted her head to look into her aunt's face for the decision
+to come.
+
+"The rule of judgment is not far off, Eleanor; it is the golden rule.
+'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.'
+My dear, take the case of the person you could like best in the
+world;--would you have such a person marry you if his heart belonged to
+somebody else?"
+
+"Not for the whole world!" said Eleanor raising her head which had
+fallen again. "But aunt Caxton, that is not my case. My heart is not
+anybody's."
+
+"Put it differently then. Would you marry such a man, if you knew that
+his mere liking for another was stronger than his love for you?"
+
+"I think--I would rather die!" said Eleanor slowly.
+
+"Then I think your question is answered."
+
+"But aunt Caxton, it is not answered. Mr. Carlisle would not feel so. I
+know, he would have me marry him, if he knew that my heart was a
+thousand times another person's--which it is not."
+
+"Don't alter the case," said Mrs. Caxton, "except to make it stronger.
+If he were the right sort of man, he would not have you do so. There is
+no rule that we should make other people's wishes our standard of
+right."
+
+"But aunt Caxton, I have done Mr. Carlisle grievous wrong. O, I feel
+that!--"
+
+"Yes. What then?"
+
+"Am I not bound to make him all the amends in my power?"
+
+"Short of doing further wrong. Keep right and wrong always clear,
+Eleanor. They never mean the same thing."
+
+"Aunty, what you must think of me!"
+
+"I think of you just now as saved from shipwreck. Many a girl has
+drifted on in the course you were going, without courage to get out of
+the current, until she has destroyed herself; and perhaps somebody
+else."
+
+"I do not think I had much courage, aunt Caxton," said Eleanor blushing.
+
+"What had you, then?"
+
+"It was mainly my horror of marrying that man, after I found I did not
+love him. And yet, aunt Caxton, I do like him; and I am very, very,
+very sorry! It has almost seemed to me sometimes that I ought to marry
+him and give him what I can; and yet, if I were ready, I would rather
+die."
+
+"Is your doubt settled?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am,"--said Eleanor sadly.
+
+"My dear, you have done wrong,--I judge, somewhat ignorantly,--but
+mischief can never be mended by mischief. To marry one man, preferring
+another, is the height of disloyalty to both him and yourself; unless
+you can lay the whole truth before him; and then, as I think, in most
+cases it would be the height of folly."
+
+"I will write to Mr. Carlisle to-morrow."
+
+"And then, Eleanor, what was the other question you came here to
+settle?"
+
+"It is quite a different question, aunty, and yet it was all twisted up
+with the other."
+
+"You can tell it me; it will hardly involve greater confidence," said
+Mrs. Caxton, bending over and kissing Eleanor's brow which rested upon
+her knee. "Eleanor, I am very thankful you came to Plassy."
+
+The girl rose up and kneeling beside her hid her face in Mrs. Caxton's
+bosom. "Aunt Caxton, I am so glad! I have wanted just this help so
+long! and this refuge. Put your arms both round me, and hold me tight."
+
+Mrs. Caxton said nothing for a little while. She waited for Eleanor to
+take her own time and speak. Very still the two were. There were some
+straining sobs that came from the one and went to the heart of the
+other; heavy and hard; but with no sound till they were quieted.
+
+"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor at last, "the other question was that one
+of a refuge."
+
+"A heavenly one?"
+
+"Yes. I had heard of a 'helmet of salvation'--I wanted it;--but I do
+not know how to get it."
+
+"Do you know what it is?"
+
+"Not very clearly. But I have seen it, aunt Caxton;--I know it makes
+people safe and happy. I want it for myself."
+
+"Safe from what?"
+
+"From--all that I feared when I was dangerously ill last summer."
+
+"What did you fear, Eleanor?"
+
+"All the future, aunt Caxton. I was not ready, I knew, to go out of
+this world. I am no better now."
+
+They had not changed their relative positions. Eleanor's face still lay
+on her aunt's bosom; Mrs. Caxton's arms still enfolded her.
+
+"Bless the Lord! there is such a helmet," she said; "but we cannot
+manufacture it, Eleanor, nor even buy it. If you have it at all, you
+must take it as a free gift."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"If you are willing to be a soldier of Christ, he will give you his
+armour."
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I do not understand."
+
+"It is only to take the promises of God, my dear, if you will take them
+obediently. Jesus has declared that 'whosoever believeth on him, hath
+everlasting life.'"
+
+"But I cannot exactly understand what believing in him means. I am very
+stupid." Eleanor raised her head and looked now in her aunt's face.
+
+"Do you understand his work for us?"
+
+"I do not know, ma'am."
+
+"My dear, it is the work of love that was not willing to let us be
+miserable. While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. He gave
+himself a ransom for all. He suffered for sins, the just for the
+unjust, that he might bring us to God."
+
+"Yes, I believe I understand that," said Eleanor wearily.
+
+"The only question is, whether we will let him bring us. The question
+is, whether we are willing to accept this substitution of the innocent
+One for our guilty selves, and be his obedient children. If we are--if
+we rely on him and his blood only, and are willing to give up ourselves
+to him, then the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin. No
+matter though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. There is
+no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after
+the flesh but after the Spirit."
+
+"But I do not walk so," said Eleanor.
+
+"Do you want to walk so?"
+
+"O yes, ma'am! yes!" said Eleanor clasping her hands. "I desire it
+above all possible things. I want to be such a one."
+
+"If you truly desire it, my dear, it is certain that you may have what
+you want; for the Lord's will is not different. He died for this very
+thing, that he might be just, and the justifier of him that believeth
+in Jesus. There is an open door before you; all things are ready; you
+have only to plead the promises and enter in. The Lord himself says,
+Come."
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I understand, I think; but I do not feel; not anything
+but fear,--and desire."
+
+"This is the mere statement of truth, my dear; it is like the altar
+with the wood laid in readiness and the sacrifice--all cold; and till
+fire falls down from heaven, no incense will arise from earth. But if
+any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men
+liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him."
+
+"I am a poor creature, aunt Caxton!" said Eleanor, hiding her face
+again. And again Mrs. Caxton's arm came tenderly round her. And again
+Eleanor's tears flowed, this time in a flood.
+
+"Certainly you are a poor creature, Eleanor. I am glad you are finding
+it out. But will you flee to the stronghold, you poor little prisoner
+of hope?"
+
+"I think I am rather the prisoner of fear, aunty."
+
+"Hope is a better gaoler, my deal."
+
+"But that is the very thing that I want."
+
+"The Lord give it you!"
+
+They sat a good while in stillness after that, each thinking her own
+thoughts; or perhaps those of the elder lady took the form of prayers.
+At last Eleanor raised her head and kissed her aunt's lips earnestly.
+
+"How good of you to let me come to Plassy!" she said.
+
+"I shall keep you here now. You will not wish to be at home again for
+some time."
+
+"No, ma'am. No indeed I shall not."
+
+"What are you going to do about Mr. Carlisle?"
+
+"I shall write to-morrow. Or to-night."
+
+"And tell him?--"
+
+"The plain truth, aunt Caxton. I mean, the truth of the fact, of
+course. It is very hard!"--said Eleanor sorrowfully.
+
+"It is doubtless hard; but it is the least of all the choice of evils
+you have left yourself. Write to-night,--and here, if you will. If you
+can without being disturbed by me."
+
+"The sight of you will only help me, aunt Caxton. But I did not know
+the harm I was doing when I entered into all this."
+
+"I believe it. Go and write your letter."
+
+Eleanor brought her paper-case and sat down at the table. Mrs. Caxton
+ordered other lights and was mutely busy at her own table. Not a word
+was spoken for a good while. It was with a strange mixture of pain and
+bursting gladness that Eleanor wrote the letter which she hoped would
+set her free. But the gladness was enough to make her sure it ought to
+be written; and the pain enough to make it a bitter piece of work. The
+letter was finished, folded, sealed; and with a sigh Eleanor closed her
+paper-case.
+
+"What sort of a clergyman have you at home?" Mrs. Caxton asked. She had
+not spoken till then.
+
+"He is a kind old man--he is a good man," Eleanor said, picking for
+words; "I like him. He is not a very interesting preacher."
+
+"Did you ever hold any talk with him on your thoughts of hope, and
+fear?"
+
+"I could not, ma'am. I have tried; but I could not bring him to the
+point. He referred me to confirmation and to doing my duty; he did not
+help me."
+
+"It is not a happy circumstance, that his public teaching should raise
+questions which his private teaching cannot answer."
+
+"O it did not!" said Eleanor. "Dr. Cairnes never raised a question in
+anybody's mind, I am sure; never in mine."
+
+"The light that sprung up in your mind then, came you do not know
+whence?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, I do," said Eleanor with a little difficulty. "It came
+from the words and teaching of a living example. But in me it seems to
+be only darkness."
+
+Mrs. Caxton said no more, and Eleanor added no more. The servants came
+in to family prayer; and then they took their candies and bade each
+other an affectionate good night. And Eleanor slept that night without
+dreaming.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+AT GLANOG.
+
+
+  "For something that abode endued
+  With temple-like repose, an air
+  Of life's kind purposes pursued
+  With order'd freedom sweet and fair,
+  A tent pitched in a world not right
+  It seem'd, whose inmates, every one,
+  On tranquil faces, bore the light
+  Of duties beautifully done."
+
+
+How did the days pass after that? In restless anxiety, with Eleanor; in
+miserable uncertainty and remorse and sorrow. She counted the hours
+till her despatch could be in Mr. Carlisle's hands; then she figured to
+herself the pain it would cause him; then she doubted fearfully what
+the immediate effect would be. It might be, to bring him down to Plassy
+with the utmost speed of post-horses; and again Eleanor reckoned the
+stages and estimated the speed at which Mr. Carlisle's postillions
+could be made to travel, and the time when it would be possible for
+this storm to burst upon Plassy. That day Eleanor begged the pony and
+went out. She wandered for hours, among unnumbered, and almost
+unheeded, beauties of mountain and vale; came home at a late hour, and
+crept in by a back entrance. No stranger had come; the storm had not
+burst yet; and Mrs. Caxton was moved to pity all the supper time and
+hours of the evening, at the state of fear and constraint in which
+Eleanor evidently dwelt.
+
+"My dear, did you like this man?" she said when they were bidding each
+other good night.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle?--yes, very well; if only he had not wanted me to marry
+him."
+
+"But you fear him, Eleanor."
+
+"Because, aunt Caxton, he always had a way of making me do just what he
+wished."
+
+"Are you so easily governed, Eleanor, by one whom you do not love? I
+should not have thought it."
+
+"I do not know how it was, aunty. I had begun wrong, in the first
+place; I was in a false position;--and lately Mr. Carlisle has taken it
+into his head, very unnecessarily, to be jealous; and I could not move
+a step without subjecting myself to a false imputation."
+
+"Good night, my dear," said her aunt. "If he comes, I will take all
+imputations on myself."
+
+But Mr. Carlisle did not come. Day passed after day; and the intense
+fear Eleanor had at first felt changed to a somewhat quieter
+anticipation; though she never came home from a ride without a good
+deal of circumspection about getting into the house. At last, one day
+when she was sitting with her aunt the messenger came from the post,
+and one of those letters was handed to Eleanor that she knew so well;
+with the proud seal and its crest. Particularly full and well made she
+thought this seal was; though that was not so very uncommon, and
+perhaps she was fanciful; but it was a magnificent seal, and the lines
+of the outer handwriting were very bold and firm. Eleanor's cheeks lost
+some colour as she opened the envelope, which she did without breaking
+the bright black wax. Her own letter was all the enclosure.
+
+The root of wrong even unconsciously planted, will bear its own proper
+and bitter fruits; and Eleanor tasted them that day, and the next and
+the next. She was free; she was secure from even an attempt to draw her
+back into the bonds she had broken; when Mr. Carlisle's pride had taken
+up the question there was no danger of his ever relenting or faltering;
+and pride had thrown back her letter of withdrawal in her face. She was
+free; but she knew she had given pain, and that more feeling was stung
+in Mr. Carlisle's heart than his pride.
+
+"He will get over it, my dear," said her aunt coolly. But Eleanor shed
+many tears for a day or two, over the wrong she had done. Letters from
+Ivy Lodge did not help her.
+
+"Home is very disagreeable now," wrote her little sister Julia; "mamma
+is crying half the day, and the other half she does not feel
+comfortable--" (a gentle statement of the case.) "And papa is very much
+vexed, and keeps out of doors the whole time and Alfred with him; and
+Mr. Rhys is gone away, and I have got nobody. I shouldn't know what to
+do, if Mr. Rhys had not taught me; but now I can pray. Dear Eleanor, do
+you pray? I wish you were coming home again, but mamma says you are not
+coming in a great while; and Mr. Rhys is never coming back. He said so."
+
+Mrs. Powle's letter was in strict accordance with Julia's description
+of matters; desperately angry and mortified. The only comfort was, that
+in her mortification she desired Eleanor to keep away from home and out
+of her sight; so Eleanor with a certain rest of heart in spite of all,
+prepared herself for a long quiet sojourn with her aunt at the
+cheese-farm of Plassy. Mrs. Caxton composedly assured her that all this
+vexation would blow over; and Eleanor's own mind was soon fain to lay
+off its care and content itself in a nest of peace. Mrs. Caxton's house
+was that, to anybody worthy of enjoying it; and to Eleanor it had all
+the joy not only of fitness but of novelty. But for a lingering care on
+the subject of the other question that had occupied her, Eleanor would
+in a little while have been happier than at any former time in her
+life. How was it with that question, which had pressed so painfully
+hard during weeks and months past? now that leisure and opportunity
+were full and broad to take it up and attend to it. So they were; but
+with the removal of difficulty came in some degree the relaxing of
+effort; opportunity bred ease. It was so simple a thing to be good at
+Plassy, that Eleanor's cry for it became less bitter. Mrs. Caxton's
+presence, words, and prayers, kept the thought constant alive; yet with
+more of soothing and hopeful than of exciting influence; and while
+Eleanor constantly wished she were happy like her, she nevertheless did
+not fail to be happy in her own way.
+
+The aunt and niece were excellently suited to each other, and took
+abundant delight in each other's company. Eleanor found that what had
+been defective in her own education was in the way to be supplied and
+made up to her singularly; here, of all places, on a cheese-farm! So it
+was. To her accomplishments and materials of knowledge, she now found
+suddenly superadded, the necessity and the practice of thinking. In
+Mrs. Caxton's house it was impossible to help it. Judgment, conscience,
+reason, and good sense, were constantly brought into play; upon things
+already known and things until then not familiar. In the reading of
+books, of which they did a good deal; in the daily discussion of the
+newspaper; in the business of every hour, in the intercourse with every
+neighbour, Eleanor found herself always stimulated and obliged to look
+at things from a new point of view; to consider them with new lights;
+to try them by a new standard. As a living creature, made and put here
+to live for something, she felt herself now; as in a world where
+everybody had like trusts to fulfil and was living mindful or forgetful
+of his trust. How mindful Mrs. Caxton was of hers, Eleanor began every
+day with increasing admiration to see more and more. To her servants,
+to her neighbours, with her money and her time and her sympathies, for
+little present interests and for world-wide and everlasting ones, Mrs.
+Caxton was ever ready, active, watchful; hands full and head full and
+heart full. That motive power of her one mind and will, Eleanor
+gradually found, was the centre and spring of a vast machinery of good,
+working so quietly and so beneficently as proved it had been in
+operation a long, long time. It was a daily deep lesson to Eleanor,
+going deeper and deeper every day. The roots were striking down that
+would shoot up and bear fruit by and by.
+
+Eleanor was a sweet companion to her aunt all those months. In her
+fresh, young, rich nature, Mrs. Caxton had presently seen the signs of
+strength, without which no character would have suited her; while
+Eleanor's temper was of the finest; and her mind went to work
+vigorously upon whatever was presented for its action. Mrs. Caxton
+wisely took care to give it an abundance of work; and furthermore
+employed Eleanor in busy offices of kindness and help to others; as an
+assistant in some of her own plans and habits of good. Many a ride
+Eleanor took on the Welsh pony, to see how some sick person was getting
+on, or to carry supplies to another, or to give instruction to another,
+or to oversee and direct the progress of matters on which yet another
+was engaged. This was not new work to her; yet now it was done in the
+presence at least, if not under the pressure, of a higher motive than
+she had been accustomed to bring to it. It took in some degree another
+character. Eleanor was never able to forget now that these people to
+whom she was ministering had more of the immortal in them than of even
+the earthly; she was never able to forget it of herself. And busy and
+happy as the winter was, there often came over her those weary longings
+for something which she had not yet; the something which made her
+aunt's course daily so clear and calm and bright. What sort of
+happiness would be Eleanor's when she got back to Ivy Lodge? She asked
+herself that question sometimes. Her present happiness was superficial.
+
+The spring meanwhile drew near, and signs of it began to be seen and
+felt, and heard. And one evening Mrs. Caxton got out the plan of her
+garden, and began to consider in detail its arrangements, with a view
+to coming operations. It was pleasant to see Mrs. Caxton at this work,
+and to hear her; she was in her element. Eleanor was much surprised to
+find not only that her aunt was her own head gardener, but that she had
+an exquisite knowledge of the business.
+
+"This _sulphurea_ I think is dead," remarked Mrs. Caxton. "I must have
+another. Eleanor--what is the matter?"
+
+"Ma'am?"
+
+"You are drawing a very long breath, my dear. Where did it come from?"
+
+The reserve which Eleanor had all her life practised before other
+people, had almost from the first given way before her aunt.
+
+"From a thought of home, aunt Caxton. I shall not be so happy when I
+get back there."
+
+"The happiness that will not bear transportation, Eleanor, is a very
+poor article. But they will not want you at home."
+
+"I am afraid of it."
+
+"Without reason. You will not go home this spring, my dear; trust me.
+You are mine for a good long time yet."
+
+Mrs. Caxton was wiser than Eleanor; as was soon proved. Mrs. Powle
+wrote, desiring her daughter, whatever she did, not to come home then;
+nor soon. People would think she was come home for her wedding; and
+questions innumerable would be asked, the mortification of which would
+be unbearable. Whereas, if Eleanor kept away, the dismal certainty
+would by degrees become public, that there was to be no match at all
+between Rythdale and the Lodge. "Stay away till it all blown over,
+Eleanor," wrote her mother; "it is the least you can do for your
+family." And the squire even sent a word of a letter, more kind, but to
+the same effect. He wanted his bright daughter at home, he said; he
+missed her; but in the circumstances, perhaps it would be best, if her
+aunt would be so good as to keep her.
+
+Eleanor carried these letters to Mrs. Caxton, with a tear in her eye,
+and an humbled, pained face.
+
+"I told you so," said her aunt. "How could people expect that Mr.
+Carlisle's marriage would take place three months after the death of
+his mother? that is what I do not understand."
+
+"They arranged it so, and it was given out, I suppose. Everything gets
+known. He was going abroad in the spring, or immediately after; and
+meant not to go without me."
+
+"Now you are my child, my dear, and shall help me with my roses," said
+her aunt kissing her, and taking Eleanor in her arms. "Eleanor, is that
+second question settled yet?"
+
+"No, aunt Caxton."
+
+"You have not chosen yet which master you will serve,--the world or the
+Lord?"
+
+"O yes, ma'am--I have decided that. I know which I want to be."
+
+"But not which you will be."
+
+"I mean that, ma'am."
+
+"You are not a servant of the Lord now, Eleanor?"
+
+"No, aunt Caxton--I don't see how. I am dark."
+
+"Christ says, 'He that is not with me is against me.' A question that
+is undecided, decides itself. Eleanor, decide this question to-night."
+
+"To-night, ma'am?"
+
+"Yes. I am going to send you to church."
+
+"To church! There is no service to-night, aunt Caxton."
+
+"Not at the church where you have been--in the village. There is a
+little church in the valley beyond Mrs. Pynce's cottage. You are going
+there."
+
+"I do not remember any. Why, aunt Caxton, the valley is too narrow
+there for anything but the road and the brook; the mountains leave no
+room--hardly room for her house."
+
+"You have never been any further. Do you not remember a sharp turn just
+beyond that place?"
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"You will see the chapel when you get round the turn."
+
+The place Mrs. Caxton alluded to, was a wild, secluded, most beautiful
+valley, the bottom of which as Eleanor said was almost filled up with
+the road, and the brook which rushed along its course to meet the
+river; itself almost as large as another river. Where the people could
+be found to go to a church in such a region, she could not imagine.
+Heather clothed the hills; fairy cascades leaped down the rocks at
+every turning, lovely as a dream; the whole scene was wild and lonely.
+Hardly any human habitations or signs of human action broke the wild
+reign of nature all the valley through. Eleanor was sure of a charming
+ride at least, whether there was to be a congregation in the church at
+the end of it or no; and she prepared herself accordingly. Mrs. Caxton
+was detained at home; the car did not go; three or four of the
+household, men and women, went on ponies as Eleanor did.
+
+They set off very early, while the light was fair and beautiful yet,
+for the ride was of some length. It was not on the way to the village;
+it turned off from the fine high road to a less practised and more
+uneven track. It was good for horses; and riding in front, a little
+ahead of her companions, Eleanor had the luxury of being alone. Why had
+Mrs. Caxton bade her "settle that question" to-night? How could she;
+when her mind was in so much darkness and confusion on the subject? Yet
+Eleanor hardly knew specifically what the hindrance was; only it was
+certain that while she wished and intended to be a Christian, she was
+no nearer the point, so far as she could see, than she had been months
+ago. Nay, Eleanor confessed to herself that in the sweet quiet and
+peace of her aunt's house, and in her own release from pressing
+trouble, she had rather let all troublesome thoughts slip away from
+her; so that, though not forgotten, the subject had been less painfully
+on her mind than through the weeks that went before her coming to
+Plassy. She had wished for leisure and quiet to attend to it and put
+that pain to rest for ever; and in leisure and quiet she had suffered
+pain to go to sleep in a natural way and left all the business of
+dealing with it to be deferred till the time of its waking. How was all
+this? Eleanor walked her pony slowly along, and thought. _Then_ she had
+been freshly under the influence of Mr. Rhys and his preaching; the
+very remembrance of which, now and here, stirred her like an alarum
+bell. Ay, and more than that; it wakened the keen longing for that
+beauty and strength of life which had so shewn her her own poverty.
+Humbled and sad, Eleanor walked her pony on and on, while each little
+crystal torrent that came with its sweet clear rush and sparkle down
+the rocks, tinkled its own little silver bell note in her ears; a note
+of purity and action. Eleanor had never heard it from them before; now
+somehow each rushing streamlet, with its bright leap over obstacles and
+its joyous dash onward in its course, sounded the same note. Nothing
+could be more lovely than these cascades; every one different from the
+others, as if to shew how many forms of beauty water could take.
+Eleanor noticed and heard them every one and the call of every one, and
+rode on in a pensive mood till Mrs. Pynce's cottage was passed and the
+turn in the valley just beyond opened up a new scene for her.
+
+How lovely! how various! The straitened dell spread out gradually from
+this point into a comparatively broad valley, bordered with higher
+hills as it widened in the distance. The light still shewed its
+entrancing beauty; wooded, and spotted with houses and habitations of
+all kinds; from the very humble to the very lordly, and from the
+business factories of to-day, back to the ruined strongholds of the
+time when war was business. Wide and delicious the view was, as much as
+it was unexpected; and spring's softened colouring was all over it.
+Eleanor made a pause of a few seconds as soon as all this burst upon
+her; her next thought was to look for the church. And it was plain to
+see; a small dark edifice, in excellent keeping with its situation;
+because of its colour and its simple structure, which half merged it
+among the rocks and the hills.
+
+"That is the church, John?" Eleanor said to Mrs. Caxton's factotum.
+
+"That is it, ma'am. There's been no minister there for a good piece of
+the year back."
+
+"And what place is this?"
+
+"There's no _place_, to call it, ma'am. It's the valley of Glanog."
+
+Eleanor jumped off her pony and went into the church. She had walked
+her pony too much; it was late; the service had begun; and Eleanor was
+taken with a sudden tremor at hearing the voice that was reading the
+hymn. She had no need to look to see whose it was. She walked up the
+aisle, seeking a vacant place to sit down, and exceedingly desirous to
+find it, for she was conscious that she was right under the preacher's
+eye and observation; but as one never does well what one does in
+confusion, she overlooked one or two chances that offered, and did not
+get a seat till she was far forward, in the place of fullest view for
+both seeing and being seen. And there she sat down, asking herself what
+should make her tremble so. Why had her aunt Caxton sent her that
+evening, alone, to hear Mr. Rhys preach? And why not? what was there
+about it? She was very glad, she knew, to hear him; but there would be
+no more apathy or languor in her mind now on the subject of that
+question her aunt had desired her to settle. No more. The very sound of
+that speaker's voice woke her conscience to a sharp sense of what she
+had been about all these months since she had heard it last. She bent
+her head in her hand for a little while, in a rushing of thoughts--or
+ideas--that prevented her senses from acting; then the words the people
+were singing around her made their entrance into her ear; an entrance
+opened by the sweet melody. The words were given very plain.
+
+
+  "No room for mirth or trifling here,
+  For worldly hope, or worldly fear,
+  If life so soon is gone;
+  If now the Judge is at the door,
+  And all mankind must stand before
+  Th' inexorable throne!
+
+  "No matter which my thoughts employ,
+  A moment's misery or joy;
+  But O! when both shall end,
+  Where shall I find my destined place?
+  Shall I my everlasting days
+  With fiends or angels spend?"
+
+
+Eleanor sat cowering before that thought. "Now are we going to have a
+terrible sermon?" was her inward question. She would not look up. The
+preliminary services were all over, she found, and the preacher rose
+and gave out his text.
+
+"A glorious high throne from the beginning, is the place of our
+sanctuary."
+
+Eleanor could not keep her eyes lowered another second. The well-known
+deliberate utterance, and a little unconscious indefinable ring of the
+tones in which the words were spoken, brought her eyes to the speaker's
+face; and they were never turned away again. "Do we need a
+sanctuary?"--was the first question the preacher started; and very
+quietly he went on to discuss that. Very quietly; his manner and his
+voice were neither in the slightest degree excited; how it was, Eleanor
+did not know, that as he went on a tide of feeling swept over the
+assembly. She could see it in the evidences of tears, and she heard it
+in a deep sough of the breath that went all over the house. The
+preacher was reaching each one's secret consciousness, and stirring
+into life that deep hidden want of every heart which every heart knew
+differently. Some from sorrow; some from sin; some from weariness; some
+from loneliness; some from the battle of life; some from the struggle
+with their own hearts; all, from the wrath to come. Nay, Eleanor's own
+heart was throbbing with the sense that he had reached it and touched
+it, and knew its condition. How was it, that with those quiet words he
+had bowed every spirit before him, her own among the number? It is
+true, that in the very containedness of his tones and words there was
+an evidence of suppressed power; it flashed out once in a while; and
+wrought possibly with the more effect from the feeling that it was
+contained and kept down. However it were, the minds of the assembly
+were already at a high state of tension, when he passed to the other
+part of his subject--the consideration of the sanctuary. It was no
+discourse of regular heads and divisions; it is impossible to report,
+except as to its effects. The preacher's head and heart were both full,
+and words had no stint. But in this latter part of his subject, the
+power which had been so contained was let loose, though still kept
+within bounds. The eye fired now, and the voice quivered with its
+charge, as he endeavoured to set before the minds of the people the
+glorious vision which filled his own; to make known to others the
+"riches of glory" in which his own soul rested and rejoiced. So
+evidently, that his hearers half caught at what he would shew them, by
+the catching of sympathy; and from different parts of the house now
+there went up a suppressed cry, of want, or of exultation, as the case
+might be, which it was very thrilling to hear. It was the sense of want
+and pain in Eleanor's mind; not spoken indeed except by her
+countenance; but that toned strongly with the notes of feeling that
+were uttered around her. As from the bottom of a dark abyss into which
+he had fallen, a person might look up to the bright sky, of which he
+could see but a little, which yet would give him token of all the
+firmamental light and beauty up there which he had not. From her
+darkness Eleanor saw it; saw it in the preacher's face and words; yes,
+and heard it in many a deep-breathed utterance of gladness or
+thanksgiving at her side. She had never felt so dark in her life as
+when she left the church. She rushed away as soon as the service was
+over, lest any one should speak to her; however she had to wait some
+time outside the door before John came out. The people all tarried
+strangely.
+
+"Beg pardon, ma'am," said John, "but we was waiting a bit to see the
+minister."
+
+Eleanor rode home fast, through fair moonlight without and great
+obscurity within her own spirit. She avoided her aunt; she did not want
+to speak of the meeting; she succeeded in having no talk about it that
+I night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+AT MRS. POWLIS'S.
+
+
+  "I glanced within a rock's cleft breast,
+  A lonely, safely-sheltered nest.
+  There as successive seasons go,
+  And tides alternate ebb and flow,
+  Full many a wing is trained for flight
+  In heaven's blue field--in heaven's broad light."
+
+
+The next morning at breakfast Eleanor and her aunt were alone as usual.
+There was no avoiding anything.
+
+"Did you have a pleasant evening?" Mrs. Caxton asked.
+
+"I had a very pleasant ride, aunt Caxton."
+
+"How was the sermon?"
+
+"It was--I suppose it was very good; but it was very peculiar."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"I don't know, ma'am;--it excited the people very much. They could not
+keep still."
+
+"Do you like preaching better that does not excite people?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated. "No, ma'am; but I do not like them to make a noise."
+
+"What sort of a noise?"
+
+Eleanor paused again, and to her astonishment found her own lip
+quivering and her eyes watering as she answered,--"It was a noise of
+weeping and of shouting--not loud shouting; but that is what it was."
+
+"I have often known such effects under faithful presenting of the
+truth," said Mrs. Caxton composedly. "When people's feelings are much
+moved, it is very natural to give them expression."
+
+"For uncultivated people, particularly."
+
+"I don't know about the cultivation," said Mrs. Caxton. "Robert Hall's
+sermons used to leave two thirds of his hearers on their feet. I have
+seen a man in middle life, a judge in the courts, one of the heads of
+the community in which he lived, so excited that he could not undo the
+fastenings of his pew door; and he put his foot on the seat and sprang
+over into the aisle."
+
+"Do you like such things, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"I prefer another mode of getting out of church, my dear."
+
+"But shouting, or crying out, is what people of refinement would not
+do, even if they could not open their pew doors."
+
+Eleanor was a little sorry the moment she had uttered this speech; her
+spirits were in a whirl of disorder and uncomfortableness, and she had
+spoken hastily. Mrs. Caxton answered with great composure.
+
+"What do you call those words that you are accustomed to hear, the
+'Gloria in Excelsis'?--'Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace,
+good will towards men. We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee,
+we glorify thee, we give thanks to thee for thy great glory, O Lord
+God, heavenly King.'"
+
+"What do you call it, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"If it is not a shout of joy, I can make nothing of it. Or the one
+hundred and fiftieth psalm--'O praise God in his holiness; praise him
+in the firmament of his power. Praise him in his noble acts; praise him
+according to his excellent greatness. Praise him in the sound of the
+trumpet; praise him upon the lute and harp. Praise him in the cymbals
+and dances; praise him upon the strings and pipe. Praise him upon the
+well tuned cymbals; praise him upon the loud cymbals. Let everything
+that hath breath praise the Lord.'--What is that but a shout of praise?"
+
+"It never sounded like a shout," said Eleanor.
+
+"It did once, I think," said Mrs. Caxton.
+
+"When was that, ma'am?"
+
+"When Ezra sang it, with the priests and the people to help him, after
+they were returned from captivity. Then the people shouted with a loud
+shout, and the noise was heard afar off. All the people shouted with a
+great shout, when they praised the Lord."
+
+
+"But aunt Caxton," said Eleanor, who felt herself taken down a little,
+as a secure talker is apt to be by a manner very composed in his
+opponent--"it is surely the habit of refined persons in these times not
+to get excited--or not to express their feelings very publicly?"
+
+"A very good habit," said Mrs. Caxton. "Nevertheless I have seen a
+man--a gentleman--and a man in very high standing, in a public
+assembly, go white with anger and become absolutely speechless, with
+the strength of passion, at some offence he had taken."
+
+"O such passions, of course, will display themselves sometimes," said
+Eleanor. "Bad passions often will. They escape control."
+
+"I have seen a lady--a lovely and refined lady--faint away at the
+sudden tidings that a child's life was secure,--whom she had almost
+given up for lost."
+
+"But, dear aunt Caxton! you do not call that a parallel case?"
+
+"A parallel case with what?"
+
+"Anybody might be excited at such a thing. You would wonder if they
+were not."
+
+"I do not see the justness of your reasoning, Eleanor. A man may turn
+white with passion, and it is natural; woman may faint with joy at
+receiving back her child from death; and you are not surprised. But the
+joy of suddenly seeing eternal life one's own--the joy of knowing that
+God has forgiven our sins--you think may be borne calmly. I have known
+people faint under that joy as well."
+
+"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor, her voice growing hoarse, "I do not see
+how anybody can have it. How can they know their sins are forgiven?"
+
+"You may find it in your Bible, Eleanor; did you never see it there?
+'The Spirit witnesseth with our spirit, that we are the children of
+God.'"
+
+"But Paul was inspired?"
+
+"Yes, thank God!--to declare that dividend of present joy to all
+shareholders in the stock of eternal life. But doubtless, only faith
+can take it out."
+
+Eleanor sat silent, chewing bitter thoughts. "O this is what these
+people have!"--she said to herself;--"this is the helmet of salvation!
+And I am as far from it as ever!" The conversation ended there. Eleanor
+was miserable all day. She did not explain herself; Mrs. Caxton only
+saw her preoccupied, moody, and silent.
+
+"There is preaching again at Glanog to-night," she said a few days
+afterwards; "I am not yet quite well enough to go. Do you choose to go,
+Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor looked down and answered yes.
+
+She went; and again, and again, and again. Sundays or week days,
+Eleanor missed no chance of riding her pony to the little valley
+church. Mrs. Caxton generally went with her, after the first week; but
+going in her car she was no hindrance to the thoughtfulness and
+solitude of the rides on horseback; and Eleanor sometimes wept all the
+way home, and oftener came with a confused pain in her heart, dull or
+acute as the case might be. She saw truth that seemed beautiful and
+glorious to her; she saw it in the faces and lives as well as in the
+words of others; she longed to share their immunity and the peace she
+perceived them possessed of; but how to lay hold of it she could not
+find. She seemed to herself too evil ever to become good; she tried,
+but her heart seemed as hard as a stone. She prayed, but no relief
+came. She did not see how she _could_ be saved, while evil had such a
+hold of her; and to dislodge it she was powerless. Eleanor was in a
+constant state of uneasiness and distress now. Her usually fine temper
+was more easily roughened than she had ever known it; the services she
+had long been accustomed to render to others who needed her, she felt
+it now very hard to give. She was dissatisfied with herself and very
+unhappy, and she said to herself that she was unfit to properly
+minister to anybody else. She became a comparatively silent and
+ungenial companion to her aunt. Mrs. Caxton perhaps understood her; for
+she made no remark on this change, seemed to take no notice; was as
+evenly and tenderly affectionate to her niece as ever before, with
+perhaps a little added expression of sympathy now and then. She did not
+even ask an explanation of Eleanor's manner of getting out of church.
+
+Eleanor and her aunt, as it happened, always occupied a seat very near
+the front and almost under the pulpit. It had been Eleanor's custom
+ever since the first time she came there, to slip out of her seat and
+make her way down the aisle with eager though quiet haste; leaving her
+aunt to follow at her leisure; and she was generally mounted and off
+before Mrs. Caxton reached the front door. During the service always
+now, Eleanor's eyes were fastened upon the preacher; his often looked
+at her; he recognized her of course; and Eleanor had a vague fear that
+if she were not out of the way he would some time or other come down
+and accost her. It was an unreasoning fear; she gave no account of it
+to herself; except that her mind was in an unsettled, out-of-order
+state, that would not bear questioning; and if he came he would be
+certain to question her. So Eleanor fled and let her aunt do the
+talking--if any there were. Eleanor never asked and never knew.
+
+This went on for some weeks. Spring had burst upon the hills, and the
+valleys were green in beauty and flushing with flowers; and Eleanor's
+heart was barren and cold more than she had ever felt it to be. She
+began to have a most miserable opinion of herself.
+
+It happened one night, what rarely happened, that Mr. Rhys had some one
+in the pulpit with him. Eleanor was sorry; she grudged to have even the
+closing prayer or hymn given by another voice. But it was so this
+evening; and when Eleanor rose as usual to make her quick way out of
+the house, she found that somebody else had been quick. Mr Rhys stood
+beside her. It was impossible to help speaking. He had clearly come
+down for the very purpose. He shook hands with Eleanor.
+
+"How do you do?" he said. "I am glad to see you here. Is your mind at
+rest yet?"
+
+"No," said Eleanor. However it was, this meeting which she had so
+shunned, was not entirely unwelcome to her when it came. If anything
+would make her feel better, or any counsel do her good, se was willing
+to stand even questioning that might lead to it. Mr. Rhys's questioning
+on this occasion was not very severe. He only asked her, "Have you ever
+been to class?"
+
+"To what?" said Eleanor.
+
+"To a class-meeting. You know what that is?"
+
+"Yes,--I know a little. No, I have never been to one."
+
+"I should like to see you at mine. We meet at Mrs. Powlis's in the
+village of Plassy, Wednesday afternoon."
+
+"But I could not, Mr. Rhys. It would not be possible for me to say a
+word before other people; it would not be possible."
+
+"I will try not to trouble you with difficult questions. Promise me
+that you will come. It will not hurt you to hear others speak."
+
+Eleanor hesitated.
+
+"Will you come and try?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"There!" said Eleanor to herself as she rode away,--"now I have got my
+head in a net, and I am fast. I going to such a place! What business
+have I there?--" And yet there was a sweet gratification in the hope
+that somehow this new plan might bring her good. But on the whole
+Eleanor disliked it excessively, with all the power of mature and
+cultivation. For though frank enough to those whom she loved, a proud
+reserve was Eleanor's nature in regard to all others whom she did not
+love; and the habits of her life were as far as possible at variance
+with this proposed meeting, in its familiar and social religious
+character. She could not conceive how people should wish to speak of
+their intimate feelings before other people. Her own shrank from
+exposure as morbid flesh shrinks from the touch. However, Wednesday
+came.
+
+"Can I have Powis this afternoon, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"Certainly, my dear; no need to ask. Powis is yours. Are you going to
+Mrs. Pynce?"
+
+"No ma'am.--" Eleanor struggled.--"Mr. Rhys has made me promise to go
+to his class. I do not like to go at all; but I have promised."
+
+"You will like to go next time," said Mrs. Caxton quietly. And she said
+no more than that.
+
+"Will I?" thought Eleanor as she rode away. But if there was anything
+harsh or troubled in her mood of mind, all nature breathed upon it to
+soften it. The trees were leafing out again; the meadows brilliant with
+fresh green; the soft spring airs wooing into full blush and beauty the
+numberless spring flowers; every breath fragrant with new sweetness.
+Nothing could be lovelier than Eleanor's ride to the village; nothing
+more soothing to a ruffled condition of thought; and she arrived at
+Mrs. Powlis's door with an odd kind of latent hopefulness that
+something good might be in store for her there.
+
+Her strange and repugnant feelings returned when she got into the
+house. She was shewn into a room where several other persons were
+sitting, and where more kept momently coming in. Greetings passed
+between these persons, very frank and cordial; they were all at home
+there and accustomed to each other and to the business; Eleanor alone
+was strange, unwonted, not in her element. That feeling however changed
+as soon as Mr. Rhys came in. Where he was, there was at least one
+person whom she had sympathy, and who had some little degree of
+sympathy with her. Eleanor's feelings were destined to go through a
+course of discipline before the meeting was over.
+
+It began with some very sweet singing. There were no books; everybody
+knew the words that were sung, and they burst out like a glad little
+chorus. Eleanor's lips only were mute. The prayer that followed stirred
+her very much. It was so simple, so pure, so heavenward in its
+aspirations, so human in its humbleness, so touching in its sympathies.
+For they reached _her_, Eleanor knew by one word. And when the prayer
+was ended, whatever might follow, Eleanor was glad she had come to that
+class-meeting.
+
+But what followed she found to be intensely interesting. In words, some
+few some many, one after another of the persons present gave an account
+of his progress or of his standing in the Christian life. Each spoke
+only when called upon by Mr. Rhys; and each was answered in his turn
+with a word of counsel or direction or encouragement, as the case
+seemed to need. Sometimes the answer was in the words of the Bible; but
+always, whatever it were, it was given, Eleanor felt, with singular
+appositeness to the interests before him. With great skill too, and
+with infinite sympathy and tenderness if need called for it; with
+sympathy invariably. And Eleanor admired the apt readiness and kindness
+and wisdom with which the answers were framed; so as to suggest without
+fail the lesson desired to be given, yet so suggest it should be felt
+by nobody as a imputation or a rebuke. And ever and again the little
+assembly broke out into a burst of song, a verse or two of some hymn,
+that started naturally from the last words that had been said. Those
+bursts of song touched Eleanor. They were so plainly heartfelt, so
+utterly glad in their utterances, that she had never head the like. No
+choir, the best trained in the world, could give such an effect with
+their voices, unless they were also trained and meet to be singers in
+heaven. One of the choruses pleased Eleanor particularly. It was sung
+in a wild sweet tune, and with great energy.
+
+
+  "There's balm in Gilead,
+  To make the wounded whole.
+  There's power enough in Jesus--
+  To save a sin-sick soul."
+
+
+It was just after this was finished, that Mr Rhys in his moving about
+the room, came and stood before Eleanor. He asked her "Do You love
+Jesus?"
+
+It is impossible to express the shame and sorrow which Eleanor
+answered, "No."
+
+"Do you wish to be a Christian?"
+
+Eleanor bowed her head.
+
+"Do you intend to be one?"
+
+Eleanor looked up, surprised at the wore, and answered, "If I can."
+
+"Do you think," said he very tenderly, "that you have a right to that
+'_if_'--when Jesus has said, 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are
+heavy laden, and _I will give you rest?_'"
+
+He turned from her, and again struck the notes they had been singing.
+
+
+  "There's balm in Gilead
+  To make the wounded whole.
+  There's power enough in Jesus
+  To save a sin-sick soul."
+
+
+The closing prayer followed, which almost broke Eleanor's heart in two;
+it so dealt with her and for her. While some of those present were
+afterward exchanging low words and shakes of the hand, she slipped away
+and mounted her pony.
+
+She was in dreadful confusion during the first part of her ride. Half
+resentful, half broken-hearted. It was the last time, she said to
+herself, that ever she would be found in a meeting like that. She would
+never go again; to make herself a mark for people's sympathy and a
+subject for people's prayers. And yet--surely the human mind seems an
+inconsistent thing at times,--the thought of that sympathy and those
+prayers had a touch of sweetness in it, which presently drew a flood of
+tears from Eleanor's eyes. There was one old man in particular, of
+venerable appearance, who had given a most dignified testimony of faith
+and happiness, whose "Amen!" recurred to her. It was uttered at the
+close of a petition Mr. Rhys had made in her favour; and Eleanor
+recalled it now with a strange mixture of feelings. Why was she so
+different from him and from the rest of those good people? She knew her
+duty; why was it not done? She seemed to herself more hard-hearted and
+evil than Eleanor would formerly have supposed possible of her; she had
+never liked herself less than she did during this ride home. Her mind
+was in a rare turmoil, of humiliation and darkness and sorrow; one
+thing only was clear; that she never would go to a class-meeting again!
+And yet it would be wrong to say that she was on the whole sorry she
+had gone once, or that she really regretted anything that had been done
+or said. But this once should suffice her. So she went along, dropping
+tears from her eyes and letting Powis find his way as he pleased; which
+he was quite competent to do.
+
+By degrees her eyes cleared to see how lovely the evening was falling.
+The air sweet with exhalations from the hedge-rows and meadows, yes and
+from the more distant hills too; fragrant and balmy. The cattle were
+going home from the fields; smoke curled up from a hundred chimney tops
+along the hillsides and the valley bottom; the evening light spread
+here and there in a broad glow of colour; fair snatches of light were
+all that in many a place the hills and the bottom could catch. Every
+turn in the winding valley brought a new combination of wonderful
+beauty into view; and shadows and light, and flower-fragrance, and
+lowing cattle along the ways, and wreaths of chimney smoke; all spoke
+of peace. Could the spell help reaching anybody's heart? It reached
+Eleanor's; or her mood in some inexplicable way soothed itself down;
+for when she reached the farmhouse, though she thought of herself in
+the same humbled forlorn way as ever, her thought of the class-meeting
+had changed.
+
+
+
+
+END OF VOL. I.
+
+
+PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Old Helmet, Volume I, by Susan Warner
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Helmet, Volume I, by Susan Warner
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Old Helmet, Volume I
+
+Author: Susan Warner
+
+Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26829]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD HELMET, VOLUME I ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Daniel Fromont
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner (1819-1885), _The Old Helmet_ (1864),
+Tauchnitz edition 1864, volume 1]
+
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD HELMET.
+
+BY
+
+THE AUTHOR OF "WIDE, WIDE WORLD."
+
+
+
+AUTHORIZED EDITION.
+
+IN TWO VOLUMES
+
+VOL. I.
+
+
+
+LEIPZIG
+
+BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
+
+1864.
+
+
+
+NOTE TO THE READER.
+
+The incidents and testimonies given in this work as matters of fact,
+are not drawn from imagination, but reported from excellent
+authority--though I have used my own words. And in the cases of
+reported words of third parties, the words stand unchanged, without any
+meddling.
+
+
+THE AUTHOR.
+
+
+
+THE OLD HELMET.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE RUINS.
+
+
+  "She look'd and saw that all was ruinous,
+  Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern;
+  And here had fall'n a great part of a tower,
+  Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,
+  And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers,
+  And high above a piece of turret stair,
+  Worn by the feet that now were silent,
+  Bare to the sun."
+
+
+The first thing noticeable is a gleam of white teeth. Now that is a
+pleasant thing generally; yet its pleasantness depends, after all, upon
+the way the lips part over the ivory. There is a world of character
+discoverable in the curve of those soft lines. In the present case,
+that of a lady, as it is undoubtedly the very first thing you notice,
+the matter must be investigated. The mouth is rather large, with well
+cut lips however; and in the smile which comes not infrequently, the
+lips part freely and frankly, though not too far, over a wealth of
+white, beautiful teeth. So free is the curve of the upper lip, and so
+ready its revelation of the treasures beneath, that there is an instant
+suspicion of a certain frankness and daring, and perhaps of a little
+mischief, on the part of their possessor; so free, at the same time, as
+to forbid the least notion of consciousness or design in that beautiful
+revelation. But how fine and full and regular are those white treasures
+of hers! seeming to speak for a strong and perfect physical
+organisation; and if your eye goes further, for her flat hat is on the
+ground, you will see in the bountiful rich head of hair another token
+of the same thing. Her figure is finely developed; her colour clear and
+healthy; not blonde; the full-brown hair and eyes agree with the notion
+of a nature more lively than we assign to the other extreme of
+complexion. The features are not those of a beauty, though better than
+that, perhaps; there is a world of life and sense and spirit in them.
+
+It speaks for her good nature and feeling, that her smile is as frank
+as ever just now, and as pleasant as ever; for she is with about the
+last one of her party on whom she would have chosen to bestow herself.
+The occasion is a visit to some celebrated ruins; a day of pleasure;
+and Eleanor would a good deal rather be walking and talking with
+another much more interesting member of the company, in whose society
+indeed her day had begun; but Mr. Carlisle had been obliged suddenly to
+return home for an hour or two; and Eleanor is sitting on a grassy
+bank, with a gentleman beside her whom she knows very little and does
+not care about at all. That is, she has no idea he can be very
+interesting; and he _is_ a grave-looking personage, but we are not
+going to describe him at present.
+
+A word must be given to the place where they are. It is a little
+paradise. If the view is not very extended, it is rich in its parts;
+and the eye and the mind are filled. The grass is shaven smooth on the
+bank where the two are sitting; so it is all around, under trees which
+stand with wilful wildness of luxuriance, grouped and scattered
+apparently as they would. They are very old, in several varieties of
+kind, and in the perfect development and thrift of each kind. Among
+them are the ruins of an old priory. They peep forth here and there
+from the trees. One broken tower stands free, with ivy masking its
+sides and crumbling top, and stains of weather and the hues of lichen
+and moss enriching what was once its plain grey colour. Other portions
+of the ruins are seen by glimpses further on among the trees. Standing
+somewhat off by itself, yet encompassed by the congeners of those same
+trees, almost swallowed up among them, is a comfortable, picturesque
+little building, not in ruins; though it has been built up from the
+ruins. It is the parsonage, where the rector of the parish lives.
+Beyond this wood and these buildings, old and new, the eye can catch
+only bits of hills and woods that promise beauty further on; but nearer
+than they, and making a boundary line between the present and the
+distant, the flash of a little river is seen, which curves about the
+old priory lands. A somewhat doubtful sunlight is struggling over it
+all; casting a stray beam on the grass, and a light on the ivy of the
+old tower.
+
+"What a queer old place it must have been," said Eleanor.
+
+"How old is it?"
+
+"O I don't know--ages! Do you mean really how old? I am sure I can't
+tell; I never can keep those things in my head. If Dr. Cairnes would
+come out, he could tell you all about it, and more."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, the rector?"
+
+"Yes. He keeps it all in _his_ head, I know. The ruins are instead of a
+family to him."
+
+"They must date back pretty far, judging by those Norman arches."
+
+"Norman arches?--what, those round ones? O, they do. The priory was
+founded by some old courtier or soldier in the time of Henry the First,
+who got disgusted with the world. That is the beginning of all these
+places, isn't it?"
+
+"Do you mean, that it is the beginning of all religious feeling?"
+
+"I really think it is. I wouldn't tell Dr. Cairnes so however. How
+sweet these violets are. Dear little blue things!"
+
+"Do you suppose,", said the young man, stooping to pick one or two,
+"that they are less sweet to me than to you?"
+
+"Why should they be?"
+
+"Because, religion is the most precious thing in the world to me; and
+by your rule, I must be disgusted with the world, and all sweet things
+have lost their savour."
+
+He spoke with quiet gravity, and Eleanor's eye went to his face with a
+bright glance of inquiry. It came back with no change of opinion.
+
+"You don't convert me," she said. "I do not know what you have given up
+for religion, so I cannot judge. But all the other people I ever saw,
+grew religious only because they had lost all care about everything
+else."
+
+"I wonder how that discontented old soldier found himself, when he got
+into these solitudes?" said the young man, with a smile of his own
+then. It was sweet, and a little arch, and withal harmonised completely
+with the ordinary gravity of his face, not denying it at all. Eleanor
+looked, once and again, with some curiosity, but the smile passed away
+as quietly as it had come.
+
+"The solitude was not _this_ solitude then."
+
+"O no, it was very wild."
+
+"These were Augustine canons, were they not?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"The monks of this priory."
+
+"I am sure I don't know. I forget. What was the difference?"
+
+"You know there were many orders of religious houses. The Augustines
+were less severe in their rule, and more genial in their allowed way of
+life, than most of the others?"
+
+"What was their rule?"
+
+"Beginning with discontent of the world, you know, they went on with
+the principle that nothing worldly was good."
+
+"Well, isn't that the principle of all religious people now?"
+
+"I like violets"--said the young man, smiling again.
+
+"But do tell me, what did those old monks do? What was their 'rule?' I
+don't know anything about it, nor about them."
+
+"Another old discontented soldier, who founded an abbey in Wales, is
+said by the historian to have dismissed all his former companions, and
+devoted himself to God. For his military belt, he tied a rope about his
+waist; instead of fine linen he put on haircloth. And it is recorded of
+him, that the massive suit of armour which he had been used to wear in
+battle, to protect him against the arrows and spears and axes of the
+enemy, he put on now and wore as a defence against the wiles and
+assaults of the devil--and wore it till it rusted away with age."
+
+"Poor old soul!" said Eleanor.
+
+"Does that meet your ideas of a religious life?"
+
+Eleanor laughed, but answered by another question. "Was _that_ the rule
+of all the Augustine monks?"
+
+"It gives the key to it. Is that your notion of a religious life? You
+don't answer me."
+
+"Well," said Eleanor laughing again, "_it gives the key to it_, as you
+say. I do not suppose you wear a suit of armour to protect yourself."
+
+"I beg your pardon. I do."
+
+"_Armour?_" said Eleanor, looking incredulous. But her friend fairly
+burst into a little laugh at that.
+
+"Are you rested?" said he.
+
+And Eleanor got up, feeling a little indignant and a little curious.
+Strolling towards the ruins, however, there was too much to start
+conversation and too much to give delight, to permit either silence or
+pique to last.
+
+"Isn't it beautiful!" burst from both at once.
+
+"How exquisite that ivy is, climbing up that old tower!"
+
+"And what a pity it is crumbling away so!" said Eleanor. "See that
+nearer angle--it is breaking down fast. I wish it would stay as it is."
+
+"Nothing will do that for you. What is all that collection of rubbish
+yonder?"
+
+"That is where Mr. Carlisle is going to build a cottage for one of his
+people--somebody to take care of the ruins, I believe."
+
+"And he takes the ruins to build it with, and the old priory grounds
+too!"
+
+Eleanor looked again at her companion.
+
+"I think it is better than to have the broken stones lying all
+over--don't you?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+"Mr. Carlisle thinks so. Now here we are in the body of the
+church--there you see where the roof went, by the slanting lines on the
+tower wall; and we are standing where the congregation used to
+assemble."
+
+"Not much of a congregation," said her companion. "The neighbouring
+country furnished few attendants, I fancy; the old monks and their
+retainers were about all. The choir would hold most of them; the nave,
+where we are standing, would have been of little use except for
+processions."
+
+"Processions?" said Eleanor.
+
+"On particular days there were processions of the brotherhood, with
+lighted candles--round and round in the church. In the church at York
+twelve rounds made a mile, and there were twelve holes at the great
+door, with a little peg, so that any one curious about the matter might
+reckon the miles."
+
+"And so they used to go up and down here, burning their fingers with
+melted tallow!" said Eleanor. "Poor creatures! What a melancholy
+existence! Are you preparing to renounce the world yourself, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+He smiled, but it was a compound smile, light and earnest both at once,
+which Eleanor did not comprehend.
+
+"Why do you suspect me?" he asked.
+
+"You seem to be studying the thing. Are you going to be a white or a
+black monk--or a grey friar?"
+
+"There is a prior question. It is coming on to rain, Miss Powle."
+
+"Rain! It is beginning this minute! And all the umbrellas are nobody
+knows where--only that it is where we ought to be. I was glad just now
+that the old roof in gone--but I think I would like a piece of it back."
+
+"You can take shelter at the parsonage."
+
+"No, I cannot--they have got fever there."
+
+"Then come with me. I believe I can find you a piece of roof somewhere."
+
+Eleanor smiled to herself that he should think so, as all traces of
+beam and rafter had long since disappeared from the priory and its
+dependencies. However she followed her conductor, who strode along
+among the ruins at a pace which it taxed her powers to keep up with.
+Presently he plunged down into a wilderness of bushes and wild thorn
+and piled up stones which the crumbling walls had left in confusion
+strewn over the ground. It was difficult walking. Eleanor had never
+been there; for in that quarter the decay of the buildings was more
+entire, and the growth of shrubs and brambles had been allowed to mask
+the disorder. As they went on, the footing grew very rough; they were
+obliged to go over heaps and layers of the crumbling, moss-grown ruins.
+Eleanor's conductor turned and gave her his hand to help; it was a
+strong hand and quickened her progress. Presently turning a sharp
+corner, through a thicket of thorn and holly bushes, with young larches
+and beeches, a small space of clearance was gained, bounded on the
+other side by a thick wall, one angle of which was standing. On this
+clear spot the rain drops were falling fast. The hand that held
+Eleanor's hurried her across it, to where an old window remained sunk
+in the wall. The arch over the window was still entire, and as the wall
+was one of the outer walls and very thick, the shelter of a "piece of
+roof" was literally afforded. Eleanor's conductor seated her on the
+deep window sill, where she was perfectly screened from the rain; and
+apologising for the necessity of the occasion, took his place beside
+her. The window was narrow as well as deep; and the two, who hardly
+knew each other, were brought into very familiar neighbourhood. Eleanor
+would have been privately amused, if the first passing consciousness of
+amusement had not been immediately chased away by one or two other
+thoughts. The first was the extreme beauty of her position as a point
+of view.
+
+The ruins were all behind them. As they looked out of the window,
+nothing was seen but the most exquisite order and the most dainty
+perfection of nature. The ground, shaven and smooth, sloped away down
+to a fringe of young wood, amidst which peeped out a pretty cottage and
+above which a curl of smoke floated. The cottage stood so low, and the
+trees were so open, that above and beyond appeared the receding slopes
+and hills of the river valley, in their various shades of colour, grass
+and foliage. There was no sun on all this now, but a beautiful light
+under the rain cloud from the distant horizon. And the dark old stone
+window was the frame for this picture. It was very perfect. It was very
+rare. Eleanor exclaimed in delight.
+
+"But I never was here--I never saw this before! How did you know of it,
+Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I have studied the ruins," he said lightly.
+
+"But you have been at Wiglands only a few months."
+
+"I come here very often," he answered. "Happily for you."
+
+He might add that well enough, for the clouds poured down their rain
+now in torrents, or in sheets; the light which had come from the
+horizon a few minutes before was hidden, and the grey gloom of a summer
+storm was over everything. The little window seemed dark, with the two
+people sitting there. Then there came a blinding flash of lightning.
+Eleanor started and cowered, and the thunder rolled its deep tones over
+them, and under them, for the earth shook. She raised her head again,
+but only to shrink back the second time, when the lightning and the
+thunder were repeated. This time her head was not raised again, and she
+kept her hand covered over her eyes. Yet whenever the sound of the
+thunder came, Eleanor's frame answered it by a start. She said nothing;
+it was merely the involuntary answer of the nerves. The storm was a
+severe one, and when the severity of it passed a little further off,
+the torrents of rain still fell.
+
+"You do not like thunder storms"--Mr. Rhys remarked, when the
+lightnings had ceased to be so vivid or so near.
+
+"Does anybody like them?"
+
+"Yes. I like everything."
+
+"You are happy"--said Eleanor.
+
+"Why are not you?"
+
+"I can't help it," said the girl, lifting up her head, though she did
+not let her eyes go out of the window. "I cannot bear to see the
+lightning. It is foolish, but I cannot help it."
+
+"Are you sure it is foolish? Is there not some reason at the bottom of
+it?"
+
+"I think there is a reason, though still it is foolish. There was a man
+killed by lightning just by our door, once--when I was a child. I saw
+him--I never can forget it, never!"
+
+And a sort of shudder ran over Eleanor's shoulders as she spoke.
+
+"You want my armour," said her companion. The tone of voice was not
+only grave but sympathising. Eleanor looked up at him.
+
+"Your armour?"
+
+"You charged me with wearing armour--and I confessed it," he said with
+something of a smile. "It is a sort of armour that makes people safe in
+all circumstances."
+
+He looked so quiet, so grave, so cool, and his eye had such a light in
+it, that Eleanor could not throw off his words. He _looked_ like a man
+in armour. But no mail of brass was to be seen.
+
+"What _do_ you mean?" she said.
+
+"Did you never hear of the helmet of salvation?"
+
+"I don't know," said Eleanor wonderingly. "I think I have heard the
+words. I do not think I ever attached any meaning to them."
+
+"Did you never feel," he said, speaking with a peculiar deliberation of
+manner, "that you were exposed to danger--and to death--from which no
+effort of yours could free you; and that after death, there is a great
+white throne to meet, for which you are not ready?"
+
+While he spoke slowly, his eyes were fixed upon Eleanor with a clear
+piercing glance which she felt read her through and through; but she
+was fascinated instead of angered, and submitted her own eyes to the
+reading without wishing to turn them away. Carrying on two trains of
+thought at the same time, as the mind will, her inward reflection was,
+"I had no idea that you were so good-looking!"--the answer in words was
+a sober, "I have felt so."
+
+"Was the feeling a happy one?"
+
+Eleanor's lip suddenly trembled; then she put down that involuntary
+natural answer, and said evasively, looking out of the window, "I
+suppose everybody has such feelings sometimes."
+
+"Not with that helmet on"--said her companion.
+
+With all the quietness of his speech, and it was very unimpassioned,
+his accent had a clear ring to it, which came from some unsounded
+spirit-depth of power; and Eleanor's heart for a moment sunk before it
+in a secret convulsion of pain. She concealed this feeling, as she
+thought, successfully; but that single ray of light had shewed her the
+darkness; it was keen as an arrow, and the arrow rankled. And her
+neighbour's next words made her feel that her heart lay bare; so
+quietly they touched it.
+
+"You feel that you want something, Miss Powle."
+
+Eleanor's head drooped, as well as her heart. She wondered at herself;
+but there was a spell of power upon her, and she could by no means lift
+up either. It was not only that his words were true, but that he knew
+them to be so.
+
+"Do you know _what_ you want?" her friend went on, in tons that were
+tender, along with that deliberate utterance that carried so much force
+with it. "You know yourself an offender before the Lord--and you want
+the sense of forgiveness in your heart. You know yourself inclined to
+be an offender again--and you want the renewing grace of God to make
+your heart clean, and set it free from the power of sin. Then you want
+also something to make you happy; and the love of Jesus alone can do
+that."
+
+"What is the use of telling over the things one has not got?"--said
+Eleanor in somewhat smothered tones. The words of her companion came
+again clear as a bell--
+
+"Because you may have them if you want them."
+
+Eleanor struggled with herself, for her self-possession was endangered,
+and she was angry at herself for being such a fool; but she could not
+help it; yet she would not let her agitation come any more to the
+surface. She waited for clearness of voice, and then could not forbear
+the question,
+
+"How, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Jesus said, 'If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.' There
+is all fulness in him. Go to him for light--go to him for strength--go
+to him for forgiveness, for healing, for sanctification. 'Whosoever
+will, let him take of the water of life freely.'"
+
+"'Go to him?'" repeated Eleanor vaguely.
+
+"Ask him."
+
+Ask _Him!_ It was such a far-off, strange idea to her a heart, there
+seemed such a universe of distance between, Eleanor's face grew visibly
+shadowed with the thought. _She?_ She could not. She did not know how.
+She was silent a little while. The subject was getting unmanageable.
+
+"I never had anybody talk to me so before, Mr. Rhys," she said,
+thinking to let it pass.
+
+"Perhaps you never will again," he said. "Hear it now. The Lord Jesus
+is not far off--as you think--he is very near; he can hear the faintest
+whisper of a petition that you send to him. It is his message I bring
+you to-day--a message to _you_. I am his servant, and he has given me
+this charge for you to-day--to tell you that he loves you--that he has
+given his life for yours--and that he calls Eleanor Powle to give him
+her heart, and then to give him her life, in all the obedience his
+service may require."
+
+Eleanor felt her heart strangely bowed, subdued, bent to his words. "I
+will"--was the secret language of her thoughts--"but I must not let
+this man see all I am feeling, if I can help it." She held herself
+still, looking out of the window, where the rain fell in torrents yet,
+though the thunder and the lightning were no longer near. So did he; he
+added no more to his last words, and a silence lasted in the old ruined
+window as if its chance occupants were gone again. As the silence
+lasted, Eleanor felt it grow awkward. She was at a loss how to break
+it. It was broken for her then.
+
+"What will you do, Miss Powle?"
+
+"I will think about it"--she answered, startled and hesitating.
+
+"How long, before you decide?"
+
+"How can I tell?" she said.
+
+"You are shrinking from a decision already formed. The answer is given
+in your secret thoughts, and something is rising up in the midst of
+them to thwart it. Shall I tell my Master that his message is refused?"
+
+"Mr. Rhys!" said Eleanor looking up, "I never heard any one talk so in
+all my life! You speak as if--"
+
+"As if, what?"
+
+"You speak as if--I never heard any one speak as you do."
+
+"I speak as if I were in the habit of telling my Master how his message
+is received? I often do that."
+
+"But it seems superfluous to tell what is known already," said Eleanor,
+wondering secretly much more than she dared to say at her companion's
+talk.
+
+"Do you never, in speaking to those you love, tell them what is no
+information?"
+
+Eleanor was now dumb. There was too great a gulf of difference between
+her companion and herself, to try to frame any words or thoughts that
+might bridge it over. She must remain on one side and he on the other;
+yet she went on wondering.
+
+"Are you a clergyman, Mr. Rhys?" she said after a pause.
+
+"I am not what you would call such."
+
+"Do you not think the rain is over?"
+
+"Nearly, for the present; but the grass is as wet as possible."
+
+"O, I don't mind that. There is somebody now in the shrubbery yonder,
+looking for me."
+
+"He will not find you here," said Mr. Rhys. "I have this window all to
+myself. But we will find him."
+
+The rain-drops fell now but scatteringly, the last of the shower; the
+sun was breaking out, and the green world was all in a glitter of wet
+leaves. Wet as they were, Eleanor and Mr. Rhys pushed through the thick
+bramble and holly bushes, which with honeysuckles, eglantine, and
+broom, and bryony, made a sweet wild wilderness. They got plentifully
+besprinkled in their way, shook that off as well as they could, and
+with quick steps sought to rejoin their companions. The person Eleanor
+had seen in the shrubbery was the first one found, as Mr. Rhys had
+said. It was Mr. Carlisle. He at once took charge of Eleanor.
+
+"What has become of you?"
+
+"What has become of _you_, Mr. Carlisle?" Eleanor's gleaming smile was
+as bright as ever.
+
+"Despair, nearly," said he; "for I feared business would hold me all
+day; but I broke away. Not time enough to protect you from this shower."
+
+"Water will wet," said Eleanor, laughing; for the politeness of this
+speech was more evident than its plausibility. She was on the point of
+speaking of the protection that had been actually found for her, but
+thought better of it. Meantime they were joined by a little girl,
+bright and rather wild looking, who addressed Eleanor as her sister.
+
+"O come!" she said,--"where have you been? We can't go on till you
+come. We are going to lunch at Barton's Tower--and mamma says she will
+make Mr. Carlisle build a fire, so that we may all dry ourselves."
+
+"Julia!--how you speak!"
+
+"She did say so," repeated the child. "Come--make haste."
+
+Eleanor glanced at her companion, who met the glance with a smile. "I
+hope Mrs. Powle will always command me," he said, somewhat meaningly;
+and Eleanor hurried on.
+
+She was destined to long _tete-a-tetes_ that day; for as soon as her
+little party was seen in the distance, the larger company took up their
+line of march again. Julia and Mr. Rhys had fallen behind; and the long
+walk to Barton's Tower was made with Mr. Carlisle alone, who was in no
+haste to abridge it, and seemed to enjoy himself very well. Eleanor
+once or twice looked back, and saw her little sister, hand in hand with
+her companion of the old window, walking and talking in very eager and
+gay style; to judge by Julia's lively movements.
+
+"Who is that Mr. Rhys?" said Eleanor.
+
+"I have hardly the honour to know him. May I ask, why you ask?"
+
+"He is peculiar," said Eleanor.
+
+"He can hardly be worthy your study." And the question was dismissed
+with a coolness which reminded Eleanor of Mr. Rhys's own words, that he
+was not what she would call a clergyman. She would have asked another
+question, but the slight disdain which spoke in Mr. Carlisle's eye and
+voice deterred her. She only noticed how well the object of it and her
+sister were getting along. However, Eleanor's own walk was pleasant
+enough to drive Mr. Rhys out of her head. Mr. Carlisle was polished,
+educated, spirited, and had the great additional advantage of being a
+known and ascertained somebody; as he was in fact the heir of all the
+fine domain whose beauties they were admiring. And a beautiful heirdom
+it was. The way taken by the party led up the course of a valley which
+followed the windings of a small stream; its sides most romantic and
+woody in some places; in others taking the very mould of gentle beauty,
+and covered with rich grass, and sweet with broom; in others again,
+drawing near together, and assuming a picturesque wildness, rocky and
+broken. Sweet flowers grew by the way in profusion, on the banks and
+along the sides of the stream; and the birds were very jocund in their
+solitudes. Through all this it was very pleasant wandering with the
+heir of the land; and neither wet shoes nor wet shoulders were much
+remembered by Eleanor till they reached Barton's Tower.
+
+This was a ruin of a different character; one of the old strongholds of
+the rough time when men lived by the might of hand. No delicate arches
+and graceful mouldings had ever been here; all was, or had been, grim,
+stern strength and massiveness. The strength was broken long ago; and
+grace, in the shape of clustering ivy, had mantled so much of the harsh
+outlines that their original impression was lost. It could be recalled
+only by a little abstraction. Within the enclosure of the thick walls,
+which in some places gave a sort of crypt-like shelter, the whole
+rambling party was now collected.
+
+"Shall we have a fire?" Mr. Carlisle had asked Eleanor, just before
+they entered. And Eleanor could not find in her heart to deny that it
+would be good, though not quite prepared to have it made to _her_
+order. However, the word was given. Wood was brought, and presently a
+roaring blaze went up within the old walls; not where the old chimney
+used to be, for there were no traces of such a thing. The sun had not
+shined bright enough to do away the mischief the shower had done; and
+now the ladies gathered about the blaze, and declared it was very
+comfortable. Eleanor sat down on a stone by the side of the fire,
+willing to be less in the foreground for a little while; as well as to
+dry her wet shoes. From there she had a view of the scene that would
+have pleased a painter.
+
+The blazing fire threw a warm light and colour of its own upon the dark
+walls and on the various groups collected within them, and touched
+mosses and ferns and greensward with its gypsy glare. The groups were
+not all of one character. There was a light-hued gay company of muslins
+and scarfs around the burning pile; in a corner a medley of servants
+and baskets and hampers; and in another corner Eleanor watched Julia
+and Mr. Rhys; the latter of whom was executing some adventurous
+climbing, after a flower probably, or a fern, while Julia stood below
+eagerly following his progress. Mr. Carlisle was all about. It was a
+singularly pretty scene, and to Eleanor's eye it had the sharp painting
+which is given by a little secret interest at work. That interest gave
+particular relief to the figures of the two gentlemen whose names have
+been mentioned; the other figures, the dark walls and ivy, the servants
+and the preparing collation, were only a rich mosaic of background for
+those two.
+
+There was Mr. Powle, a sturdy, well-to-do, country gentleman; looking
+it, and looking besides good-natured, which he was if not crossed.
+There was Eleanor's mother, good-natured under all circumstances; fair
+and handsome; every inch of her, from the close fair curls on each side
+of her temples, to the tips of her neat walking shoes, shewing the
+ample perfection of abundant means and indulgent living. There were
+some friends that formed part of their household just then, and the
+young people of a neighbouring family; with the Miss Broadus's; two
+elderly ladies from the village who were always in everything. There
+was Dr. Cairnes the rector, and his sister, a widow lady who spent part
+of every year with him. All these Eleanor's eye passed over with slight
+heed, and busied itself furtively with the remaining two; the great man
+of the party, and the other, the one certainly of least consideration
+in it. Why did she look at him, Eleanor asked herself? Mr. Carlisle was
+a mark for everybody's eyes; a very handsome man, the future lord of
+the manor, knowing and using gracefully his advantages of many kinds.
+What had the other,--that tall, quiet man, gathering flowers with Julia
+in the angle of the old tower? He could not be called handsome; a dark
+thick head of hair, and somewhat marked features alone distinguished
+him; except a pair of very clear keen eyes, the penetrating quality of
+which Eleanor had felt that morning. "He has a good figure, though,"
+she said to herself, "a very good figure--and he moves well and easily;
+but what is there about him to make me think of him? What is the
+difference between his face and that other face?"
+
+"That other face" made frequent appeals for her attention; yet Eleanor
+could not forget the group in the corner, where her sister seemed to be
+having a time of more lively enjoyment than any one else of the
+company. No other person paid them any attention, even in thought; and
+when the collation was spread, Eleanor half wondered that her morning's
+friend neither came forward nor was for some moments asked to do so.
+She thought indeed she heard Julia ask him, but if so it was without
+effect. Mr. Rhys remained in the distant angle, studying the stones
+there; till Mr. Powle shouted to him and brought him into the company.
+Having done this good action, the squire felt benevolently disposed
+towards the object of his care, and entered into conversation with him.
+It grew so satisfactory to Mr. Powle, that it absorbed his attention
+from all but the meats and wines which were offered him, the enjoyment
+of which it probably heightened; the talk was prolonged, and seemed to
+grow more interesting as it went on. Eleanor could not hear what it was
+about, her own ear was so much engaged with business nearer at hand.
+The whole play had not escaped her, however; and between question and
+answer of the rattling gaiety going on about her ears, and indeed on
+her own tongue, she found time to wonder whether Mr. Rhys were shy, or
+kept back by a feeling of inferiority; so marked his conduct was by the
+absence of all voluntary self-assertion, She could not determine that
+he was either. No look or word favoured the one or the other
+supposition. And Eleanor could not look at those keen eyes, without
+feeling that it was extremely unlikely they would quail before anybody
+or anything. Very different from those fine hazel irids that were
+flashing fun and gallantry into hers with every glance. Very different;
+but what was the difference? It was something deeper than colour and
+contour. Eleanor had no chance to make further discoveries; for her
+father engrossed his new acquaintance all the way home, and only did
+not bring him to Ivy Lodge to tea because Mr. Rhys refused it; for the
+invitation was given.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+AT THE GARDEN-DOOR.
+
+
+  "To die--to sleep.
+  To sleep! perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub;
+  For in that sleep of death what dreams may come"--
+
+
+The family at Ivy Lodge gathered round the tea-table with spirits
+rather whetted, apparently for both talking and eating. Certainly the
+one exercise had been intermitted for some hours; the other however had
+gone on without cessation. It went on still. The party was now reduced
+to the home party, with the addition of Miss Broadus; which lady, with
+her sister, was at home at Ivy Lodge, as she was everywhere else.
+Elderly, respectable and respected old ladies they were; and though
+they dealt in gossip, would not willingly have hurt a fly. They dealt
+in receipts and in jellies too; in fashions, and in many kindnesses,
+both received and given by all the neighbourhood. They were daughters
+of a former rector of the parish, and poor, and asked nobody to help
+them; which indeed they had no need to ask.
+
+"You seemed to like your afternoon's acquaintance, papa?" said Eleanor.
+
+"He is a fine fellow," said the squire. "He's a fine fellow. Knows
+something. My dear, he teaches a small school at Wiglands, I hear."
+
+"Does he. I wonder who goes to it," said Mrs. Powle.
+
+"I don't know," said the squire; "but I mean to send Alfred."
+
+"My dear Mr. Powle! to such a school as that? Nobody can go to it but
+some of the farmers' children around--there is no one else."
+
+"It won't hurt him, for a little while," said the squire. "I like the
+master, and that's of more importance than the children. Don't you
+worry."
+
+"My dear Mr. Powle! But I never heard of such a thing in my life. I do
+not believe Dr. Cairnes will like it at all. He will think it very
+strange, your sending your boy to a man that is not a Churchman, and is
+not anything, that anybody knows of."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes be hanged!" said the squire,--"and mind his own affairs.
+He wouldn't want me to send Alfred to _him_."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Powle," said Miss Broadus, "I can tell you this for your
+comfort--there are two sons of Mr. Churchill, the Independent minister
+of Eastcombe--that come over to him; besides one or two more that are
+quite respectable."
+
+"Why does not Mr. Churchill send his boys to school it Eastcombe?"
+
+"O well, it doesn't suit him, I suppose; and like goes to like, you
+know, my dear."
+
+"That is what I think," said Mrs. Powle, looking at her husband,--"and
+I wonder Mr. Powle does not think so too."
+
+"If you mean me," said the squire, "I am not 'like' anybody--that I can
+tell you. A good schoolmaster is a good schoolmaster--I don't care what
+else he calls himself."
+
+"And Mr. Rhys is a good schoolmaster, I have no doubt," said Miss
+Broadus.
+
+"I know what he is," said Julia; "he is a nice man, I like him."
+
+"I saw he kept you quiet," said Eleanor. "How did he manage it?"
+
+"He didn't manage it. He told me about things," said Julia; "and he got
+flowers for me, and told me about ferns. You never saw such lovely
+ferns as we found; and you would not know where to look for them,
+either. I never saw such a nice man as Mr. Rhys in my life."
+
+"There, my dear," said her mother, "do not encourage Julia in talking.
+She is always too ready."
+
+"I am going to walk with him again, to get flowers," said the child.
+
+"I shall invite him to the Lodge," said the squire. "He is a very
+sensible man, and knows what he is about."
+
+"Do you know anything more about him, Mr. Powle?"
+
+"He does more than teach three or four boys," said Miss Broadus. "He
+serves a little Dissenting Chapel of some sort, over at Lily Vale."
+
+"Why does he not live there then?" said Mrs. Powle. "Lily Vale is two
+and a half miles off. Not very convenient, I should think."
+
+"I don't know, my dear. Perhaps he finds living cheap at Wiglands, and
+I am sure he may. Do you know, I get butter for less than one-half what
+I paid when I was in Leicester?"
+
+"It is summer time now, Miss Broadus," said the squire.
+
+"Yes, I know, but still--I am sure Wiglands is the nicest, easiest
+place for poor people to live, that ever was."
+
+"Why you are not poor, Miss Broadus," said the squire.
+
+Miss Broadus chuckled. The fact was, that the Miss Broadus's not being
+poor was a standing pleasant joke with them; it being well known that
+they were not largely supplied with means, but contrived to make a
+little do the apparent work of much more than they had. A way of
+achieving respectability upon which they prided themselves.
+
+"Eleanor," said her mother as they left the table, "you look pale. Did
+you get your feet wet?"
+
+"Yes, mamma--there was no helping that."
+
+"Then you'll be laid up!"
+
+"She must not, just now, my dear," said Miss Broadus smilingly.
+
+Eleanor could not laugh off the prophecy, which an internal warning
+told her was well founded. She went to bed thinking of Mr. Rhys's
+helmet. She did not know why; she was not given to such thoughts;
+neither did she comprehend exactly what the helmet might be; yet now
+the thought came uneasily across her mind, that just such a cold as she
+had taken had been many a one's death; and with that came a strange
+feeling of unprotectedness--of want of defence. It was very
+uncomfortable to go to bed with that slight sensation of sore throat
+and feverishness, and to remember that the beginning of multitudes of
+last sicknesses had been no other and no greater; and it was most
+unlike Eleanor to have such a cause make her uncomfortable. She charged
+it upon the conversation of the morning, and supposed herself nervous
+or feverish; but this, if an explanation, was no cure; and through the
+frequent wakings of a disturbed night, the thought of that piece of
+armour which made one of her fellow creatures so blessedly calm, came
+up again and again to her mind.
+
+"I am feverish--this is nightmare," said Eleanor to herself. But it
+must be good to have no such nightmare. And when the broad daylight had
+come, and she was pronounced to be very ill, and the doctor was sent
+for, Eleanor found her night's visions would not take their departure.
+She could not get up; she was a prisoner; would she ever be free?
+
+She was very ill; the fever gained head; and the old doctor, who was a
+friend of the family, looked very grave at her. Eleanor saw it. She
+knew that a battle was to be fought between the powers of life and
+death; and the thought that no one could tell how the victory would be,
+came like an ice wind upon flowers. Her spirit shrank and cowered
+before it. Hopes and pleasures and plans, of which she was so full
+yesterday, were chilled to the ground; and across the cleared pathway
+of vision, what appeared? Eleanor would not look.
+
+But the battle must be fought; and it had to be fought amid pain and
+fever and weariness and the anxious looks of friends; and it was not
+soon decided. And the wish for that helmet of shelter, whatever it
+might be, came at times bitterly strong over Eleanor's heart. Many a
+heavily drawn sigh, which her mother charged to the body's weariness,
+came from the mind's longing. And in the solitude of the night, when
+her breath was quick and her pulse was high and she knew everything was
+going wrong, the thought came with a sting of agony,--if there was such
+a helmet, and she could not have it. O to be well and strong, and need
+none!--or while lying before death's door to see if it would open, O to
+have that talisman that would make its opening peace! It was not at
+Eleanor's hand, and she did not know where to find it. And when the
+daylight came again, and the doctor looked grave, and her mother turned
+away the anxious face she did not wish Eleanor to read, the cold chill
+of fear crept over Eleanor's heart. She hid it there. No creature in
+the house, she knew, could meet or quiet it; if indeed her explanation
+of it could have been understood. She banished it as often as it was
+possible; but during many days that Eleanor lay on a sick bed, it was
+so frequent a visiter that her heart grew sore for its coming.
+
+There were June roses and summer sunshine outside; and sweet breaths
+came in at the open windows, telling the time of year. Julia reported
+how fine the strawberries were, and went and came with words about
+walks and flowers and joyous doings; while Eleanor's room was darkened,
+and phials of medicine and glasses stood on the table, and the doctor
+went and carne, and Mrs. Powle hardly left her by day, and at night
+tile nurse slept, and Eleanor tossed and turned on her pillow and
+thought of another "night" that "cometh."
+
+The struggle with fever and pain was over at last. Then came weakness;
+and though hope revived, fear would not die. Besides, Eleanor said to
+herself, though she should get entirely well of this sickness, who
+would guaranty her that another would not come? And must not one
+come--some time--that must be final? And how should that be met? Nay,
+though getting well again and out of present danger, she would have
+liked to have that armour of shelter still!
+
+"What are you crying for?" said her little sister coming suddenly into
+her room one day. Eleanor was so far recovered as to be up.
+
+"I am weak and nervous,--foolish."
+
+"I wouldn't be foolish," said Julia.
+
+"I do not think I am foolish," said Eleanor slowly.
+
+"Then why do you say you are? But what is the matter with you?"
+
+"Like all the rest of the world, child,--I want something I cannot get.
+What have you there?"
+
+"Ferns," said Julia. "Do you know what ferns are?"
+
+"I suppose I do--when I see them."
+
+"No, but when you _don't_ see them; that's the thing."
+
+"Do you, pray."
+
+"Yes! A fern is a plant which has its seeds come on the back of the
+leaf, and no flower; and it comes up curled like a caterpillar. Aren't
+those pretty?"
+
+"Where did you learn all that?"
+
+"I know more than that. This leaf is called a _frond_."
+
+"Who told you?"
+
+"Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Did you learn it from Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure I did, and a great deal more. He is going to teach me
+all about ferns."
+
+"Where do you see Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Why! wherever I have a mind. Alfred goes walking with him, and the
+other boys, and I go too; and he tells us things. I always go along
+with Mr. Rhys, and he takes care of me."
+
+"Does mamma know?"
+
+"Yes, but papa lets Mr. Rhys do just what he pleases. Papa says Mr.
+Rhys is a wonderful man."
+
+"What is he wonderful for?" said Eleanor languidly.
+
+"Well, _I_ think, because he is making Alfred a good boy."
+
+"I wonder how he has done it," said Eleanor.
+
+"So do I. He knows how. What do you think--he punished Alfred one day
+right before papa."
+
+"Where?" said Eleanor, in astonishment.
+
+"Down at the school. Papa was there. Papa told about it. Alfred thought
+he wouldn't dare, when papa was there; and Alfred took the opportunity
+to be impudent; and Mr. Rhys just took him up by his waistband and laid
+him down on the floor at his feet; and Alfred has behaved himself ever
+since."
+
+"Was not papa angry?"
+
+"He said he was at first, and I think it is likely; but after that, he
+said Mr. Rhys was a great man, and he would not interfere with him."
+
+"And how does Alfred like Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"He likes him--" said Julia, turning over her ferns. "I like him. Mr.
+Rhys said he was sorry you were sick. Now, _that_ is a frond. That is
+what it is called. Do you see, those are the seeds."
+
+Eleanor sighed. She would have liked to take lessons of Mr. Rhys on
+another subject. She half envied Julia's liberty. There seemed a great
+wall built up between her and the knowledge she wanted. Must it be so
+always?
+
+"Julia, when are you going to take a walk with Mr. Rhys again?"
+
+"To-morrow," was the quick answer.
+
+"I will give you something to ask him about."
+
+"I don't want it. I always have enough to ask him. We are going after
+ferns; we always have enough to talk about."
+
+"But there is a question I would like you to ask."
+
+"What is it? Why don't you ask him yourself?"
+
+Eleanor was silent, watching Julia's uncompromising business-like air
+as she turned over her bunch of ferns. The little one was full of her
+own affairs; her long locks of hair waving with every turn of her busy
+head. Suddenly she looked up.
+
+"What is your question, Eleanor?"
+
+"You must not ask it as if from me."
+
+"How then?"
+
+"Just ask it--as if you wanted to know yourself; without saying
+anything."
+
+"As if I wanted to know what?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated, and Mrs. Powle came into the room.
+
+"What, Eleanor--what?" Julia repeated.
+
+"Nothing. Study your ferns."
+
+"I _have_ studied them. This is the rachis--and down here below this,
+is the rhizoma; and the little seed places that come on the back of the
+frond, are thecae. I forget what Mr. Rhys called the seeds now. I'll
+ask him."
+
+"What nonsense is that you are talking, Julia?"
+
+"Sense, mamma. Or rather, it is knowledge."
+
+"Mamma, how do _you_ like Mr. Rhys? Julia says he is often here."
+
+"He is a pleasant man," said Mrs. Powle. "I have nothing against
+him--except that your father and the children are crazy about him. I
+see nothing in him to be crazy about."
+
+"Alfred is a good deal less crazy than he used to be," remarked Julia;
+"and I think papa hasn't lost anything."
+
+"You are a saucy girl," said her mother. "Mr. Carlisle is very anxious
+to know when you will be down stairs again, Eleanor."
+
+Julia ran off with her ferns; Eleanor went into a muse; and the
+conversation ceased.
+
+It happened a few days after this, that the event about which Mr.
+Carlisle was anxious came to pass. Eleanor was able to leave her room.
+However, feeling yet very wanting in strength, and not quite ready to
+face a company of gay talkers, she shunned the drawing-room where such
+a company was gathered, and betook herself to a small summer-parlour in
+another part of the house. This room she had somewhat appropriated to
+her own use. It had once been a school-room. Since the misbehaviour of
+one governess, years ago, Mr. Powle had vowed that he would never have
+another in the house, come what would. Julia might run wild at home; he
+should be satisfied if she learned to read, to ride, and to walk; and
+when she was old enough, he would send her to boarding-school. What the
+squire considered old enough, did not appear. Julia was a fine child of
+eleven, and still practising her accomplishments of riding and walking
+to her heart's content at home; with little progress made in the other
+branches to which reading is the door. The old schoolroom had long
+forgotten even its name, and had been fitted up simply and pleasantly
+for summer occupation. It opened on one side by a glass door upon a gay
+flower-garden; Eleanor's special pet and concern; where she did a great
+deal of work herself. It was after an elaborate geometrical pattern;
+and beds of all sorts of angles were filled and bright with different
+coloured verbenas, phloxes, geraniums, heliotrope, and other flowers
+fit for such work; making a brilliant mosaic of scarlet, purple and
+gold, in Eastern gorgeousness, as the whole was seen from the glass
+door. Eleanor sat down there to look at it and realise the fact that
+she was getting well again; with the dreamy realization that goes along
+with present weakness and remembered past pain.
+
+On another side the room opened to a small lawn; it was quite shut off
+by its situation and by the plantations of shrubbery, from the other
+part of the house; and very rarely visited by the chance comers who
+were frequent there. So Eleanor was a good deal surprised this evening
+to see a tall strange figure appear at the further side of her flower
+garden; then not at all surprised to see that it was Mr. Rhys
+accompanied by her sister, Julia. Julia flitted about through the
+garden, in very irregular fashion, followed by her friend; till their
+wanderings brought them near the open door within which Eleanor sat. To
+the door Julia immediately darted, drawing her companion with her; and
+as soon as she came up exclaimed, as if she had been armed with a
+search warrant and had brought her man,--
+
+"Here's Mr. Rhys, Eleanor. Now you can ask him yourself whatever you
+like."
+
+Eleanor felt startled. But it was with such a pleasant face that Mr.
+Rhys came up, such a cordial grasp of the hand greeted her, that the
+feeling vanished immediately. Perhaps that hand-clasp was all the
+warmer for Eleanor's changed appearance. She was very unlike the girl
+of superb health who had wandered over the old priory grounds a few
+weeks before. Eleanor's colour was gone; the blue veins shewed
+distinctly on the temples; the full lips, instead of their brilliant
+gay smile, had a languid and much soberer line. She made quite a
+different impression now, of a fair delicate young creature, who had
+lost and felt she had lost the proud strength in which she had been so
+luxuriant a little while before. Mr. Rhys looked at her attentively.
+
+"You have been very ill, Miss Powle."
+
+"I suppose I have--some of the time."
+
+"I am rejoiced to see you well again."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"Julia has been leading me over the garden and grounds. I did not know
+where she was bringing me."
+
+"How do you like my garden?"
+
+"For a garden of that sort--it seems to me well arranged."
+
+He was very cool, certainly, in giving his opinion, Eleanor thought.
+Her gardening pride was touched. This was a pet of her own.
+
+"Then you do not fancy gardens of this sort."
+
+"I believe I think Nature is the best artist of all."
+
+"But would you let Nature have her own way entirely?"
+
+"No more in the vegetable than I would in the moral world. She would
+grow weeds."
+
+The quick clear sense and decision, in the eye and accent, were just
+what Eleanor did not want to cope with. She was silent. So were her two
+companions; for Julia was busy with a nosegay she was making up. Then
+Mr. Rhys turned to Eleanor,
+
+"Julia said you had a question to ask of me, Miss Powle."
+
+"Yes, I had,"--said Eleanor, colouring slightly and hesitating. "But
+you cannot answer it standing--will you come in, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Thank you--if you will allow me, I will take this instead," said he,
+sitting down on one of the steps before the glass door. "What was the
+question?"
+
+"That was the other day, when she brought in her ferns--it was a wish I
+had. But she ought not to have troubled you with it."
+
+"It will give me great pleasure to answer you--if I can."
+
+Eleanor half fancied he knew what the question was; and she hesitated
+again, feeling a good deal confused. But when should she have another
+chance? She made a bold push.
+
+"I felt a curiosity to ask you--I did not know any one else who could
+tell me--what that 'helmet' was, you spoke of one day;--that day at the
+old priory?"
+
+Eleanor could not look up. She felt as if the clear eyes opposite her
+were reading down in the depth of her heart. They were very unflinching
+about it. It was curiously disagreeable and agreeable both at once.
+
+"Have you wanted it, these weeks past?" said he.
+
+The question was unexpected. It was put with a penetrating sympathy.
+Eleanor felt if she opened her lips to speak she could not command
+their steadiness. She gave no answer but silence.
+
+"A helmet?" said Julia looking up. "What is a helmet?"
+
+"The warriors of old time," said Mr. Rhys, "used to wear a helmet to
+protect their heads from danger. It was a covering of leather and
+steel. With this head-piece on, they felt safe; where their lives would
+not have been worth a penny without it."
+
+"But Eleanor--what does Eleanor want of a helmet?" said Julia. And she
+went off into a shout of ringing laughter.
+
+"Perhaps you want one," said Mr. Rhys composedly.
+
+"No, I don't. What should I want it for? What should I cover my head
+with leather and steel for, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"You want something stronger than that."
+
+"Something stronger? What do I want, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"To know that, you must find out first what the danger is."
+
+"I am not in any danger."
+
+"How do you know that?"
+
+"Am I, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Let us see. Do you know what the Lord Jesus Christ has done for us
+all?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you know whether God has given us any commandments?"
+
+"Yes; I know the ten commandments. I have learned them once, but I
+don't remember them."
+
+"Have you obeyed them?"
+
+"Me?"
+
+"Yes. You."
+
+"I never thought about it."
+
+"Have you disobeyed them then?"
+
+Eleanor breathed more freely, and listened. It was curious to her to
+see the wayward, giddy child stand and look into the eyes of her
+questioner as if fascinated. The ordinary answer from Julia would have
+been a toss and a fling. Now she stood and said sedately, "I don't
+know."
+
+"We can soon tell," said her friend. "One of the commandments is, to
+remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. Have you always done that?"
+
+"No," said Julia bluntly. "I don't think anybody else does."
+
+"Never mind anybody else. Have you always honoured the word and wish of
+your father and mother? That is another command."
+
+"I have done it more than Alfred has."
+
+"Let Alfred alone. Have _you_ always done it?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Have you loved the good God all your life, with all your heart?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You have loved to please yourself, rather than anything else?"
+
+The nod with which Julia answered this, if not polite, was at least
+significant, accompanied with an emphatic "Always!" Mr. Rhys could not
+help smiling at her, but he went on gravely enough.
+
+"What is to keep you then from being afraid?"
+
+"From being afraid?"
+
+"Yes. You want a helmet."
+
+"Afraid?" said Julia.
+
+"Yes. Afraid of the justice of God. He never lets a sin go unpunished.
+He is _perfectly_ just."
+
+"But I can't help it," said Julia.
+
+"Then what is to become of you? You need a helmet."
+
+"A helmet?" said Julia again. "What sort of a helmet?"
+
+"You want to know that God has forgiven you; that he is not angry with
+you; that he loves you, and has made you his child."
+
+"How can I?" said the child, pressing closer to the speaker where he
+sat on the step of the door. And no wonder, for the words were given
+with a sweet earnest utterance which drew the hearts of both bearers.
+He went on without looking at Eleanor; or without seeming to look that
+way.
+
+"How can you what?"
+
+"How can I have that?"
+
+"That helmet? There is only one way."
+
+"What is it, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+They were silent a minute, looking at each other, the man and the
+child; the child with her eyes bent on his.
+
+"Suppose somebody had taken your punishment for you? borne the
+displeasure of God for your sins?"
+
+"Who would?" said Julia. "Nobody would."
+
+"One has."
+
+"Who, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"One that loved you, and that loved all of us, well enough to pay the
+price of saving us."
+
+"What price did he pay?"
+
+"His own life. He gave it up cruelly--that ours might be redeemed."
+
+"What for, Mr. Rhys? what made him?"
+
+"Because he loved us. There was no other reason."
+
+"Then people will be saved"--said Julia.
+
+"Every one who will take the conditions. It depends upon that. There
+are conditions."
+
+"What conditions, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Do you know who did this for you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"It is the Lord himself--the Lord Jesus Christ--the Lord of glory. He
+thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but he made himself of no
+reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in
+the likeness of men; and being found in fashion as a man, he humbled
+himself and became obedient unto death--even the death of the cross. So
+now he is exalted a Prince and a Saviour--able to save all who will
+accept his conditions."
+
+"What are the conditions, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"You must be his servant. And you must trust all your little heart and
+life to him."
+
+"I must be his servant?" said Julia.
+
+"Yes, heart and soul, to obey him. And you must trust him to forgive
+you and save you for his blood's sake."
+
+Doubtless there had been something in the speaker himself that had held
+the child's attention so fast all this while. Her eyes had never
+wandered from his face; she had stood in docile wise looking at him and
+answering his questions and listening, won by the commentary she read
+in his face on what her friend was saying. A strange light kindled in
+it as he spoke; there were lines of affection and tenderness that came
+in the play of lips and eyes; and when he named his Master, there had
+shined in his face as it were the reflection of the glory he alluded
+to. Julia's eyes were not the only ones that had been held; though it
+was only Julia's tongue that said anything in reply. Standing now and
+looking still into the face she had been reading, her words were an
+unconscious rendering of what she found there.
+
+"Mr. Rhys, I think he was very good."
+
+The water filled those clear eyes at that, but he only returned the
+child's gaze and said nothing.
+
+"I will take the conditions, Mr. Rhys," Julia went on.
+
+"The Lord make it so!" he said gravely.
+
+"But what is the helmet, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"When you have taken the conditions, little one, you will know." He
+rose up.
+
+"Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor rising also, "I have listened to you, but I do
+not quite understand you."
+
+"I recommend you to ask better teaching, Miss Powle."
+
+"But I would like to know exactly what you mean, and what you meant, by
+that 'helmet' you speak of so often?"
+
+He looked steadily now at the fair young face beside him, which told so
+plainly of the danger lately passed through. Eleanor could not return,
+though she suffered the examination. His answer was delayed while he
+made it.
+
+"Do you ask from a sense of need?" he said.
+
+Eleanor looked up then and answered, "Yes."
+
+"To say, 'I know that my Redeemer liveth'--that is it," he said. "Then
+the head is covered--even from fear of evil."
+
+It was impossible that Eleanor ever should forget the look that went
+with the words, and which had prevented her own gaze from seeking the
+ground again. The look of inward rejoicing and outward fearlessness;
+the fire and the softness that at once overspread his face. "He was
+looking at his Master then"--was the secret conclusion of Eleanor's
+mind. Even while she thought it, he had turned and was gone again with
+Julia. She stood still some minutes, weak as she was. She was not sure
+that she perfectly comprehended what that helmet might be, but of its
+reality there could be no questioning. She had seen its plumes wave
+over one brow!
+
+"I know that my Redeemer liveth"--Eleanor sat down and mused over the
+words. She had heard them before; they were an expression of somebody's
+faith, she was not sure whose; but what faith was it? Faith that the
+Redeemer lived? Eleanor did not question that. She had repeated the
+Apostle's Creed many a time. Yet a vague feeling from the words she
+could not analyze--or arising perhaps from the look that had
+interpreted them--floated over her mind, disturbing it with an
+exceeding sense of want. She felt desolate and forlorn. What was to be
+done? Julia and Mr. Rhys were gone. The garden was empty. There was no
+more chance of counsel-taking to-night. Eleanor felt in no mood for gay
+gossip, and slowly mounted the stairs to her own room, from whence she
+declined to come down again that night. She would like to find the
+settlement of this question, before she went back into the business of
+the world and was swallowed up by it, as she would soon be. Eleanor
+locked the door, and took up a Bible, and tried to find some good by
+reading in it. Her eyes and head were tired before her mind received
+any light. She was weak yet. She found the Bible very unsatisfactory;
+and gave it up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+IN THE DRAWING-ROOM.
+
+
+  "Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
+  And he that might the vantage best have took,
+  Found out the remedy."
+
+
+"You can come down stairs to-night, Eleanor," said Mrs. Powle the next
+morning.
+
+"I was down stairs last night--in the afternoon, I mean--mamma."
+
+"Yes, but you did not stay. I want you in the drawing-room this
+evening. You can bear it now."
+
+"I am in no hurry, mamma."
+
+"Other people are, however. If you wear a white dress, do put a rose or
+some pink ribbands somewhere, to give yourself a little colour."
+
+"Have you invited any one for this evening?"
+
+"No, but people have promised themselves without being asked. Dr.
+Cairnes wants to see you; he said he would bring Mrs. Wycherly. Miss
+Broadus will be here of course; she declared she would; both of them.
+And Mr. Carlisle desired my permission to present himself."
+
+"Mr. Rhys is coming," said Julia.
+
+"I dare say. Mr. Powle wants him here all the time. It is a mercy the
+man has a little consideration--or some business to keep him at
+home--or he would be the sauce to every dish. As it is, he really is
+not obtrusive."
+
+"Are all these people coming with the hope and intent of seeing me,
+mamma?"
+
+"I can only guess at people's hopes, Eleanor. I am guiltless of
+anything but confessing that you were to make your appearance."
+
+"Mr. Rhys is not coming to see you," said Julia. "He wants to see the
+books--that is what he wants."
+
+There was some promise for Eleanor in the company announced for the
+evening. If anybody could be useful to her in the matter of her late
+doubts and wishes, it ought to be Dr. Cairnes, the rector. He at least
+was the only one she knew whom she could talk to about them; the only
+friend. Mr. Rhys was a stranger and her brother's tutor; that was all;
+a chance of speaking to him again was possible, but not to be depended
+on. Dr. Cairnes was her pastor and old friend; it is true, she knew him
+best, out of the pulpit, as an antiquarian; then she had never tried
+him on religious questions. Nor he her, she remembered; it was a
+doubtful hope altogether; nevertheless the evening offered what another
+evening might not in many a day. So Eleanor dressed, and with her slow
+languid step made her way down stairs to the scene of the social
+gayeties which had been so long interrupted for her.
+
+Ivy Lodge was a respectable, comfortable, old house; pretty by the
+combination of those advantages; and pleasant by the fact of making no
+pretensions beyond what it was worth. It was not disturbed by the rage
+after new fashions, nor the race after distant greatness. Quiet
+respectability was the characteristic of the family; Mrs. Powle alone
+being burdened with the consciousness of higher birth than belonged to
+the name of Powle generally. She fell into her husband's ways, however,
+outwardly, well enough; did not dislodge the old furniture, nor
+introduce new extravagances; and the Lodge was a pleasant place. "A
+most enjoyable house, my dear,"--as Miss Broadus expressed it. So the
+gentry of the neighbourhood found it universally.
+
+The drawing-room was a pretty, spacious apartment; light and bright;
+opening upon the lawn directly without intervention of piazza or
+terrace. Windows, or rather glass doors, in deep recesses, stood open;
+the company seemed to be half in and half out. Dr. Cairnes was there,
+talking with the squire. In another place Mrs. Powle was engaged with
+Mr. Carlisle. Further than those two groups, Eleanor's eye had no
+chance to go; those who composed the latter greeted her instantly. Mrs.
+Powle's exclamation was of doubtful pleasure at Eleanor's appearance;
+there was no question of her companion's gratification. He came forward
+to Eleanor, gave her his chair; brought her a cup of tea, and then sat
+down to see her drink it; with a manner which bespoke pleasure in every
+step of the proceedings. A manner which had rather the effect of a
+barrier to Eleanor's vision. It was gratifying certainly; Eleanor felt
+it; only she felt it a little too gratifying. Mr. Carlisle was getting
+on somewhat too fast for her. She drank her tea and kept very quiet;
+while Mrs. Powle sat by and fanned herself, as contentedly as a mother
+duck swims that sees all her young ones taking to the water kindly.
+
+Now and then Eleanor's eyes went out of the window. On the lawn at a
+little distance was a group of people, sitting close together and
+seeming very busy. They were Mr. Rhys, Miss Broadus, Alfred and Julia.
+Something interesting was going forward; they were talking and
+listening, and looking at something they seemed to be turning over.
+Eleanor would have liked to join them; but here was Mr. Carlisle; and
+remembering the expression which had once crossed his face at the
+mention of Mr. Rhys's name, she would not draw attention to the group
+even by her eyes; though they wandered that way stealthily whenever
+they could. What a good time those people were having there on the
+grass; and she sitting fenced in by Mr. Carlisle. Other members of the
+party who had not seen Eleanor, came up one after another to
+congratulate and welcome her; but Mr. Carlisle kept his place. Dr.
+Cairnes came, and Eleanor wanted a chance to talk to him. None was
+given her. Mr. Carlisle left his place for a moment to carry Eleanor's
+cup away, and Dr. Cairnes thoughtlessly took the vacated chair; but Mr.
+Carlisle stationed himself on the other side in the window; and she was
+as far from her opportunity as ever.
+
+"Well my dear," said the doctor, "you have had a hard time, eh? We are
+glad to have you amongst us again."
+
+"Hardly," put in Mrs. Powle. "She looks like a ghost."
+
+"Rather a substantial kind of a ghost," said the doctor, pinching
+Eleanor's cheek; "some flesh and blood here yet--flesh at least;--and
+now the blood speaks for itself! That's right, my dear--you are better
+so."
+
+Mr. Carlisle's smile said so too, as the doctor glanced at him. But the
+momentary colour faded again. Eleanor remembered how near she had come
+to being a ghost actually. Just then Mr. Carlisle's attention was
+forcibly claimed, and Mrs. Powle moved away. Eleanor seized her chance.
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, I want your instruction in something."
+
+"Well, my dear," said the doctor, lowering his tone in imitation of
+Eleanor's--"I shall be happy to be your instructor. I have been that,
+in some sort, ever since you were five years old--a little tot down in
+your mother's pew, sitting under my ministrations. What is it, Miss
+Eleanor?"
+
+"I am afraid I did not receive much in those days, sir."
+
+"Probably not. Hardly to be expected. I have no doubt you received as
+much as a child could, from the mysteries which were above its
+comprehension. What is it now, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"Something in your line, sir. Dr. Cairnes, you remember the helmet
+spoken of in the Bible?"
+
+"Helmet?" said the doctor. "Goliath's? He had a helmet of brass upon
+his head. Must have been heavy, but I suppose he could carry it. The
+same thing essentially as those worn by our ancestors--a little
+variation in form. What about it, my dear? I am glad to see you smiling
+again."
+
+"Nothing about that. I am speaking of another sort of helmet--do you
+not remember?--it is called somewhere the helmet of salvation."
+
+"_That?_ O!--um! _That_ helmet! Yes--it is in, let me see--it is in the
+description of Christian armour, in a fine passage in Ephesians, I
+think. What about that, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"I want to know, sir, what shape that helmet takes."
+
+It was odd, with what difficulty Eleanor brought out her questions. It
+was touching, the concealed earnestness which lingered behind her
+glance and smile.
+
+"Shape?" said the doctor, descending into his cravat;--"um! a fair
+question; easier asked than answered. Why my dear, you should read a
+commentary."
+
+"I like living commentaries, Dr. Cairnes."
+
+"Do you? Ha, ha!--well. Living commentaries, eh? and shapes of helmets.
+Well. What shape does it take? Why, my dear, you know of course that
+those expressions are figurative. I think it takes the shape of a
+certain composure and peace of mind which the Christian soul feels, and
+justly feels, in regarding the provision made for its welfare in the
+gospel. It is spoken of as the helmet of salvation; and there is the
+shield of faith; and so forth."
+
+Eleanor felt utterly worried, and did not in the least know how to
+frame her next question.
+
+"What has put you upon thinking of helmets, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"I was curious--" said Eleanor.
+
+"You had some serious thoughts in your illness?" said the doctor.
+"Well, my dear--I am glad of it. Serious thoughts do not in the least
+interfere with all proper present enjoyments; and with improper ones
+you would not wish to have anything to do."
+
+"May we not say that serious thoughts are the _foundation_ of all true
+present enjoyment?" said another voice. It was Mr. Rhys who spoke.
+Eleanor started to hear him, and to see him suddenly in the place where
+Mr. Carlisle had been, standing in the window.
+
+"Eh? Well--no,--not just that," said Dr. Cairnes coolly. "I have a good
+deal of enjoyment in various things--this fair day and this fair
+company, for example, and Mrs. Powle's excellent cup of tea--with which
+I apprehend, serious thoughts have nothing to do."
+
+"But we are commanded to do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus."
+
+"Well--um! That is to be taken of course in its rational significance.
+A cup of tea is a cup of tea--and nothing more. There is nothing at the
+bottom of it--ha, ha!--but a little sugar. Nothing more serious."
+
+Mr. Rhys's figure standing in the window certainly hindered a part of
+the light. To judge by the doctor's face, he was keeping out the whole.
+
+"What do you suppose the apostle means, sir, when he says,
+'Henceforward know I no man after the flesh?'"
+
+"Hum!--Ah,--well, he was an apostle. I am not. Perhaps you are?"
+
+There was a degree of covert disdain in this speech, which Eleanor
+wondered at in so well-bred a man as Dr. Cairnes. Mr. Rhys answered
+with perfect steadiness, with no change of tone or manner.
+
+"Without being inspired--I think, in the sense of _messenger_, every
+minister of Christ is his apostle."
+
+"Ah! Well!--I am not even apostolic," said the doctor, with one or two
+contented and discontented grunts. Eleanor understood them; the content
+was his own, the discontent referred to the speaker whose words were so
+inopportune. The doctor rose and left the ground. Mr. Rhys had gone
+even before him; and Eleanor wondered anew whether this man were indeed
+shy or not. He was so little seen and heard; yet spoke, when he spoke,
+with such clearness and self-possession. He was gone now, and Mr.
+Carlisle was still busy. Up came Miss Broadus and took the vacant seat.
+
+It is impossible to describe Miss Broadus's face. It was in a certain
+sense fair, and fat, and fresh-coloured; but the "windows of her soul"
+shewed very little light from within; they let out nothing but a little
+gleam now and then. However, her tongue was fluent, and matter for
+speech never wanting. She was kindly too, in manner at least; and
+extremely sociable with all her neighbours, low as well as high; none
+of whose affairs wanted interest for her. It was in fact owing to Miss
+Broadus's good offices with Mrs. Powle, that Mr. Rhys had been invited
+to join the pleasure party with which the adventures of this book
+begin. The good lady was as neat as a pink in her dress; and very fond
+of being as shewy, in a modest way.
+
+"Among us again, Eleanor?" she said. "We are glad to see you. So is Mr.
+Carlisle, I should judge. We have missed you badly. You have been
+terribly ill, haven't you? Yes, you shew it. But _that_ will soon pass
+away, my dear. I longed to get in to do something for you--but Mrs.
+Powle would not let me; and I knew you had the best of everything all
+the while. Only I thought I would bring you a pot of my grape jelly;
+for Mrs. Powle don't make it; and it is so refreshing."
+
+"It was very nice, thank you."
+
+"O it was nothing, my dear; only we wanted to do something. I have been
+having such an interesting time out there; didn't you see us sitting on
+the grass? Mr. Rhys is quite a botanist--or a naturalist--or something;
+and he was quite the centre of our entertainment. He was shewing us
+ferns--fern leaves, my dear; and talking about them. Do you know, as I
+told him, I never looked at a fern leaf before; but now really it's
+quite curious; and he has almost made me believe I could see a certain
+kind of beauty in them. You know there is a sort of beauty which some
+people think they find in a great many things; and when they are
+enthusiastic, they almost make you think as they do. I think there is
+great power in enthusiasm."
+
+"Is Mr. Rhys enthusiastic?"
+
+"O I don't know, my dear,--I don't know what you would call it; I am
+not a philosopher; but he is very fond of ferns himself. He is a very
+fine man. He is a great deal too good to go and throw himself away."
+
+"Is that what he is going to do?"
+
+"Why yes, my dear; that is what I should call it. It is a great deal
+more than that. I never can remember the place; but it is the most
+dreadful place, I do suppose, that ever was heard of. I never heard of
+such a place. They do every horrible thing there--my dear, the accounts
+make your blood creep. I think Mr. Rhys is a great deal too valuable a
+man to be lost there, among such a set of creatures--they are more like
+devils than men. And Eleanor," said Miss Broadus, looking round to see
+that nobody was within hearing of her communication,--"you have no idea
+what a pleasant man he is. I asked him to tea with Juliana and me--you
+know one must be kind and neighbourly at any rate--and he has no
+friends here; I sometimes wonder if he has any anywhere; but he came to
+tea, and he was as agreeable as possible. He was really excellent
+company, and very well behaved. I think Juliana quite fell in love with
+him; but I tell her it's no use; she never would go off to that
+dreadful place with him."
+
+And Miss Broadus laughed a laugh of simple amusement; Miss Juliana
+being, though younger than herself, still very near the age of an old
+lady. They kept the light-hearted simplicity of young years, however,
+in a remarkable degree; and so had contrived to dispense with wrinkles
+on their fresh old faces.
+
+"Where is that place, Miss Broadus?"
+
+"My dear, I never can remember the name of it. They do say the country
+is beautiful, and the fruit, and all that; it is described to be a
+beautiful place, where, as Heber's hymn says, 'only man is vile.' But
+he is as vile as he can be, there. And I am sure Mr. Rhys would be a
+great loss at Wiglands. My dear, how pleasant it would be, I said to
+Juliana this morning, how pleasant it would be, if Mr. Rhys were only
+in the Church, and could help good Dr. Cairnes. 'Tisn't likely they
+will let him live long out there, if he goes."
+
+"When is he going?"
+
+"O I don't know when, my dear; he is waiting for something. And I never
+can remember the name of the place; if a word has many syllables I
+cannot keep them together in my memory; only I know the vegetables
+there grow to an enormous size, and as if that wasn't enough, men
+devour each other. It seems like an abusing the gifts of providence,
+don't it? But there is nothing they do not abuse. I am afraid they will
+abuse poor Mr. Rhys. And his boys would miss him very much, and I am
+sure we all should. I have got quite acquainted with him, seeing him
+here; and now Juliana has taken a fancy to ask him to our cottage--and
+I have come to quite like him. What a different looking man he is from
+Mr. Carlisle--now look at them talking together!--"
+
+"Where did you learn all this, Miss Broadus? did Mr. Rhys tell you?"
+
+"No, my dear; he never will talk about it or about himself. He lent me
+a pamphlet or something.--Mr. Rhys is the tallest--but Mr. Carlisle is
+a splendid looking man,--don't you think so, Eleanor?"
+
+Miss Broadus's energetic whisper Eleanor thought fit to ignore, though
+she did not fail to note the contrast which a moment's colloquy between
+the two men presented. There was little in common between them; between
+the marked features and grave keen expression of the one face, and the
+cool, bright, somewhat supercilious eye and smile of the other. There
+was power in both faces, Eleanor thought, of different kinds; and power
+is attractive. Her eye was held till they parted from each other. Two
+very different walks in life claimed the two men; so much Eleanor could
+see. For some time after she was obliged to attend exclusively to that
+walk of life which Mr. Carlisle represented, and to look at the views
+he brought forward for her notice.
+
+They were not so engrossing, however, that Eleanor entirely forgot the
+earlier conversation of the afternoon or the question which had
+troubled her. The evening had been baffling. She had not had a word
+with Mr. Rhys, and he had disappeared long since from the party. So had
+Dr. Cairnes. There was no more chance of talk upon that subject
+to-night; and Eleanor feeling very feeble still, thought best to cut
+short Mr. Carlisle's enjoyment of other subjects for the evening. She
+left the company, and slowly passed through the house, from room to
+room, to get to her own. In the course of this progress she came to the
+library. There, seated at one of the tables and bending over a volume,
+was Mr. Rhys. He jumped up as she passed through, and came forward with
+extended hand and a word of kindly inquiry. His "good night" was so
+genial, his clasp of her hand so frank and friendly, that instead of
+going on, Eleanor stood still.
+
+"Are you studying?"
+
+"Your father has kindly given me liberty to avail myself of his
+treasures here. My time is very scanty--I was tempted to seize the
+moment that offered itself. It is a very precious privilege to me, and
+one which I shall not abuse."
+
+"Pray do not speak of abusing," said Eleanor; "nobody minds the books
+here; I am glad they are good to anybody else.--I am interrupting you."
+
+"Not at all!" said he, bringing up a great chair for her,--"or only
+agreeably. Pray sit down--you are not fit to stand."
+
+Eleanor however remained standing, and hesitating, for a moment.
+
+"I wish you would tell me a little more about what we were talking of,"
+she said with some effort.
+
+"Do you feel your want of the helmet?" he said gravely.
+
+"I feel that I haven't it," said Eleanor.
+
+"What is it that you are conscious of wanting?"
+
+She hesitated; it was a home question; and very unaccustomed to speak
+of her secret thoughts and feelings to any one, especially on religious
+subjects, which however had never occupied her before, Eleanor was
+hardly ready to answer. Yet in the tones of the question there was a
+certain quiet assurance and simplicity before which she yielded.
+
+"I felt--a little while ago--when I was sick--that I was not exactly
+safe."
+
+Eleanor spoke, hesitating between every few words, looking down, and
+falling her voice at the end. So she did not see the keen intentness of
+the look that was fixed upon her.
+
+"You felt that there was something wanting between you and God?"
+
+"I believe so."
+
+His accent was as deliberately clear as her's was hesitating. Every
+word went into Eleanor's soul.
+
+"Then you can understand now, that when one can say, joyfully, 'I know
+that my Redeemer liveth';--when he is no vague abstraction, but felt to
+be a _Redeemer;_--when one can say assuredly, he is _my_ Redeemer; I
+know he has bought back my soul from sin and from the punishment of
+sin, which is death; I feel I am forgiven; and I know he liveth--my
+Redeemer--and according to his promise lives to deliver me from every
+evil and will preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom;--do you see, now,
+that one who can say this has on his head the covering of an infinite
+protection--an infinite shelter from both danger and fear?--a helmet,
+placed on his head by his Lord's own hand, and of such heavenly temper
+that no blows can break through it."
+
+Eleanor was a little time silent, with downcast eyes.
+
+"You do not mean to say, that this protection is against _all_ evil; do
+you? sickness and pain are evils are they not?"
+
+"Not to him."
+
+"Not to him?"
+
+"No. The evil of them is gone. They can do him no harm; if they come,
+they will do good. He that wears this helmet has absolutely no evil to
+fear. All things shall work good to him. There shall no evil happen to
+the just. Blessed be the Lord, who only doeth wondrous things!"
+
+Eleanor stood silenced, humbled, convinced; till she recollected she
+must not stand there so, and she lifted her eyes to bid good-night.
+Then the face she met gave a new turn to her thoughts. It was a changed
+face; such a light of pure joy and deep triumph shone over it, not
+hiding nor hindering the loving care with which those penetrating eyes
+were reading herself. It gave Eleanor a strange compression of heart;
+it told her more than his words had done; it shewed her the very
+reality of which he spoke. Eleanor went away overwhelmed.
+
+"Mr. Rhys is a happy man!" she said to herself;--"happy, happy! I
+wish,--I wish, I were as happy as he!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+IN THE SADDLE.
+
+
+  "She has two eyes, so soft and brown,
+  Take care!
+  She gives a side-glance and looks down,
+  Beware! beware!"
+
+
+A few days more saw Eleanor restored to all the strength and beauty of
+health which she had been accustomed to consider her natural
+possession. And then--it is likely to be so--she was so happy in what
+mind and body had, that she forgot her wish for what the spirit had
+not. Or almost forgot it. Eleanor lived a very full life. It was no
+dull languid existence that she dragged on from day to day; time
+counted out none but golden pennies into her hand. Every minute was
+filled with business or play, both heartily entered into, and pursued
+with all the energy of a very energetic nature. Study, when she touched
+it, was sweet to her; but Eleanor did not study much. Nature was an
+enchanted palace of light and perfume. Bodily exertion, riding and
+walking, was as pleasant to her as it is to a bird to use its wings.
+Family intercourse, and neighbourly society, were nothing but pleasure.
+Benevolent kindness, if it came in her way, was a labour of love; and a
+hundred home occupations were greatly delighted in. They were not
+generally of an exalted character; Eleanor's training and associations
+had not led her into any very dignified path of human action; she had
+led only a butterfly's life of content and pleasure, and her character
+was not at all matured; but the capabilities were there; and the energy
+and will that might have done greater things, wrought beautiful
+embroidery, made endless fancy work, ordered well such part of the
+household economy as was committed to her, carried her bright smile
+into every circle, and made Eleanor's foot familiar with all the
+country where she could go alone, and her pony's trot well known in
+every lane and roadway where she could go with his company.
+
+All these enjoyments of her life were taken with new relish and zeal
+after her weeks of illness had laid her aside from them. Eleanor's
+world was brighter than ever. And round about all of these various
+enjoyments now, circling them with a kind of halo of expectancy or
+possibility, was the consciousness of a prospect that Eleanor knew was
+opening before her--a brilliant life-possession that she saw Fortune
+offering to her with a gracious hand. Would Eleanor take it? That
+Eleanor did not quite know. Meanwhile her eyes could not help looking
+that way; and her feet, consciously or unconsciously, now and then made
+a step towards it.
+
+She and her mother were sitting at work one morning--that is to say,
+Eleanor was drawing and Mrs. Powle cutting tissue paper in some very
+elaborate way, for some unknown use or purpose; when Julia dashed in.
+She threw a bunch of bright blue flowers on the table before her sister.
+
+"There," she said--"do you know what that is?"
+
+"Why certainly," said Eleanor. "It is borage."
+
+"Well, do you know what it means?"
+
+"What it _means?_ No. What does any flower mean?"
+
+"I'll tell you what _this_ means"--said Julia.
+
+
+"I, borage Bring courage."
+
+
+"That is what people used to think it meant."
+
+"How do you know that."
+
+"Mr. Rhys says so. This borage grew in Mrs. Williams's garden; and I
+dare say she believes it."
+
+"Who is Mrs. Williams?"
+
+"Why!--she's the old woman where Mr. Rhys lives; he lives in her
+cottage; that's where he has his school. He has a nice little room in
+her cottage, and there's nobody else in the cottage but Mrs. Williams."
+
+"Do, Julia, carry your flowers off, and do not be so hoydenish," said
+Mrs. Powle.
+
+"We have not seen Mr. Rhys here in a great while, mamma," said Eleanor.
+"I wonder what has become of him."
+
+"I'll tell you," said Julia--"he has become not well. I know Mr. Rhys
+is sick, because he is so pale and weak. And I know he is weak, because
+he cannot walk as he used to do. We used to walk all over the hills;
+and he says he can't go now."
+
+"Mamma, it would be right to send down and see what is the matter with
+him. There must be something. It is a long time--mamma, I think it is
+weeks--since he was at the Lodge."
+
+"Your father will send, I dare say," said Mrs. Powle, cutting her
+tissue paper.
+
+"Mamma, did you hear," said Eleanor as Julia ran off, "that Mr. Rhys
+was going to leave Wiglands and bury himself in some dreadful place,
+somewhere?"
+
+"I heard so."
+
+"What place is it?"
+
+"I can't tell, I am sure. It is somewhere in the South Seas, I
+believe--that region of horrors."
+
+"Is it true he is going there, mamma?"
+
+"I am sure I can't tell. Miss Broadus says so; and she says, I believe,
+he told her so himself. If he did, I suppose it is true."
+
+"Mamma, I think Mr. Rhys is a great deal too fine a man to go and lose
+his life in such a place. Miss Broadus says it is horrible. Do you know
+anything about it?"
+
+"I have no taste for horrors," said Mrs. Powle.
+
+"I think it is a great pity," Eleanor repeated. "I am sorry. There is
+enough in England for such a man to do, without going to the South
+Seas. I wonder how anybody can leave England!"
+
+Mrs. Powle looked up at her daughter and laughed. Eleanor had suspended
+her drawing and was sending a loving gaze out of the open window, where
+nature and summer were revelling in their conjoined riches. Art shewed
+her hand too, stealthily, having drawn out of the way of the others
+whatever might encumber the revel. Across a wide stretch of wooded and
+cultivated country, the eye caught the umbrageous heights on the
+further side of the valley of the Ryth. Eleanor's gaze was fixed. Mrs.
+Powle's glance was sly.
+
+"I should like to ask your opinion of another place," she
+said,--"which, being in England, is not horrible. You see that bit of
+brown mason-work, high away there, peeping out above the trees in the
+distance?--You know what house that is?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"It is the Priory. The new Priory, it ought to be called; I am sure the
+old one is down there in the valley yet--beneath it." But Eleanor's
+colour rose.
+
+"What do you think of that place?"
+
+"Considering that the old priory and its grounds belong to it, I think
+it must be one of the loveliest places in England."
+
+"I should like to see it in your possession--" Mrs. Powle remarked,
+going on with her tissue paper.
+
+Eleanor also went on assiduously with her drawing, and her colour
+remained a rich tint. But she went on frankly with her words too.
+
+"I am not sure, mamma, that I like the owner of it well enough to
+receive such a valuable gift from him."
+
+"He likes you, quite well enough to bestow it on you, without asking
+any questions," said Mrs. Powle. "He hardly thinks it is worth having,
+unless you have it too."
+
+"That is inconvenient," said Eleanor.
+
+"It strikes me the other way," said her mother.
+
+"How do you know this, which you affirm so securely, mamma?"
+
+"How should I know it? The person in question told me himself."
+
+"Told you in so many words?"
+
+"No, in a great many more," said Mrs. Powle laughing. "I have merely
+presented a statement. He had a great deal more to do than that."
+
+The tissue paper rustled quietly for some time after this, and
+Eleanor's pencil could be heard making quick marks. Neither lady
+interrupted the other.
+
+"Well, Eleanor,--how does it seem to you?" began the elder lady, in a
+tone of quiet satisfaction.
+
+"Inconvenient, mamma,--as I said."
+
+"How?"
+
+But Eleanor did not say how.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle will be here for his answer this evening."
+
+"I like him very well, mamma," said Eleanor, after another pause,--"but
+I do not like him enough."
+
+"Nonsense! You would like to be Lady Rythdale, wouldn't you?"
+
+The silence which followed this was longer than that which had been
+before. Knife and pencil pursued their work, but Mrs. Powle glancing up
+furtively from her tissue paper saw that Eleanor's brow was knitted and
+that her pencil was moving under the influence of something besides
+Art. So she let her alone for a long time. And Eleanor's fancy saw a
+vision of fairy beauty and baronial dignity before her. They lay in the
+wide domains and stately appendages of Rythdale Priory. How could she
+help seeing it? The vision floated before her with point after point of
+entrancing loveliness, old history, present luxury, hereditary rank and
+splendour, and modern power. It was like nothing in Eleanor's own home.
+Her father, though a comfortable country gentleman, boasted nothing and
+had nothing to boast in the way of ancestry, beyond a respectable
+descent of several generations. His means, though ample enough for
+comfort and reasonable indulgence, could make no pretensions to more.
+And Ivy Lodge was indeed a pleasant home, and every field and hedgerow
+belonging to it was lovely to Eleanor; but the broad manors of Rythdale
+Priory for extent would swallow up many such, and for beauty and
+dignity were as a damask rose to a bit of eglantine. Would Eleanor be
+Lady Rythdale?
+
+"He will be here this evening for his answer, Eleanor--" Mrs. Powle
+remarked in a quiet voice the second time.
+
+"Then you must give it to him, mamma."
+
+"I shall do nothing of the kind. You must see him yourself. I will have
+no such shifting of your work upon my shoulders."
+
+"I do not wish to see him to-night, mamma."
+
+"I choose that you should. Don't talk any nonsense to me, Eleanor."
+
+"But, mamma, if I am to give the answer, I am not ready with any answer
+to give."
+
+"Tell Mr. Carlisle so; and he will draw his own conclusions, and make
+you sign them."
+
+"I do not want to be made to sign anything."
+
+"Do it of free-will then," said Mrs. Powle laughing. "It is coming,
+Eleanor--one way or the other. If I were you, I would do it gracefully.
+Is it a hard thing to be Lady Rythdale?"
+
+Eleanor did not say, and nothing further passed on the subject; till as
+both parties were leaving the room together, Mrs. Powle said
+significantly,
+
+"You must give your own answer, Eleanor, and to-night. I will have no
+skulking."
+
+It was beyond Mrs. Powle's power, however, to prevent skulking of a
+certain sort. Eleanor did not hide herself in her room, but she left it
+late in the afternoon, when she knew the company consisted of more than
+one, and entered a tolerably well filled drawing-room. Mrs. Powle had
+not wished to have it so, but these things do not arrange themselves
+for our wishes. Miss Broadus was there, and Dr. Cairnes, and friends
+who had come to make him and his sister a visit; and one or two other
+neighbours. Eleanor came in without making much use of her eyes, and
+sheltered herself immediately under the wing of Miss Broadus, who was
+the first person she fell in with. Two pairs of eyes saw her entrance;
+with oddly enough the same thought and comment. "She will make a lovely
+Lady Rythdale." All the baronesses of that house had been famous for
+their beauty, and the heir of the house remarked to himself that _this_
+would prove not the least lovely of the race. However, Eleanor did not
+even feel sure that he was there, he kept at such a distance; and she
+engaged Miss Broadus in a conversation that seemed of interminable
+resources. The sole thing that Eleanor was conscious of concerning it,
+was its lasting quality; and to maintain that was her only care.
+
+Would Eleanor be Lady Rythdale? she had made up her mind to nothing,
+except, that it would be very difficult for her to say either yes or
+no. Naturally enough, she dreaded the being obliged to say anything;
+and was ready to seize every expedient to stave off the moment of
+emergency. As long as she was talking to Miss Broadus, she was safe;
+but conversations cannot last always, even when they flow in a stream
+so full and copious as that in which the words always poured from that
+lady's lips. Eleanor saw signs at last that the fountain was getting
+exhausted; and as the next resort proposed a game of chess. Now a game
+of chess was the special delight of Miss Broadus; and as it was the
+detestation of her sister, Miss Juliana, the delight was seldom
+realized. The two sisters were harmonious in everything except a few
+tastes, and perhaps their want of harmony in those points gave their
+life the variety it needed. At any rate, such an offer as Eleanor's was
+rarely refused by the elder sister; and the two ladies were soon deep
+in their business. One really, the other seemingly. Though indeed it is
+true that Eleanor was heartily engaged to prevent the game coming to a
+termination, and therefore played in good earnest, not for conquest but
+for time. This had gone on a good while, before she was aware that a
+footstep was drawing near the chess table, and then that Mr. Carlisle,
+stood beside her chair.
+
+"Now don't _you_ come to help!" said Miss Broadus, with a thoughtful
+face and a piece between her finger and thumb.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I know!" said Miss Broadus, never taking her eyes from the board which
+held them as by a charm,--"I can play a sort of a game; but if you take
+part against me, I shall be vanquished directly."
+
+"Why should I take part against you?"
+
+Miss Broadus at that laughed a good-humoured little simple laugh.
+"Well"--she said, "it's the course of events, I suppose. I never find
+anybody taking my part now-a-days. There! I am afraid you have made me
+place that piece wrong, Mr. Carlisle. I wish you would be still. I
+cannot fight against two such clever people."
+
+"Do you find Miss Powle clever?"
+
+"I didn't know she was, so much, before," said Miss Broadus, "but she
+has been playing like a witch this evening. There Eleanor--you are in
+check."
+
+Eleanor was equal to that emergency, and relieved her king from danger
+with a very skilful move. She could keep her wits, though her cheek was
+high-coloured and her hand had a secret desire to be nervous. Eleanor
+would not let it; and Mr. Carlisle admired the very pretty fingers
+which paused quietly upon the chess-men.
+
+"Do not forget a proper regard for the interests of the church, Miss
+Broadus," he remarked.
+
+"Why, I never do!" said Miss Broadus. "What do you mean? Oh, my
+bishop!--Thank you, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+Eleanor did not thank him, for the bishop's move shut up her play in a
+corner. She did her best, but her king's resources were cut off; and
+after a little shuffling she was obliged to surrender at discretion.
+Miss Broadus arose, pleased, and reiterating her thanks to Mr.
+Carlisle, and walked away; as conscious that her presence was no more
+needed in that quarter.
+
+"Will you play with me?" said Mr. Carlisle, taking the chair Miss
+Broadus had quitted.
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor, glad of anything to stave off what she dreaded;
+"but I am not--"
+
+"I am no match for you," she was going to say. She stopped suddenly and
+coloured more deeply.
+
+"What are you not?" asked the gentleman, slowly setting his pawns.
+
+"I am not a very good player. I shall hardly give you amusement."
+
+"I am not sorry for that--supposing it true. I do not like to see women
+good chess-players."
+
+"Pray why do you not like it?"
+
+"Chess is a game of planning--scheming--contriving--calculating. Women
+ought not to be adepts in those arts. I hate women that are."
+
+He glanced up as he spoke, at the fair, frank lines of the face
+opposite him. No art to scheme was shewn in them; there might be
+resolution; he liked that. He liked it too that the fringe of the eyes
+drooped over them, and that the tint of the cheek was so very rich.
+
+"But they say, no one can equal a woman in scheming and planning, if
+she takes to it," said Eleanor.
+
+"Try your skill," said he. "It is your move."
+
+The game began, and Eleanor tried to make good play; but she could not
+bring to it the same coolness or the same acumen that had fought with
+Miss Broadus. The well-formed, well-knit hand with the coat sleeve
+belonging to it, which was all of her adversary that came under her
+observation, distracted Eleanor's thoughts; she could not forget whose
+it was. Very different from the weak flexile fingers of Miss Broadus,
+with their hesitating movement and doubtful pauses, these did their
+work and disappeared; with no doubt or hesitancy of action, and with
+agile firmness in every line of muscle and play. Eleanor shewed very
+poor skill for her part, at planning and contriving on this occasion;
+and she had a feeling that her opponent might have ended the game many
+a time if he had chosen it. Still the game did not end. It was a very
+silent one.
+
+"You are playing with me, Mr. Carlisle," she said at length.
+
+"What are you doing with me?"
+
+"Making no fight at all; but that is because I cannot. Why don't you
+conquer me and end the game?"
+
+"How can I?"
+
+"I am sure I don't know; but I believe you do. It is all a muddle to
+me; and not a very interesting piece of confusion to you, I should
+think."
+
+He did not answer that, but moved a piece; Eleanor made the answering
+move; and the next step created a lock. The game could go no further.
+Eleanor began to put up the pieces, feeling worsted in more ways than
+one. She had not dared to raise her eyes higher than that coat-sleeve;
+and she knew at the same time that she herself had been thoroughly
+overlooked. Those same fingers came now helping her to lay the
+chess-men in the box, ordering them better than she did.
+
+"I want to shew you some cottages I have been building beyond Rythdale
+tower," said the owner of the fingers. "Will you ride with me to-morrow
+to look at them?"
+
+He waited for her answer, which Eleanor hesitated to give. But she
+could not say no, and finally she gave a low yes. Her yes was so low,
+it was significant; Eleanor knew it; but Mr. Carlisle went on in the
+same tone.
+
+"At what hour? At eleven?"
+
+"That will do," said Eleanor, after hesitating again.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+He went on, taking the chess-men from her fingers as fast as she
+gathered them up, and bestowing them in the box after a leisurely
+manner; then rose and bowed and took his departure. Eleanor saw that he
+did not hold any communication with her mother on his way out; and in
+dread of Mrs. Powle's visitation of curiosity upon herself, she too
+made as quick and as quiet an escape as possible to her own room. There
+locked the door and walked the floor to think.
+
+In effect she had given her answer, by agreeing to ride; she knew it.
+She knew that Mr. Carlisle had taken it so, even by the slight freedom
+with which his fingers touched hers in taking the chess-men from them.
+It was a very little thing; and yet Eleanor could never recall the
+willing contact of those fingers, repeated and repeated, without a
+thrill of feeling that she had committed herself; that she had given
+the end of the clue into Mr. Carlisle's hand, which duly wound up would
+land her safe enough, mistress of Rythdale Priory. And was she
+unwilling to be that? No--not exactly. And did she dislike Rythdale
+Priory's master, or future master? No, not at all; nevertheless,
+Eleanor did not feel quite willing to have him hers just yet; she was
+not ready for that; and she chafed at feeling that the end of that clue
+was in the hand of her chess-playing antagonist, and alternatives
+pretty well out of her power. An alternative Eleanor would have liked.
+She would have liked the play to have gone on for some time longer,
+leaving her her liberty in all kinds; liberty to make up her mind at
+leisure, among other things. She was not just now eager to be mistress
+of anything but herself.
+
+Eleanor watched for her mother's coming, but Mrs. Powle was wiser. She
+had marked the air of both parties on quitting the drawing-room; and
+though doubtless she would have liked a little word revelation of what
+she desired to know, she was content to leave things in train. She
+judged that Mr. Carlisle could manage his own affairs, and went to bed
+well satisfied; while Eleanor, finding that her mother was not coming,
+at last laid herself also down to rest, with a mixed feeling of
+pleasure and pain in her heart, but vexation towering above all. It
+would have been vexation still better grown, if she had known the hint
+her mother had given Mr. Carlisle, when that evening he had applied to
+her for what news she had for him? Mrs. Powle referred him very
+smilingly to Eleanor to learn it; at the same time telling him that
+Eleanor had been allowed to run wild--like her sister Julia--till now
+she was a little wilful and needed taming.
+
+She looked the character sufficiently well when she came down the next
+morning. The colour on her cheek was raised yet, and rich; and
+Eleanor's beautiful lips did not unbend to their brilliant mischievous
+smile. She was somewhat quick and nervous too about her household
+arrangements and orders, which yet Eleanor did not neglect. It was time
+then to dress for her ride; and Eleanor dressed, not hurriedly but
+carefully, between pleasure and irritation. By what impulse she could
+not have told, she pulled the feather from her riding cap. It was a
+long, jaunty black feather, that somewhat shaded and softened her face
+in riding with its floating play. Her cap now, and her whole dress, was
+simplicity itself; but if Eleanor had meant to cheat Mr. Carlisle of
+some pleasure, she had misjudged and lost her aim; the close little
+unadorned cap but shewed the better her beautiful hair and a face and
+features which nobody that loved them could wish even shaded from view.
+
+Mrs. Powle had maintained a discreet silence all the morning;
+nevertheless Eleanor was still afraid that she might come to ask
+questions, and not enduring to answer them, as soon as her toilet was
+finished she fled from her room into the garden. This garden, into
+which the old schoolroom opened, was Eleanor's particular property. No
+other of the family were ever to be found in it. She had arranged its
+gay curves and angles, and worked in it and kept it in great part
+herself. The dew still hung on the leaves; the air of a glorious summer
+morning was sweet with the varied fragrance of the flowers. Eleanor's
+heart sprung for the dear old liberty she and the garden had had
+together; she went lingeringly and thoughtfully among her petunias and
+carnations, remembering how joyous that liberty had been; and yet--she
+was not willing to say the word that would secure it to her. She roved
+about among the walks, picking carnations in one hand and gathering up
+her habit with the other. So her little sister found her.
+
+"Why Eleanor!--are you going to ride with Mr. Carlisle?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well he has come--he is waiting for you. He has brought the most
+_splendid_ black horse for you that you ever saw; papa says she is
+magnificent."
+
+"I ordered my pony"--said Eleanor.
+
+"Well the pony is there, and so is the black horse. O such a beauty,
+Eleanor! Come."
+
+Eleanor would not go through the house, to see her mother and father by
+the way. Instinctively she sheered off by the shrubbery paths, which
+turning and winding at last brought her out upon the front lawn. On the
+whole a more marked entrance upon the scene the young lady could not
+have contrived. From the green setting of the shrubbery her excellent
+figure came out to view, in its dark riding drapery; and carnations in
+one hand, her habit in the other, she was a pleasant object to several
+pairs of eyes that were watching her; Julia having done them the kind
+office to say which way she was coming.
+
+Of them all, however, Eleanor only saw Mr. Carlisle, who was on the
+ground to meet her. Perhaps he had as great an objection to eyes as she
+had; for his removal of his cap in greeting was as cool as if she had
+been a stranger; and so were his words.
+
+"I have brought Black Maggie for you--will you do me the honour to try
+her?"
+
+Eleanor did not say she would not, and did not say anything. Hesitation
+and embarrassment were the two pleasant feelings which possessed her
+and forbade her to speak. She stood before the superb animal, which
+shewed blood in every line of its head and beautiful frame; and looked
+at it, and looked at the ground. Mr. Carlisle gently removed the
+carnations from her hand, taking them into his own, then gave her the
+reins of Black Maggie and put her into the saddle. In another minute
+they were off, and out of the reach of observation. But Eleanor had
+felt again, even in that instant or giving into her fingers the reins
+which he had taken from the groom, the same thing that she had felt
+last night--the expression of something new between them. She was in a
+very divided state of mind. She had not told him he might take that
+tone with her.
+
+"There are two ways to the head of the valley," said the subject of her
+thoughts. "Shall we take the circuit by the old priory, or go by the
+moor?"
+
+"By the moor," said Eleanor.
+
+There, for miles, was a level plain road; they could ride any pace, and
+she could stave off talking. Accordingly, as soon as they got quit of
+human habitations, Eleanor gave Black Maggie secretly to understand
+that she might go as fast as she liked. Black Maggie apparently
+relished the intimation, for she sprang forward at a rate Eleanor by
+experience knew nothing of. She had never been quite so well mounted
+before. As swiftly and as easily as if Black Maggie's feet had been
+wings, they flew over the common. The air was fresh, the motion was
+quite sufficient to make it breezy; Eleanor felt exhilarated. All the
+more because she felt rebellious, and the stopping Mr. Carlisle's mouth
+was at least a gratification, though she could not leave him behind. He
+had not mounted her better than himself. Fly as Black Maggie would, her
+brown companion was precisely at her side. Eleanor had a constant sense
+of that; but however, the ride was so capital, the moor so wild, the
+summer air so delicious, that by degrees she began to grow soothed and
+come down from rebellion to good humour. By and by, Black Maggie got
+excited. It was with nothing but her own spirits and motion; quite
+enough though to make hoofs still more emulous of wings. Now she flew
+indeed. Eleanor's bridle rein was not sufficient to hold her in, or
+make any impression. She could hardly see how they went.
+
+"Is not this too much for you?" the voice of Mr. Carlisle said quietly.
+
+"Rather--but I can't check her," said Eleanor; vexed to make the
+admission, and vexed again when a word or two from the rider at her
+side, who at the same moment leaned forward and touched Maggie's
+bridle, brought the wild creature instantly not only from her mad
+gallop but back to a very demure and easy trot. So demure, that there
+was no longer any bar to conversation; but then Eleanor reflected she
+could not gallop always, and they were almost off the plain road of the
+moor. How beautiful the moor had been to her that morning! Now Eleanor
+looked at Black Maggie's ears.
+
+"How do you like her?" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"Charming! She is perfection. She is delightful."
+
+"She must learn to know her mistress," he rejoined, leaning forward
+again and drawing Maggie's reins through his fingers. "Take her up a
+little shorter--and speak to her the next time she does not obey you."
+
+The flush rose to Eleanor's cheeks, and over her brow, and reddened her
+very temples. She made no sort of answer, yet she knew silence was
+answer, and that her blood was speaking for her. It was pretty
+speaking, but extremely inconvenient. And what business had Mr.
+Carlisle to take things for granted in that way? Eleanor began to feel
+rebellious again.
+
+"Do you always ride with so loose a rein?" began Mr. Carlisle again.
+
+"I don't know--I never think about it. My pony is perfectly safe."
+
+"So is Maggie--as to her feet; but in general, it is well to let
+everything under you feel your hand."
+
+"That is what you do, I have no doubt," thought Eleanor, and bit her
+lip. She would have started into another gallop; but they were entering
+upon a narrow and rough way where gallopping was inadmissible. It
+descended gradually and winding among rocks and broken ground, to a
+lower level, the upper part of the valley of the Ryth; a beautiful
+clear little stream flowing brightly in a rich meadow ground, with
+gently shelving, softly broken sides; the initiation of the wilder
+scenery further down the valley. Here were the cottages Mr. Carlisle
+had spoken of. They looked very picturesque and very inviting too;
+standing on either side the stream, across which a rude rustic bridge
+was thrown. Each cottage had its paling enclosure, and built of grey
+rough stone, with deep sloping roofs and bright little casements, they
+looked the very ideal of humble homes. No smoke rose from the chimneys,
+and nobody was visible without or within.
+
+"I want some help of you here," said Mr. Carlisle. "Do you like the
+situation?"
+
+"Most beautiful!" said Eleanor heartily. "And the houses are just the
+thing."
+
+"Will you dismount and look a little closer? We will cross the bridge
+first."
+
+They drew bridle before one of the cottages. Eleanor had all the mind
+in the world to have thrown herself from Black Maggie's back, as she
+was accustomed to do from her own pony; but she did not dare. Yesterday
+she would have dared; to-day there was a slight indefinable change in
+the manner of Mr. Carlisle towards herself, which cast a spell over
+her. He stood beside Black Maggie, the carnations making a rosy spot in
+the buttonhole of his white jacket, while he gave some order to the
+groom--Eleanor did not hear what, for her mind was on something else;
+then turned to her and took her down, that same indescribable quality
+of manner and handling saying to all her senses that he regarded the
+horse and the lady with the same ownership. Eleanor felt proud, and
+vexed, and ashamed, and pleased; her mind divided between different
+feelings; but Mr. Carlisle directed her attention now to the cottages.
+
+It was impossible not to admire and be pleased with them. The exterior
+was exceedingly homelike and pretty; within, there was yet more to
+excite admiration. Nicely arranged, neatly and thoroughly furnished,
+even to little details, they looked most desirable homes for any
+persons of humble means, even though the tastes had not been equally
+humble. From one to another Mr. Carlisle took Eleanor; displaying his
+arrangements to a very silent observer; for though she thought all this
+admiration, she hardly said anything. Between irritation, and pleasure,
+and a pretty well-grown shyness, she felt very tongue-tied. At last,
+after shewing her the view from the lattice of a nice little cottage
+kitchen, Mr. Carlisle asked for her judgment upon what had been done.
+
+"It is thoroughly excellent," said Eleanor. "They leave nothing to
+wish. I have never seen such nice cottages. There is nobody in them
+yet?"
+
+"Is there any improvement to be made?"
+
+"None to be desired, I think," said Eleanor. "They are just perfect
+little homes. They only want the people now."
+
+"And that is where I want your help. Do you think of any good families,
+or poor people you approve of, that you would like to put in some of
+these?"
+
+Eleanor's thought flew instantly to two or three such families among
+her poor friends; for she was a good deal of a Lady Bountiful, as far
+as moderate means and large sympathy could go; and knew many of the
+lower classes in her neighbourhood; but again she struggled with two
+feelings, for the question had been put not in tone of compliment but
+with a manner of simple consultation. She flushed and hesitated, until
+it was put again.
+
+"I know several, I think, that you would not dislike to have here, and
+that would be very glad to come, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Who are they?"
+
+"One is Mrs. Benson, who lives on nothing with her family of eight
+children, and brings them up well."
+
+Mr. Carlisle took out his note-book.
+
+"Another is Joe Shepherd and his wife; but they are an old couple;
+perhaps you do not want old people here?"
+
+He looked up from his note-book with a little smile, which brought the
+blood tingling to Eleanor's brow again, and effectually drove away all
+her ideas. She was very vexed with herself; she was never used to be so
+troubled with blushing. She turned away.
+
+
+"Suppose you sit down," said he, taking her hands and placing her in a
+chair by the window. "You must have some refreshment, I think, before
+we go any further." He left the cottage, and Eleanor looked out of the
+open casement, biting her lips. The air came in with such a sweet
+breath from the heathery moor, it seemed to blow vexation away. Yet
+Eleanor was vexed. Here she was making admissions with every breath,
+when she would fain have not made any. She wanted her old liberty, and
+to dispose of it at her leisure if at all; and at least not to have it
+taken from her. But here was Mr. Carlisle at her elbow again, and one
+of his servants bringing dishes and glasses. The meats were spread on
+the little table before which Eleanor sat, and Mr. Carlisle took
+another chair.
+
+"We will honour the house for once," he said smiling; "the future shall
+be as the occupants deserve. Is this one to belong to some of your
+proteges?"
+
+"I have not the gift of foresight," said Eleanor.
+
+"You have another sort of gift which will do quite as well. If you have
+any choice, choose the houses in which Joe Shepherd, and Mrs. Benson,
+and anybody else, shall thank you--and I will order the doors marked.
+Which do you prefer?"
+
+Eleanor was forced to speak. "I think this is one of the pleasantest
+situations," she said flushing deeply again; "but the house highest up
+the valley--"
+
+"What of it?" said Mr. Carlisle, smiling at her.
+
+"That would be best for Joe Shepherd, because of his business. It is
+nearer the common."
+
+"Joe Shepherd shall have it. Now will you do me the favour to eat
+that," said he putting a piece of cold game on her plate. "Do not look
+at it, but eat it. Your day's labour is by no means over."
+
+It was easier to eat than to do nothing; and easier to look at her
+plate than where her carnations gleamed on that white breast-ground. So
+Eleanor eat obediently.
+
+"The day is so uncommonly fine, how would you like to walk down the
+valley as far as the old priory, and let the horses meet us there?"
+
+"I am willing"--said Eleanor. Which she was, only because she was
+ashamed or afraid to say that she wanted to gallop back by the moor,
+the same way she had come. A long walk down the valley would give fine
+opportunity for all that she dreaded in the way of conversation.
+However, the order was given about the horses, and the walk began.
+
+The way was at first a continuation of the valley in which the cottages
+were situated; uncultivated, sweet, and wild. They were a good distance
+beyond Barton's tower. The stream of the Ryth, not so large as it
+became further down, sparkled along in a narrow meadow, beset with
+flowers. Here and there a rude bridge crossed it; and the walkers
+passed as they listed from side to side, wandering down the valley at
+great leisure, remarking upon all sorts of things except what Eleanor
+was dreading. The walk and talk went on without anything formidable.
+Mr. Carlisle seemed to have nothing on his mind; and Eleanor, full of
+what was on hers, only felt through his quiet demeanour that he was
+taking things for granted in a very cool way. She was vexed and
+irritated, and at the same time subdued. And then an opposite feeling
+would stir, of pleasure and pride, at the place she was taking and the
+relations she was assuming to the beautiful domain through which they
+wandered. As they went down the valley it grew more and more lovely.
+Luxuriant growths of ash and oak mingled with larches, crowned the
+rising borders of the valley and crept down their sides, hanging a most
+exquisite clothing of vegetation over the banks which had hitherto been
+mostly bare. As they went, from point to point and in one after another
+region of beauty, her companion's talk, quietly flowing on, called her
+attention to one and another observation suggested by what they were
+looking at; not as if it were a foreign matter, but with a tacit
+intimation that it concerned her or had a right to her interest. It was
+a long walk. They were some time before reaching the old tower; then a
+long stretch of beautiful scenes lay between them and the old priory
+ruins. This part of the valley was in the highest degree picturesque.
+The sides drew together, close and rocky and overshadowed with a
+thicket of trees. The path of the river became steep and encumbered;
+the way along its banks grew comparatively rough and difficult. The day
+was delicious, without even a threatening of rain; yet the sun in some
+places was completely shut out from the water by the overgrown,
+overhanging sides of rock and wood which shut in the dell. Conversation
+was broken here, by the pleasant difficulty of pursuing the way. Here
+too flowers were sweet and the birds busy. The way was enough to
+delight any lover of nature; and it was impossible not to be delighted.
+Nevertheless Eleanor hailed for a sake not its own, every bit of broken
+ground and rough walking that made connected conversation impossible;
+and then was glad to see the grey walls of the priory, where the horses
+were to meet them. Once in the saddle again--she would be glad to be
+there!
+
+The horses were not in sight yet; they strolled into the ruin. It was
+lovely to-day; the sunlight adding its brightening touch to all that
+moss and ivy and lichen and fern had done. They sauntered up what had
+been an aisle of the church; carpeted now with soft shaven turf, close
+and smooth.
+
+"The priory was founded a great while ago," said Mr. Carlisle, "by one
+of the first Lords of Rythdale, on account of the fact that he had
+slain his own brother in mortal combat. It troubled his mind, I
+suppose, even in those rough times."
+
+"And he built the church to soothe it."
+
+"Built the church and founded the establishment; gave it all the lands
+we have passed through to-day, and much more; and great rights on hill
+and dale and moor. We have them nearly all back again--by one happy
+chance and another."
+
+"What was this?" said Eleanor, seating herself on a great block of
+stone, the surface of which was rough with decay.
+
+"This was a tombstone--tradition says, of that same slain Lord of
+Rythdale--but I think it very hypothetical. However, your fancy can
+conjure back his image, if you like, lying where you sit; covered with
+the armour he lived his life in, and probably with hands joined to make
+the prayers his life had rendered desirable."
+
+"He had not the helmet--" thought Eleanor. She got up to look at the
+stone; but it was worn away; no trace of the knight in armour who had
+lain there was any longer to be seen. What long ago times those were!
+
+"And then the old monks did nothing else but pray," she remarked.
+
+"A few other things," said her companion; "if report is true. But they
+said a great many prayers, it is certain. It was what they were
+specially put here for--to do masses for that old stone figure that
+used to lie there. They were paid well for doing it. I hope they did
+it."
+
+The wind stirred gently through the ruin, bringing a sweet scent of
+herbs and flowers, and a fern or an ivy leaf here and there just moved
+lightly on its stalk.
+
+"They must have lived a pleasant sort of life," said Eleanor
+musingly,--"in this beautiful place!"
+
+"Are you thinking of entering a monastery?" said her companion smiling.
+It brought back Eleanor's consciousness, which had been for a moment
+forgotten, and the deep colour flashed to her face. She stood confused.
+Mr. Carlisle did not let her go this time; he took both her hands.
+
+"Do you think I am going to be satisfied with only negative answers
+from you?" said he changing his tone. "What have you got to say to me?"
+
+Eleanor struggled with herself. "Nothing, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Your mother has conveyed to you my wishes?"
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor softly.
+
+"What are yours?"
+
+She hesitated, held at bay, but he waited; and at last with a little of
+her frank daring breaking out, she said, still in her former soft
+voice, "I would let things alone."
+
+"Suppose that could not be,--would you send me away, or let me come
+near to you?"
+
+Eleanor could not send him away; but he would not come near. He stood
+keeping her hands in a light firm grasp; she felt that he knew his hold
+of her; her head bowed in confusion.
+
+"Speak, darling," he said. "Are you mine?"
+
+Eleanor shrank lower and lower from his observation; but she answered
+in a whisper,--"I suppose so."
+
+Her hands were released then, only to have herself taken into more
+secure possession. She had given herself up; and Mr. Carlisle's manner
+said that to touch her cheek was his right as well as his pleasure.
+Eleanor could not dispute it; she knew that Mr. Carlisle loved her, but
+the certainly thought the sense of power had great charms for him: so,
+she presently thought, had the exercise of it.
+
+"You are mine now," he said,--"you are mine. You are Eleanor Carlisle.
+But you have not said a word to me. What is my name?"
+
+"Your name!" stammered Eleanor,--"Carlisle."
+
+"Yes, but the rest?"
+
+"I know it," said Eleanor.
+
+"Speak it, darling?"
+
+Now Eleanor had no mind to speak that or anything else upon compulsion;
+it should be a grace from her lips, not the compliance with a
+requisition; her spirit of resistance sprung up. A frank refusal was on
+her tongue, and her head, which had been drooping, was thrown back with
+an infinitely pretty air of defiance, to give it. Thus she met Mr.
+Carlisle's look; met the bright hazel eyes that were bent upon her,
+full of affection and smiling, but with something else in them as well;
+there was a calm power of exaction. Eleanor read it, even in the
+half-glance which took in incongruously the graceful figure and easy
+attitude; she did not feel ready for contention with Mr. Carlisle; the
+man's nature was dominant over the woman's. Eleanor's head stooped
+again; she spoke obediently the required words.
+
+"Robert Macintosh."
+
+The kisses which met her lips before the words were well out, seemed to
+seal the whole transaction. Perhaps it was Eleanor's fancy, but to her
+they spoke unqualified content both with her opposition and her
+yielding. She was chafed with the consciousness that she had been
+obliged to yield; vexed to feel that she was not her own mistress; even
+while the kisses that stopped her lips told her how much love mingled
+with her captor's power. There was no questioning that fact; it only
+half soothed Eleanor.
+
+Mr. Carlisle bade her sit down and rest, while he went to see if the
+horses were there. Eleanor sat down dreamily on the old tombstone, and
+in the space of three minutes went over whole fields of thought. Her
+mind was in a perverse state. Before her the old tower of the ruined
+priory rose in its time-worn beauty, with the young honours of the ivy
+clinging all about it; on either side of her stretched the grey, ivied
+and mossy, crumbling walls. It was a magnificent place; if not her own
+mistress, it was a pleasant thing to be mistress of such as that; and a
+vision of gay grandeur floated over her mind. Still, in contrast with
+that vision, the quiet, ruined priory tower spoke of a different
+life--brought up a separate vision; of unworldly possessions, aims,
+hopes, and occupations; it was not familiar to Eleanor's mind, yet now
+somehow it rose upon her, with the feeling of that once-wanted, still
+desired,--only she had forgotten it--armour of security. Why did she
+think of it now? was it because Eleanor's mind was in that disordered
+state which lets everything come to the surface by turns; or because
+she was still suffering, from vexation, and her spirit chose contraries
+with a natural readiness and relish? It was not more than three
+minutes, but Eleanor travelled far in dream-land; so far that the
+sudden feeling of two hands upon her shoulders, brought her back with
+even a visible start. She was rallied and laughed at; then her hand was
+put upon Mr. Carlisle's arm and so Eleanor was walked out to where
+Black Maggie stood waiting for her. Of course she felt that her
+engagement was to be made known to all the world immediately. Mr.
+Carlisle's servant must know it now. It seemed to Eleanor that fine
+bands of cobwebs had been cast round her, binding her hands and feet,
+which loved their liberty. The feeling made one little imprudent burst.
+As Mr. Carlisle put Maggie's reins into her hand, he repeated what he
+had before said, that Eleanor should use her voice if the bridle failed
+to win obedience.
+
+"She is not of a rebellious disposition," he added.
+
+"Do you read dispositions?" said Eleanor, gathering up the reins. He
+stood at her saddle-bow.
+
+"Sometimes."
+
+"Do you know mine?"
+
+"Partially."
+
+"It is what you say Black Maggie's is not."
+
+"Is it? Take the reins a little shorter, Eleanor."
+
+It is difficult to say how much there may be in two short words; but as
+Mr. Carlisle went round to the other side and mounted, he left his
+little lady in a state of fume. Those two words said so plainly to
+Eleanor's ear, that her announcement was neither denied nor disliked.
+Nay, they expressed pleasure; the sort of pleasure that a man has in a
+spirited horse of which he is master. It threw Eleanor's mind into a
+tumult, so great that for a minute or two she hardly knew what she was
+about. But for the sound, sweet good temper, which in spite of
+Eleanor's self-characterising was part of her nature, she would have
+been in a rage. As it was, she only handled Black Maggie in a more
+stately style than she had cared about at the beginning of the ride;
+putting her upon her paces; and so rode through all the village, in a
+way that certainly pleased Mr. Carlisle, though he said nothing about
+it. He contrived however to aid in the soothing work done by Black
+Maggie's steps, so that long before Ivy Lodge was reached Eleanor's
+smile came free and sweet again, and her lip lost its ominous curve.
+
+"You are a darling!" Mr. Carlisle whispered as he took her down from
+her horse.
+
+Eleanor went on into the drawing-room. He followed her. Nobody was
+there.
+
+"What have you to say to me, Eleanor?" he said as he held her hand
+before parting.
+
+"Nothing whatever, Mr. Carlisle." Eleanor's frank brilliant smile
+gleamed mischievously upon him.
+
+"Will you not give me a word of kindness before I go?"
+
+"No! Mr. Carlisle, if I had my own way," said Eleanor switching her
+riding-whip nervously about her habit,--"I would be my own mistress for
+a good while longer."
+
+"Shall I give you back your liberty?" said he, drawing her into his
+arms. Eleanor was silent. Their touch manifested no such intention. He
+bent his head lower and said softly, "Kiss me, Eleanor."
+
+There was, as before, just that mingling of affection and exaction
+which conquered her. She knew all she was giving, but she half dared
+not and half cared not to refuse.
+
+"You little witch--" said he as he took possession of the just
+permitted lips,--"I will punish you for your naughtiness, by taking you
+home very soon--into my own management."
+
+Mrs. Powle was in Eleanor's room when she entered; waiting there for
+her.
+
+"Well Eleanor," she began,--"is it settled? Are you to be Lady
+Rythdale?"
+
+"If Mr. Carlisle has his will, ma'am."
+
+"And what is _your_ will?"
+
+"I have none any longer. But if you and he try to hurry on the day,
+mamma, it shall never come,--never!"
+
+Mrs. Powle thought she would leave that matter in more skilful hands;
+and went away well satisfied.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+AT THE COTTAGE.
+
+
+  "This floating life hath but this port of rest,
+  A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come."
+
+
+The matter was in skilful hands; for the days rolled on, after that
+eventful excursion, with great smoothness. Mr. Carlisle kept Eleanor
+busy, with some pleasant little excitement, every day varied. She was
+made to taste the sweets of her new position, and to depend more and
+more upon the hand that introduced her to them. Mr. Carlisle ministered
+carefully to her tastes. Eleanor daily was well mounted, generally on
+Maggie; and enjoyed her heart's delight of a gallop over the moor, or a
+more moderate pace through a more rewarding scenery. Mr. Carlisle
+entered into the spirit of her gardening pursuits; took her to his
+mother's conservatory; and found that he never pleased Eleanor better
+than when he plunged her into the midst of flowers. He took good care
+to advance his own interests all the time; and advanced them fast and
+surely. He had Eleanor's liking before; and her nature was too sweet
+and rich not to incline towards the person whom she had given such a
+position with herself, yielding to him more and more of faith and
+affection. And that in spite of what sometimes chafed her; the quiet
+sway she felt Mr. Carlisle had over her, beneath which she was
+powerless. Or rather, perhaps she inclined towards him secretly the
+more on account of it; for to women of rich natures there is something
+attractive in being obliged to look up; and to women of all natures it
+is imposing. So Mr. Carlisle's threat, by Eleanor so stoutly resisted
+and resented, was extremely likely to come to pass. Mrs. Powle was too
+wise to touch her finger to the game.
+
+Several weeks went by, during which Eleanor had no chance to think of
+anything but Mr. Carlisle and the matters he presented for her notice.
+At the end of that time he was obliged to go up to London on sudden
+business. It made a great lull in the house; and Eleanor began to sit
+in her garden parlour again and dream. While dreaming one day, she
+heard the voice of her little sister sobbing at the door-step. She had
+not observed before that she was sitting there.
+
+"Julia!" said Eleanor--"What is the matter?"
+
+Julia would not immediately say, but then faltered out, "Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Mr. Rhys! What of him?"
+
+"He's sick. He's going to die, I know."
+
+"How do you know he is sick? Come, stop crying, Julia, and speak. What
+makes you think he is sick?"
+
+"Because he just lies on the sofa, and looks so white, and he can't
+keep school. He sent away the boys yesterday."
+
+"Does he see the doctor?"
+
+"No. I don't know. No, I know he don't," said Julia; "because the old
+woman said he ought to see him."
+
+"What old woman, child?"
+
+"His old woman--Mrs. Williams. And mamma said I might have some jelly
+and some sago for him--and there is nobody to take it. Foster is out of
+the way, and Jack is busy, and I can't get anybody."
+
+Julia's tears were very sincere.
+
+"Stop crying, child, and I will go with you myself. I have not had a
+walk to-day, or a ride, or anything. Come, get ready, and you and I
+will take it."
+
+Julia did not wait even for thanks; she was never given to be
+ceremonious; but sprang away to do as her sister had said. In a few
+minutes they were off, going through the garden, each with a little
+basket in her hand. Julia's tears were exchanged for the most sunshiny
+gladness.
+
+It was a sunshiny day altogether, in the end of summer, and the heat
+was sultry. Neither sister minded weather of any sort; nevertheless
+they chose the shady side of the road and went very leisurely, along by
+the hedgerows and under the elms and beeches with which all the way to
+the village was more or less shaded. It was a long walk, even to the
+village. The cottage where Mr. Rhys had his abode was yet further on.
+The village must be passed on the way to it.
+
+It was a long line of cottages, standing for the most part on one side
+the street only; the sweet hedgerow on the other side only here and
+there broken by a white wicket gate. The houses were humble enough; yet
+in universal neat order on the outside at least; in many instances
+grown over with climbing roses and ivy, and overhung with deep thatched
+roofs. They stood scatteringly; gardens and sometimes small crofts
+intervening; and noble growth of old oaks and young elms shading the
+way; the whole as neat, fresh, and picturesque in rural comfort and
+beauty, as could be seen almost anywhere in England. The lords of
+Rythdale held sway here, and nothing under their rule, of late, was out
+of order. But there were poor people in the village, and very poor old
+houses, though skilfully turned to the account of beauty in the outward
+view. Eleanor was well known in them; and now Mrs. Benson came out to
+the gate and told how she was to move to her new home in another
+fortnight; and begged the sisters would come in to rest themselves from
+the sun. And old Mrs. Shepherd curtsied in her doorway; and Matthew
+Grimson's wife, the blacksmith that was, came to stop Eleanor with a
+roundabout representation how her husband's business would thrive so
+much better in another situation. Eleanor was seldom on foot in the
+village now. She passed that as soon as she could and went on. From her
+window on the other side of the lane, Miss Broadus nodded, and beckoned
+too; but the sisters would not be delayed.
+
+"It is good Mr. Carlisle has gone to London," said Julia. "He would not
+have let you come."
+
+Eleanor felt stung.
+
+"Why do you say so, Julia?"
+
+"Why, you always do what he tells you," said Julia, who was not apt to
+soften her communications. "He says 'Eleanor'--and you go that way; and
+he says 'Eleanor'--and you go the other way."
+
+"And why do you suppose he would have any objection to my going this
+way?"
+
+"I know"--said Julia. "I am glad he is in London. I hope he'll stay
+there."
+
+Eleanor made no answer but to switch her dress and the bushes as they
+went by, with a little rod in her hand. There was more truth in the
+allegation than it pleased her to remember. She did not always feel her
+bonds at the time, they were so gently put on and the spell of
+another's will was so natural and so irresistible. But it chafed her to
+be reminded of it and to feel that it was so openly exerted and her own
+subjugation so complete. The switching went on vigorously, taking the
+bushes and her muslin dress impartially; and Eleanor's mind was so
+engrossed that she did not perceive how suddenly the weather was
+changing. They had passed through the village and left it behind, when
+Julia exclaimed, "There's a storm coming, Eleanor! maybe we can get in
+before it rains." It was an undeniable fact; and without further parley
+both sisters set off to run, seeing that there were very few minutes to
+accomplish Julia's hope. It began sprinkling already.
+
+"It's going to be a real storm," said Julia gleefully. "Over the moor
+it's as black as thunder. I saw it through the trees."
+
+"But where are you going?"--For Julia had left the road, or rather
+lane, and dashed down a path through the trees leading off from it.
+
+"O this is the best--this leads round to the other side of the house,"
+Julia said.
+
+Just as well, to go in at the kitchen, Eleanor thought; and let Julia
+find her way with her sago and jelly to Mr. Rhys's room, if she so
+inclined. So they ran on, reached a little strip of open ground at the
+back of the cottage, and rushed in at the door like a small tornado;
+for the rain was by this time coming down merrily.
+
+The first thing Eleanor saw when she had pulled off her flat,--was that
+she was not in a kitchen. A table with writing implements met her eye;
+and turning, she discovered the person one of them at least had come to
+see, lying on a sort of settee or rude couch, with a pillow under his
+head. He looked pale enough, and changed, and lay wrapped in a
+dressing-gown. If Eleanor was astonished, so certainly was he. But he
+rose to his feet, albeit scarce able to stand, and received his
+visitors with a simplicity and grace of nature which was in singular
+contrast with all the dignities of conventional life.
+
+"Mr. Rhys!" stammered Eleanor, "I had no idea we were breaking into
+your room. I thought Julia was taking me into Mrs. Williams's part of
+the house."
+
+"I am very glad to see you!" he said; and the words were endorsed by
+the pleasant grave face and the earnest grasp of the hand. But how ill
+and thin he looked! Eleanor was shocked.
+
+"It was beginning to rain," she repeated, "and I followed where Julia
+led me. I thought she was bringing me to Mrs. Williams's premises. I
+beg you will excuse me."
+
+"I have made Mrs. Williams give me this part of the house because I
+think it is the pleasantest. Won't you do me the honour to sit down?"
+
+He was bringing a chair for her, but looked so little able for it that
+Eleanor took it from his hand.
+
+"Please put yourself on the sofa again, Mr. Rhys--We will not interrupt
+you a moment."
+
+"Yes you will," said Julia, "unless you want to walk in the rain. Mr.
+Rhys, are you better to-day?"
+
+"I am as well as usual, thank you, Julia."
+
+"I am sorry to see that is not very well, Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor.
+
+"Not very strong--" he said with the smile that she remembered, as he
+sank back in the corner of the couch and rested his head on his hand.
+His look and manner altogether gave her a strange feeling. Ill and pale
+and grave as he was, there was something else about him different from
+all that she had touched in her own life for weeks. It was a new
+atmosphere.
+
+"Ladies, I hope you are not wet?" he said presently.
+
+"Not at all," said Eleanor; "nothing to signify. We shall dry ourselves
+in the sun walking back."
+
+"I think the sun is not going to be out immediately."
+
+He rose and with slow steps made his way to the inner door and spoke to
+some one within. Eleanor took a view of her position. The rain was
+coming down furiously; no going home just yet was possible. That was
+the out-of-door prospect. Within, she was a prisoner. The room was a
+plain little room, plain as a room could be; with no adornments or
+luxuries. Some books were piled on deal shelves; others covered two
+tables. A large portfolio stood in one corner. On one of the tables
+were pens, ink and paper, not lying loose, but put up in order; as not
+used nor wanted at present. Several boxes of various sorts and sizes
+made up the rest of the furniture, with a few chairs of very simple
+fashion. It was Mr. Rhys's own room they were in; and all that could be
+said of it was its nicety of order. Two little windows with the door
+might give view of something in fair weather; at present they shewed
+little but grey rain and a dim vision of trees seen through the rain.
+Eleanor wanted to get away; but it was impossible. She must talk.
+
+"You cannot judge of my prospect now," Mr. Rhys said as she turned to
+him.
+
+"Not in this rain. But I should think you could not see much at any
+time, except trees."
+
+"'Much' is comparative. No, I do not see much; but there is an opening
+from my window, through which the eye goes a long way--across a long
+distance of the moor. It is but a gleam; however it serves a good
+purpose for me."
+
+An old woman here came in with a bundle of sticks and began to lay them
+for a fire. She was an old crone-looking person. Eleanor observed her,
+and thought what it must be to have no nurse or companion but that.
+
+"We have missed you at the Lodge, Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Thank you. I am missing from all my old haunts," he answered gravely.
+And the thought and the look went to something from which he was very
+sorry to be missing.
+
+"But you will be soon well again--will you not? and among us again."
+
+"I do not know," he said. "I am sometimes inclined to think my work is
+done."
+
+"What work, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia. "Ferns, do you mean?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What work, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I mean the Lord's work, Julia, which he has given me to do."
+
+"Do you mean preaching?"
+
+"That is part of it."
+
+"What else is your work, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia, hanging about the couch
+with an affectionate eye. So affectionate, that her sister's rebuke of
+her forwardness was checked.
+
+"Doing all I can, Julia, in every way, to tell people of the Lord
+Jesus."
+
+"Was that the work you were going to that horrid place to do?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then I am glad you are sick!"
+
+"That is very unkind of you," said he with a gravity which Eleanor was
+not sure was real.
+
+"It is better for you to be sick than to go away from England," said
+Julia decidedly.
+
+"But if I am not well enough to go there, I shall go somewhere else."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"What have you got in that saucer?"
+
+"Jelly for you. Won't you eat it, Mr. Rhys? There is sago in the
+basket. It will do you good."
+
+"Will you not offer your sister some?"
+
+"No. She gets plenty at home. Eat it, Mr. Rhys, won't you?"
+
+He took a few spoonfuls, smiled at her, and told her it was very good.
+It was a smile worth having. But both sisters saw that he looked
+fearfully pale and worn.
+
+"I must see if Mrs. Williams has not some berries to offer you," he
+said.
+
+"Where are you going, Mr. Rhys, if you do not go to that place?" Julia
+persisted.
+
+"If I do not go there, I think I shall go home."
+
+"Home?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where is that?" said Julia hanging about him.
+
+"I meant my everlasting home, Julia."
+
+"O don't, Mr. Rhys!" cried the child in a half vexed tone. "Eat some
+more jelly--do!"
+
+"I am very willing to stay, Julia, if my Master has work for me to do."
+
+"You had charge of a chapel at Lily Dale, Mr. Rhys, I am told?" Eleanor
+said, feeling awkward.
+
+"No--at Croydon, beyond."
+
+"At Croydon! that is nine miles off. How did you get there?"
+
+The question escaped Eleanor. He hesitated, and answered simply, "I had
+no way but to walk. I found that very pleasant in summer mornings."
+
+"Walk to Croydon and back, and preach there! I do not wonder you are
+sick, Mr. Rhys."
+
+"I did not walk back the same day."
+
+"But then where did you go in the evenings to preach?" said Julia.
+
+"That was not so far off."
+
+"Did you serve _two_ chapels on the same day, Mr. Rhys?" Eleanor asked.
+
+"No. The evenings Julia speaks of I preached nearer home."
+
+"And school all the week!" said Eleanor.
+
+"It was no hardship," he said with a most pleasant smile at her. "The
+King's work required haste--there were many people at both places who
+had not heard the truth or had not learned to love it. There are still."
+
+His face grew very grave as he spoke; grave even to sadness as he
+added, "They are dying without the knowledge of the true life!"
+
+"Where was the other chapel you went to?"
+
+"Rythmoor."
+
+Eleanor hurried on. "But Mr. Rhys, will you allow me to ask you a
+question that puzzles me?"
+
+"I beg you will do so!"
+
+"It is just this. If there are so many in England that want
+teaching--But I beg your pardon! I am afraid talking tires you."
+
+"I assure you it is very pleasant to me. Will you go on."
+
+"If there are so many in England that want teaching, why should you go
+to such a place as that Julia talks of?"
+
+"They are further yet from help."
+
+"But is not the work here as good as the work there?"
+
+"I am cut off from both," he said. "I long to go to them. But the Lord
+has his own plans. 'Why art thou cast down, O my soul; and why art thou
+disquieted within me? Hope thou in God!'--"
+
+The grave, sweet, tender, strong intonation of these words, slowly
+uttered, moved Eleanor much. Not towards tears; the effect was rather a
+great shaking of heart. She saw a glimpse of a life she had never
+dreamed of; a power touched her that had never touched her before. This
+life was something quite unearthly in its spirit and aims; the power
+was the power of holiness.
+
+It is difficult or impossible to say in words how this influence made
+itself felt. In the writing of the lines of the face, in the motion of
+the lips, in the indefinable tones of voice, in the air and manner,
+there comes out constantly in all characters an atmosphere of the
+truth, which the words spoken, whether intended or not intended, do not
+convey. Even unintentional feigning fails here, and even self-deception
+is belied. The truth of a character will make itself felt and
+influential, for good or evil, through all disguises. So it was, that
+though the words of Mr. Rhys might have been said by anybody, the
+impression they produced belonged to him alone, of all the people
+Eleanor had ever seen in her life. The "helmet of salvation" was on
+this man's head, and gave it a dignity more than that of a kingly
+crown. She sat thinking so, and recalling her lost wishes of the early
+summer; forgetting to carry on the conversation.
+
+Meanwhile the old woman of the cottage came in again with a fresh
+supply of sticks, and a blaze began to brighten in the chimney. Julia
+exclaimed in delight. Eleanor looked at the window. The rain still came
+down heavily. She remembered the thunderstorm in June, and her fears.
+Then Mr. Rhys begged her to go to the fire and dry herself, and again
+spoke some unintelligible words to the old attendant.
+
+"What is that, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia, who seldom refrained from asking
+anything she wished to know.
+
+"I was enquiring of Mrs. Williams whether she had not some
+fresh-gathered berries she could bring for your refreshment."
+
+"But I mean, what language did you speak to her?"
+
+"Welsh."
+
+"Are you Welsh?"
+
+"No," said he smiling; "but I have Welsh blood; and I had a Welsh
+nurse, Julia."
+
+"I do not want any refreshment, Mr. Rhys; but I would like some
+berries."
+
+"I hope you would like to ask pardon of Mr. Rhys for your freedom,"
+said Eleanor. "I am sure you need it."
+
+"Why Mrs. Williams very often gives me berries," said Julia; "and they
+always taste better than ours. I mean, Mr. Rhys gives me some."
+
+Eleanor busied herself over the fire, in drying her muslin dress. That
+did very well instead of talking. Mrs. Williams presently came in
+again, bearing a little tray with berries and a pot of cream. Julia
+eagerly played hostess and dealt them out. The service was most homely;
+nevertheless the wild berries deserved her commendation. The girls sat
+by the fire and eat, and their host from the corner of his couch
+watched them with his keen eyes. It was rather a romantic adventure
+altogether, Eleanor thought, in the midst of much graver thoughts. But
+Julia had quite got her spirits up.
+
+"Aren't they good, Eleanor? They are better berries than those that
+came from the Priory. Mr. Rhys, do you know that after Eleanor is Mrs.
+Carlisle, she will be Lady Rythdale?"
+
+This shot drove Eleanor into desperation. She would have started aside,
+to hide her cheeks, but it was no use. Mr. Rhys had risen to add some
+more cream to her saucer--perhaps on purpose.
+
+"I understand," he said simply. "Has she made arrangements to secure an
+everlasting crown, after the earthly coronet shall have faded away?"
+
+The question was fairly put to Eleanor. It gave a turn to her
+confusion, yet hardly more manageable; for the gentle, winning tones in
+which it was made found their way down to some very deep and unguarded
+spot in her consciousness. No one had ever probed her as this man dared
+to do. Eleanor could hardly sit still. The berries had no more any
+taste to her after that. Yet the question demanded an answer; and after
+hesitating long she found none better than to say, as she set down her
+saucer,
+
+"No, Mr. Rhys."
+
+Doubtless he read deeper than the words of her answer, but he made no
+remark. She would have been glad he had.
+
+The shower seemed to be slackening; and while Julia entered into lively
+conversation over her berries, Eleanor went to the window. She was
+doubtfully conscious of anything but discomfort; however she did
+perceive that the rain was falling less thickly and light beginning to
+break through the clouds. As she turned from the window she forced
+herself to speak.
+
+"What is there we can do for you at home, Mr. Rhys? Mrs. Williams'
+resources, I am sure, must be very insufficient."
+
+"I am very much obliged to you!" he said heartily. "There is nothing
+that I know of. I have all that I require."
+
+"You are better than you were? you are gaining strength?"
+
+"No, I think not. I am quite useless now."
+
+"But you will get better soon, and be useful again."
+
+"If it pleases my Master;--but I think not."
+
+"Do you consider yourself so seriously ill, Mr. Rhys?" said Eleanor
+looking shocked.
+
+"Do not take it so seriously," said he smiling at her. "No harm can
+come to me any way. It is far worse than death for me, to be cut off
+from doing my work; and a while ago the thought of this troubled me; it
+gave me some dark hours. But at last I rested myself on that word, 'Why
+art thou cast down, O my soul? Hope thou in God!' and now I am content
+about it. Life or death--neither can bring but good to me; for my
+Father sends it. You know," he said, again with a smile at her, but
+with a keen observant eye,--"they who are the Lord's wear an invisible
+casque, which preserves them from all fear."
+
+He saw that Eleanor's face was grave and troubled; he saw that at this
+last word there was a sort of avoidance of feature, as if it reached a
+spot of feeling somewhere that was sensitive. He added nothing more,
+except the friendly grasp of the hand, which drove the weapon home.
+
+The rain had ceased; the sun was out; and the two girls set forward on
+their return. They hurried at first, for the afternoon had worn away.
+The rain drops lay thick and sparkling on every blade of grass, and
+dripped upon them from the trees.
+
+"Now you will get your feet wet again," said Julia; "and then you will
+have another sickness; and Mr. Carlisle will be angry."
+
+"Do let Mr. Carlisle's anger alone!" said Eleanor. "I shall not sit
+down in wet shoes, so I shall not get hurt. Did you ever see him angry?"
+
+"No," said Julia; "and I am glad he won't be angry with me?"
+
+In spite of her words, the wet grass gave Eleanor a disagreeable
+reminder of what wet grass had done for her some months before. The
+remembrance of her sickness came up with the immediate possibility of
+its returning again; the little feeling of danger and exposure gave
+power to the things she had just heard. She could not banish them; she
+recalled freshly the miserable fear and longing of those days when she
+lay ill and knew not how her illness would turn; the fearful want of a
+shelter; the comparative littleness of all things under the sun.
+Rythdale Priory had not been worth a feather in that day; all the gay
+pleasures and hopes of the summer could have found no entrance into her
+heart then. And as she was then, so Eleanor knew herself
+now--defenceless, if danger came. And the wet grass into which every
+footstep plunged said that danger might be at any time very near.
+Eleanor wished bitterly that she had not come this walk with Julia. It
+was strange, how utterly shaken, miserable, forlorn, her innermost
+spirit felt, at this possible approach of evil to her shelterless head.
+And with double force, though they had been forcible at the time, Mr.
+Rhys's words recurred to her--the words that he had spoken half to
+himself as it were--"Hope thou in God." Eleanor had heard those words,
+read by different lips, at different times; they were not new; but the
+meaning of them had never struck her before. Now for the first time, as
+she heard the low, sweet, confident utterance of a soul fleeing to its
+stronghold, of a spirit absolutely secure there, she had an idea of
+what "hope in God" meant; and every time she remembered the tones of
+those words, spoken by failing lips too, it gave a blow to her heart.
+There was something she wanted. What else could be precious like that?
+And with them belonged in this instance, Eleanor felt, a purity of
+character till now unimagined. Thoughts and footsteps hurrying along
+together, they were past the village and far on their way towards home,
+the two sisters, before much was said between them.
+
+"I wish Mr. Rhys would get well and stay here," said Julia. "It is nice
+to go to see him, isn't it, Eleanor? He is so good."
+
+"I don't know whether it is nice," said Eleanor. "I wish almost I had
+not gone with you. I have not thought of disagreeable things before in
+a great while."
+
+"But isn't he good?"
+
+"Good!" said Eleanor. "He makes me feel as black as night."
+
+"Well, you aren't black," said Julia, pleased; "and I'll tell Mr.
+Carlisle what you say. He won't be angry that time."
+
+"Julia!" said Eleanor. "Do if you dare! You shall repeat no words of
+mine to Mr. Carlisle."
+
+Julia only laughed; and Eleanor hoped that the gentleman would stay in
+London till her purpose, whatever it might be, was forgotten. He did
+stay some days; the Lodge had a comparatively quiet time. Perhaps
+Eleanor missed the constant excitement of the weeks past. She was very
+restless, and her thoughts would not be diverted from the train into
+which the visit to Mr. Rhys had thrown them. Obstinately the idea kept
+before her, that a defence was wanting to her which she had not, and
+might have. She wanted some security greater than dry shoes could
+afford. Yea, she could not forget, that beyond that earthly coronet
+which of necessity must some time fade, she might want something that
+would endure in the air of eternity. Her musings troubled Eleanor. As
+Black Maggie did not wait upon her, these days, she ordered up her own
+little pony, and went off upon long rides by herself. It soothed her to
+be alone. She let no servant attend her; she took the comfort of good
+stirring gallops all over the moor; and then when she and the pony were
+both tired she let him walk and her thoughts take up their train. But
+it did not do her any good. Eleanor grew only more uneasy from day to
+day. The more she thought, the deeper her thoughts went; and still the
+contrast of purity and high Christian hope rose up to shame her own
+heart and life. Eleanor felt her danger as a sinner; her exposure as
+guilty; and the insufficiency of all she had or hoped for, to meet
+future and coming contingencies. So far she got; there she stopped;
+except that her sense of these things grew more keen and deep day by
+day; it did not fade out. Friends she had none to help her. She wanted
+to see Dr. Cairnes and attack him in private and bring him to a point
+on the subjects which agitated her; but she could not. Dr. Cairnes too
+was absent from Wiglands at this time; and Eleanor had to think and
+wait all by herself. She had her Bible, it is true; but she did not
+know how to consult it. She took care not to go near Mr. Rhys again;
+though she was sorry to hear through Julia that he was not mending. She
+wished herself a little girl, to have Julia's liberty; but she must do
+without it. And what would Mr. Carlisle say to her thoughts? She must
+not ask him. He could do nothing with them. She half feared, half
+wished for his influence to overthrow them.
+
+He came; but Eleanor did not find that he could remove the trouble, the
+existence of which he did not suspect. His presence did not remove it.
+In all her renewed engagements and gaieties, there remained a secret
+core of discomfort in her heart, whatever she might be about.
+
+They were taking tea one evening, half in and half out of the open
+window, when Julia came up.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle," said she, "I am going to pay you my forfeit." He had
+caught her in some game of forfeits the day before. "I am going to give
+you something you will like very much."
+
+"What can it be, Julia?"
+
+"You don't believe me. Now you do not deserve to have it. I am going to
+give you something Eleanor said."
+
+Eleanor's hand was on her lips immediately, and her voice forbade the
+promised forfeit; but there were two words to that bargain. Mr.
+Carlisle captured the hand and gave a counter order.
+
+"Now you don't believe me, but you believe Eleanor," said the lawless
+child. "She said,--she said it when you went away,--that she had not
+thought of anything disagreeable in a long while!"
+
+Mr. Carlisle looked delighted, as well he might. Eleanor's temples
+flushed a painful scarlet.
+
+"Dear me, how interesting these goings away and comings home are, I
+suppose!" exclaimed Miss Broadus, coming up to the group. "I see! there
+is no need to say anything. Mr. Carlisle, we are all rejoiced to see
+you back at Wiglands. Or at the Lodge--for you do not honour Wiglands
+much, except when I see you riding through it on that beautiful brown
+horse of yours. The black and the brown; I never saw such a pair. And
+you do ride! I should think you would be afraid that creature would
+lose a more precious head than its own."
+
+"I take better care than that, Miss Broadus."
+
+"Well, I suppose you do; though for my part I cannot see how a person
+on one horse can take care of a person on another horse; it is
+something I do not understand. I never did ride myself; I suppose that
+is the reason. Mr. Carlisle, what do you say to this lady riding all
+alone by herself--without any one to take care of her?"
+
+Mr. Carlisle's eyes rather opened at this question, as if he did not
+fully take in the idea.
+
+"She does it--you should see her going by as I did--as straight as a
+grenadier, and her pony on such a jump! I thought to myself, Mr.
+Carlisle is in London, sure enough. But it was a pretty sight to see.
+My dear, how sorry we are to miss some one else from our circle, and he
+did honour us at Wiglands--my sister and me. How sorry I am poor Mr.
+Rhys is so ill. Have you heard from him to-day, Eleanor?"
+
+"You should ask Julia, Miss Broadus. Is he much more ill than he was?
+Julia hears of him every day, I believe."
+
+"Ah, the children all love him. I see Julia and Alfred going by very
+often; and the other boys come to see him constantly, I believe. And my
+dear Eleanor, how kind it was of you to go yourself with something for
+him! I saw you and Julia go past with your basket--don't you
+remember?--that day before the rain; and I said to myself--no, I said
+to Juliana, some very complimentary things about you. Benevolence has
+flourished in your absence, Mr. Carlisle. Here was this lady, taking
+jelly with her own hands to a sick man. Now I call that beautiful."
+
+Mr. Carlisle preferred to make his own compliments; for he did not echo
+those of the talkative lady.
+
+"But I am afraid he is very ill, my dear," Miss Broadus went on,
+turning to Eleanor again. "He looked dreadfully when I saw him; and he
+is so feeble, I think there is very little hope of his life left. I
+think he has just worked himself to death. But I do not believe,
+Eleanor, he is any more afraid of death, than I am of going to sleep. I
+don't believe he is so much."
+
+Miss Broadus was called off; Mr. Carlisle had left the window; Eleanor
+sat sadly thinking. The last words had struck a deeper note than all
+the vexations of Miss Broadus's previous talk. "No more afraid of death
+than of going to sleep." Ay! for his head was covered from danger.
+Eleanor knew it--saw it--felt it; and felt it to be blessed. Oh how
+should she make that same covering her own? There was an engagement to
+spend the next afternoon at the Priory--the whole family. Dr. Cairnes
+would most probably be there to meet them. Perhaps she might catch or
+make an opportunity of speaking to him in private and asking him what
+she wanted to know. Not very likely, but she would try. Dr. Cairnes was
+her pastor; it ought to be in his power to resolve her difficulties; it
+must be. At any rate, Eleanor would apply to him and see. She had no
+one else to apply to. Unless Mr. Rhys would get well. Eleanor wished
+that might be. _He_ could help her, she knew, without a peradventure.
+
+Mr. Carlisle appeared again, and the musings were banished. He took her
+hand and put it upon his arm, and drew her out into the lawn. The
+action was caressingly done; nevertheless Eleanor felt that an inquiry
+into her behaviour would surely be the next thing. So half shrinking
+and half rebellious, she suffered herself to be led on into the winding
+walks of the shrubbery. The evening was delicious; nothing could be
+more natural or pleasant than sauntering there.
+
+"I am going to have Julia at the Priory to-morrow, as a reward for her
+good gift to me," was Mr. Carlisle's opening remark.
+
+"I am sure she does not deserve it," said Eleanor very sincerely.
+
+"What do you deserve?"
+
+"Nothing--in the way of rewards."
+
+Mr. Carlisle did not think so, or else regarded the matter in the light
+of a reward to himself.
+
+"Have you been good since I have been away?"
+
+"No!" said Eleanor bluntly.
+
+"Do you always speak truth after this fashion?"
+
+"I speak it as you will find it, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+The questions were put between caresses; but in all his manner
+nevertheless, in kisses and questions alike, there was that indefinable
+air of calm possession and power, before which Eleanor always felt
+unable to offer any resistance. He made her now change "Mr. Carlisle"
+for a more familiar name, before he would go on. Eleanor felt as a colt
+may be supposed to feel, which is getting a skilful "breaking in;"
+yielding obedience at every step, and at every step secretly wishing to
+refuse obedience, to refuse which is becoming more and more impossible.
+
+"Haven't you been a little too good to somebody else, while I have been
+away?"
+
+"No!" said Eleanor. "I never am."
+
+"Darling, I do not wish you to honour any one so far as that woman
+reports you to have done."
+
+"That!" said Eleanor. "That was the merest act of common
+kindness--Julia wanted some one to go with her to take some things to a
+sick man; and I wanted a walk, and I went."
+
+"You were too kind. I must unlearn you a little of your kindness. You
+are mine, now, darling; and I want all of you for myself."
+
+"But the better I am," said Eleanor, "I am sure the more there is to
+have."
+
+"Be good for _me_," said he kissing her,--"and in my way. I will
+dispense with other goodness. I am in no danger of not having enough in
+you."
+
+Eleanor walked back to the house, feeling as if an additional barrier
+were somehow placed between her and the light her mind wanted and the
+relief her heart sought after.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+AT THE PRIORY.
+
+
+  "Here he lives in state and bounty,
+  Lord of Burleigh, fair and free;
+  Not a lord in all the county
+  Is so great a lord as he."
+
+
+Lady Rythdale abhorred dinner-parties, in general and in particular.
+She dined early herself, and begged that the family from Ivy Lodge
+would come to tea. It was the first occasion of the kind; and the first
+time they had ever been there otherwise than as strangers visiting the
+grounds. Lady Rythdale was infirm and unwell, and never saw her country
+neighbours or interchanged civilities with them. Of course this was
+laid to something more than infirmity, by the surrounding gentry who
+were less in consequence than herself; but however it were, few of them
+ever saw the inside of the Priory House for anything but a ceremonious
+morning visit. Now the family at the Lodge were to go on a different
+footing. It was a great time, of curiosity, pleasure, and pride.
+
+"What are you going to wear this evening, Eleanor?" her mother asked.
+
+"I suppose, my habit, mamma."
+
+"Your habit!"
+
+"I cannot very well ride in anything else."
+
+"Are you going to _ride?_"
+
+"So it is arranged, ma'am. It will be infinitely less tiresome than
+going in any other way."
+
+"Tiresome!" echoed Mrs. Powle. "But what will Lady Rythdale say to you
+in a riding-habit."
+
+"Mamma, I have very little notion what she would say to me in anything."
+
+"I will tell you what you must do, Eleanor. You must change your dress
+after you get there."
+
+"No, mamma--I cannot. Mr. Carlisle has arranged to have me go in a
+riding-habit. It is his responsibility. I will not have any fuss of
+changing, nor pay anybody so much of a compliment."
+
+"It will not be liked, Eleanor."
+
+"It will follow my fate, mamma, whatever that is."
+
+"You are a wilful girl. You are fallen into just the right hands. You
+will be managed now, for once."
+
+"Mamma," said Eleanor colouring all over, "it is extremely unwise in
+you to say that; for it rouses all the fight there is in me; and some
+day--"
+
+"Some day it will not break out," said Mrs. Powle.
+
+"Well, I should not like to fight with Mr. Carlisle," said Julia. "I am
+glad I am going, at any rate."
+
+Eleanor bit her lip. Nevertheless, when the afternoon came and Mr.
+Carlisle appeared to summon her, nothing was left of the morning's
+irritation but a little loftiness of head and brow. It was very
+becoming, no more; and Mr. Carlisle's evident pleasure and satisfaction
+soon soothed the feeling away. The party in the carriage had gone on
+before; the riders followed the same route, passing through the village
+of Wiglands, then a couple of miles or more beyond through the village
+of Rythdale. Further on, crossing a bridge they entered upon the old
+priory grounds; the grey tower rose before them, and the horses' feet
+swept through the beautiful wilderness of ruined art and flourishing
+nature. As the cavalcade wound along--for the carriage was just before
+them now--through the dale and past the ruins, and as it had gone in
+state through the village, Eleanor could not help a little throbbing of
+heart at the sense of the place she was holding and about to hold; at
+the feeling of the relation all these beauties and dignities now held
+to her. If she had been inclined to forget it, her companion's look
+would have reminded her. She had no leisure to analyze her thoughts,
+but these stirred her pulses. It was beautiful, as the horses wound
+through the dale and by the little river Ryth, where all the ground was
+kept like a garden. It was beautiful, as they left the valley and went
+up a slow, gentle, ascending road, through thick trees, to the higher
+land where the new Priory stood. It stood on the brow of the height,
+looking down over the valley and over the further plain where the
+village nestled among its trees. Yes, and it was fine when the first
+sight of the house opened upon her, not coming now as a stranger, but
+as future mistress; for whom every window and gable and chimney had the
+mysterious interest of a future home. Would old Lady Rythdale like to
+see her there? Eleanor did not know; but felt easy in the assurance
+that Mr. Carlisle, who could manage everything, could manage that also.
+It was his affair.
+
+The house shewed well as they drew towards it, among fine old trees. It
+was a new house; that is, it did not date further back than three
+generations. Like everything else about the whole domain, it gave the
+idea of perfect order and management. It was a spacious building,
+spreading out amply upon the ground, not rising to a great height; and
+built in a simple style of no particular name or pretensions; but
+massive, stately, and elegant. No unfinished or half realized idea;
+what had been attempted had been done, and done well. The house was
+built on three sides of a quadrangle. The side of approach by which the
+cavalcade had come, winding up from the valley, led them round past the
+front of the left wing. Mr. Carlisle made her draw bridle and fall a
+little behind the carriage.
+
+"Do you like this view?" said he.
+
+"Very much. I have never seen it before."
+
+He smiled at her, and again extending his hand drew Black Maggie's rein
+till he brought her to a slow walk. The carriage passed on out of
+sight. Eleanor would have remonstrated, but the view before her was
+lovely. Three gables, of unequal height, rose over that facade; the
+only ornamental part was in their fanciful but not elaborate mouldings.
+The lower story, stretching along the spread of a smooth little lawn,
+was almost masked with ivy. It embedded the large but perfectly plain
+windows, which reached so near the ground that one might step out from
+them; their clear amplitude was set in a frame of massive green. One
+angle especially looked as if the room within must be a nest of
+verdurous beauty. The ivy encased all the doorways or entrances on that
+side of the house; and climbing higher threatened to do for the story
+above what it had accomplished below; but perhaps some order had been
+taken about that, for in the main its course had been stayed at a
+certain stone moulding that separated the stories, and only a branch
+here and there had been permitted to shew what more it would like to
+do. One of the upper windows was partly encased; while its lace
+curtains gave an assurance that all its garnishing had not been left to
+nature. Eleanor could not help thinking it was a very lovely looking
+place for any woman to be placed in as her home; and her heart beat a
+little high.
+
+"Do you not like it?" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"Yes,--certainly!"
+
+"What are you considering so attentively in Black Maggie's ears?"
+
+Eleanor caused Maggie to prick up the said ears, by a smart touch of
+her whip. The horses started forward to overtake the carriage. Perhaps
+however Mr. Carlisle was fascinated--he might well be--by the present
+view he had of his charge; there was a blushing shy grace observable
+about her which it was pretty to see and not common; and maybe he
+wanted the view to be prolonged. He certainly did not follow the
+nearest road, but turned off instead to a path which went winding up
+and down the hill and through plantations of wood, giving Eleanor views
+also, of a different sort; and so did not come out upon the front of
+the house till long after the carriage party had been safely housed.
+Eleanor found she was alone and was not to be sheltered under her
+mother's wing or any other; and her conductor's face was much too
+satisfied to invite comments. He swung her down from the saddle,
+allowed her to remove her cap, and putting her hand on his arm walked
+her into the drawing-room and the presence of his mother.
+
+Eleanor had seen Lady Rythdale once before, in a stately visit which
+had been made at the Lodge; never except that one time. The old
+baroness was a dignified looking person, and gave her a stately
+reception now; rather stiff and cold, Eleanor thought; or careless and
+cold, rather.
+
+"My dear," said the old lady, "have you come in a riding-habit? That
+will be very uncomfortable. Go to my dressing-room, and let Arles
+change it for something else. She can fit you. Macintosh, you shew her
+the way."
+
+No questions were asked. Mr. Carlisle obeyed, putting Eleanor's hand on
+his arm again, and walked her off out of the room and through a gallery
+and up the stairs, and along another gallery. He walked fast. Eleanor
+felt exceedingly abashed and displeased and discomfited at this
+extraordinary proceeding, but she did not know how to resist it. Her
+compliance was taken for granted, and Mr. Carlisle was laughing at her
+discomfiture, which was easy enough to be seen. Eleanor's cheeks were
+glowing magnificently. "I suppose he feels he has me in his own
+dominions now,"--she thought; and the thought made her very rebellious.
+Lady Rythdale too!
+
+"Mr. Carlisle," she began, "there is really no occasion for all this. I
+am perfectly comfortable. I do not wish to alter my dress."
+
+"What do you call me?" said he stopping short.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Call me something else."
+
+The steady bright hazel eyes which were looking at her asserted their
+power. In spite of her irritation and vexation she obeyed his wish, and
+asked him somewhat loftily, to take her back again to the company.
+
+"Against my mother's commands? Do you not think they are binding on
+you, Eleanor?"
+
+"No, I do not!"
+
+"You will allow they are on me. My darling," said he, laughing and
+kissing her, "you must submit to be displeased for your good." And he
+walked on again. Eleanor was conquered; she felt it, and chafed under
+it. Mr. Carlisle opened a door and walked her into an apartment, large
+and luxurious, the one evidently that his mother had designated. He
+rang the bell.
+
+"Arles," said he, "find this lady something that will fit her. She
+wishes to change her dress. Do your best."
+
+He went out and left Eleanor in the hands of the tire-woman. Eleanor
+felt utterly out of countenance, but powerless; though she longed to
+defy the maid and the mistress and say, "I will wear my own and nothing
+else." Why could she not say it? She did not like to defy the master.
+
+So Arles had her way, and after one or two rapid glances at the subject
+of her cares and a moment's reflection on her introduction there, she
+took her cue. "Blushes like that are not for nothing," thought Arles;
+"and when Mr. Macintosh says 'Do your best'--why, it is easy to see!"
+
+She was quick and skilful and silent; but Eleanor felt like a wild
+creature in harness. Her riding-dress went off--her hair received a
+touch, all it wanted, as the waiting maid said; and after one or two
+journeys to wardrobes, Mrs. Arles brought out and proceeded to array
+Eleanor in a robe of white lawn, very flowing and full of laces. Yet it
+was simple in style, and Eleanor thought it useless to ask for a
+change; although when the robing was completed she was dressed more
+elegantly than she had ever been in her life. She was sadly ashamed,
+greatly indignant, and mortified at herself; that she should be so
+facile to the will of a person who had no right to command her. But if
+she was dissatisfied, Arles was not; the deep colour in Eleanor's
+cheeks only relieved her white drapery to perfection; and her beautiful
+hair and faultless figure harmonized with flowing folds and soft laces
+which can do so much for outlines that are not soft. Eleanor was not
+without a consciousness of this; nevertheless, vanity was not her
+foible; and her state of mind was anything but enviable when she left
+the dressing-room for the gallery. But Mr. Carlisle was there, to meet
+her and her mood too; and Eleanor found herself taken in hand at once.
+He had a way of mixing affection with his power over her, in such a way
+as to soothe and overawe at the same time; and before they reached the
+drawing-room now Eleanor was caressed and laughed into good order;
+leaving nevertheless a little root of opposition in her secret heart,
+which might grow fast upon occasion.
+
+She was taken into the drawing-room, set down and left, under Lady
+Rythdale's wing. Eleanor felt her position much more conspicuous than
+agreeable. The old baroness turned and surveyed her; went on with the
+conversation pending, then turned and surveyed her again; looked her
+well over; finally gave Eleanor some worsted to hold for her, which she
+wound; nor would she accept any substitute offered by the gentlemen for
+her promised daughter-in-law's pretty hands and arms. Worse and worse.
+Eleanor saw herself now not only a mark for people's eyes, but put in
+an attitude as it were to be looked at. She bore it bravely; with
+steady outward calmness and grace, though her cheeks remonstrated. No
+movement of Eleanor's did that. She played worsted reel with admirable
+good sense and skill, wisely keeping her own eyes on the business in
+hand, till it was finished; and Lady Rythdale winding up the last end
+of the ball, bestowed a pat of her hand, half commendation and half
+raillery, upon Eleanor's red cheek; as if it had been a child's. That
+was a little hard to bear; Eleanor felt for a moment as if she could
+have burst into tears. She would have left her place if she had dared;
+but she was in a corner of a sofa by Lady Rythdale, and nobody else
+near; and she felt shy. She could use her eyes now upon the company.
+
+Lady Rythdale was busied in conversation with one or two elderly
+ladies, of stately presence like herself, who were, as Eleanor
+gathered, friends of long date, staying at the Priory. They did not
+invite curiosity. She saw her mother with Mrs. Wycherly, the rector's
+sister, in another group, conversing with Dr. Cairnes and a gentleman
+unknown. Mr. Powle had found congeniality in a second stranger. Mr.
+Carlisle, far off in a window, one of those beautiful deep large
+windows, was very much engaged with some ladies and gentlemen likewise
+strange to Eleanor. Nobody was occupied with her; and from her sofa
+corner she went to musing. The room and its treasures she had time to
+look at quietly; she had leisure to notice how fine it was in
+proportions and adornments, and what luxurious abundance of everything
+that wealth buys and cultivation takes pleasure in, had space to abound
+without the seeming of multiplicity. The house was as stately within as
+on the outside. The magnificence was new to Eleanor, and drove her
+somehow to musings of a very opposite character. Perhaps her unallayed
+spirit of opposition might have been with other causes at the bottom of
+this. However that were, her thoughts went off in a perverse train upon
+the former baronesses of Rythdale; the ladies lovely and stately who
+had inhabited this noble abode. Eleanor would soon be one of the line,
+moving in their place, where they had moved; lovely and admired in her
+turn; but their turn was over. What when hers should be?--could she
+keep this heritage for ever? It was a very impertinent thought; it had
+clearly no business with either place or time; but there it was,
+staring at Eleanor out of the rich cornices, and looking in at her from
+the magnificent plantations seen through the window. Eleanor did not
+welcome the thought; it was an intruder. The fact was that having once
+made entrance in her mind, the idea only seized opportunities to start
+up and assert its claims to notice. It was always lying in wait for her
+now; and on this occasion held its ground with great perverseness.
+Eleanor glanced again at Dr. Cairnes; no hope of him at present; he was
+busily engaged with a clever gentleman, a friend of Mr. Carlisle's and
+an Oxford man, and with Mr. Carlisle himself. Eleanor grew impatient of
+her thoughts; she wondered if anybody else had such, in all that
+company. Nobody seemed to notice her; and she meditated an escape both
+from her sofa corner and from herself to a portfolio near by, which
+promised a resource in the shape of engravings; but just as she was
+moving, Lady Rythdale laid a hand upon her lap.
+
+"Sit still, my dear," she said turning partly towards her,--"I want you
+by me. I have a skein of silk here I want wound for my work--a skein of
+green silk--here it is; it has tangled itself, I fear; will you prepare
+it for me?"
+
+Eleanor took the silk, which was in pretty thorough confusion, and
+began the task of unravelling and untieing, preparatory to its being
+wound. This time Lady Rythdale did not turn away; she sat considering
+Eleanor, on whose white drapery and white fingers the green silk
+threads made a pretty contrast, while they left her helplessly exposed
+to that examining gaze. Eleanor felt it going all over her; taking in
+all the details of her dress, figure and face. She could not help the
+blood mounting, though she angrily tried to prevent it. The green silk
+was in a great snarl. Eleanor bent her head over her task.
+
+"My dear, are you near-sighted?"
+
+"No, madam!" said the girl, giving the old lady a moment's view of the
+orbs in question.
+
+"You have very good eyes--uncommon colour," said Lady Rythdale.
+"Macintosh thinks he will have a good little wife in you;--is it true?"
+
+"I do not know, ma'am," said Eleanor haughtily.
+
+"I think it is true. Look up here and let me see." And putting her hand
+under Eleanor's chin, she chucked up her face as if she were something
+to be examined for purchase. Eleanor felt in no amiable mood certainly,
+and her cheeks were flaming; nevertheless the old lady coolly held her
+under consideration and even with a smile on her lips which seemed of
+satisfaction. Eleanor did not see it, for her eyes could not look up;
+but she felt through all her nerves the kiss with which the examination
+was dismissed.
+
+"I think it is true," the old baroness repeated. "I hope it is true;
+for my son would not be an easy man to live with on any other terms, my
+dear."
+
+"I suppose its truth depends in a high degree upon himself, madam,"
+said Eleanor, very much incensed. "Does your ladyship choose to wind
+this silk now?"
+
+"You may hold it. I see you have got it into order. That shews you
+possessed of the old qualification of patience.--Your hands a little
+higher. My dear, I would not advise you to regulate your behaviour by
+anything in other people. Macintosh will make you a kind husband if you
+do not displease him; but he is one of those men who must obeyed."
+
+Eleanor had no escape; she must sit holding the silk, a mark for Lady
+Rythdale's eyes and tongue. She sat drooping a little with indignation
+and shame, when Mr. Carlisle came up. He had seen from a distance the
+tint of his lady's cheeks, and judged that she was going through some
+sort of an ordeal. But though he came to protect, he stood still to
+enjoy. The picture was so very pretty. The mother and son exchanged
+glances.
+
+"I think you can make her do," said the baroness contentedly.
+
+"Not as a permanent winding reel!" exclaimed Eleanor jumping up. "Mr.
+Carlisle, I am tired;--have the goodness to take this silk from my
+fingers."
+
+And slipping it over the gentleman's astonished hands, before he had
+time quite to know what she was about, Eleanor left the pair to arrange
+the rest of the business between them, and herself walked off to one of
+the deep windows. She was engaged there immediately by Lord Rythdale,
+in civil conversation enough; then he introduced other gentlemen; and
+it was not till after a series of talks with one and another, that
+Eleanor had a minute to herself. She was sitting in the window, where
+an encroaching branch of ivy at one side reminded her of the elegant
+work it was doing round the corner. Eleanor would have liked to go
+through the house--or the grounds--if she might have got away alone and
+indulged herself in a good musing fit. How beautiful the shaven turf
+looked under the soft sun's light! how stately stood old oaks and
+beeches here and there! how rich the thicker border of vegetation
+beyond the lawn! What beauty of order and keeping everywhere. Nothing
+had been attempted here but what the resources of the proprietors were
+fully equal to; the impression was of ample power to do more. While
+musing, Eleanor's attention was attracted by Mr. Carlisle, who had
+stepped out upon the lawn with one or two of his guests, and she looked
+at the place and its master together. He suited it very well. He was an
+undeniably handsome man; his bearing graceful and good. Eleanor liked
+Mr. Carlisle, not the less perhaps that she feared him a little. She
+only felt a little wilful rebellion against the way in which she had
+come to occupy her present position. If but she might have been
+permitted to take her own time, and say yea for herself, without having
+it said for her, she would have been content. As it was, Eleanor was
+not very discontented. Her heart swelled with a secret satisfaction and
+some pride, as without seeing her the group passed the window and she
+was left with the sunlit lawn and beautiful old trees again. Close upon
+that feeling of pride came another thought. What when this earthly
+coronet should fade?--
+
+"Dr. Cairnes," said Eleanor seizing an opportunity,--"come here and sit
+down by me. I have not seen you in a great while."
+
+"You have not missed me, my dear lady," said the doctor blandly.
+
+"Yes I have," said Eleanor. "I want to talk to you. I want you to tell
+me something."
+
+"How soon I am to make you happy? or help you to make somebody else
+happy? Well I shall be at your service any time about Christmas."
+
+"No, no!" said Eleanor colouring, "I want something very different. I
+am talking seriously, Dr. Cairnes. I want you to tell me something. I
+want to know how I may be happy--for I am unhappy now."
+
+"You unhappy!" said the doctor. "I must talk to my friend Mr. Carlisle
+about that. We must call him in for counsel. What would he say, to your
+being unhappy? hey?"
+
+He was there to speak for himself; there with a slight cloud on his
+brow too, Eleanor thought. He had come from within the room; she
+thought he was safe away in the grounds with his guests.
+
+"Shall I break up this interesting conversation?" said he.
+
+"It was growing very interesting," said the doctor; "for this lady was
+just acknowledging to me that she is not happy. I give her over to
+you--this is a case beyond my knowledge and resources. Only, when I can
+do anything, I shall be most gratified at being called upon."
+
+The doctor rose up, shook himself, and left the field to Mr. Carlisle.
+Eleanor felt vexed beyond description, and very little inclined to call
+again upon Dr. Cairnes for anything whatever in any line of assistance.
+Her face burned. Mr. Carlisle took no notice; only laid his hand upon
+hers and said "Come!"--and walked her out of the room and on the lawn,
+and sauntered with her down to some of the thickly planted shrubbery
+beyond the house. There went round about upon the soft turf, calling
+Eleanor's attention to this or that shrub or tree, and finding her very
+pleasant amusement; till the question in her mind, of what was coming
+now, had almost faded away. The lights and shadows stretched in long
+lines between the trees, and lay witchingly over the lawn. An opening
+in the plantations brought a fair view of it, and of the left wing of
+the house which Eleanor had admired, dark and rich in its mantle of
+ivy, while the light gleamed on the edges of the ornamented gables
+above. It was a beautiful view. Mr. Carlisle paused.
+
+"How do you like the house?" said he.
+
+"I think I prefer the ruined old priory down yonder," said Eleanor.
+
+"Do you still feel your attraction for a monastic life?"
+
+"Yes!" said Eleanor, colouring,--"I think they must have had peaceable
+old lives there, with nothing to trouble them. And they could plant
+gardens as well as you can."
+
+"As the old ruins are rather uninhabitable, what do you think of
+entering a modern Priory?"
+
+It pleased him to see the deep rich glow on Eleanor's cheek, and the
+droop of her saucy eyelids. No wonder it pleased him; it was a pretty
+thing to see; and he enjoyed it.
+
+"You shall be Lady Abbess," he went on presently, "and make your own
+rules. I only stipulate that there shall be no Father Confessor except
+myself."
+
+"I doubt your qualifications for that office," said Eleanor.
+
+"Suppose you try me. What were you confessing to Dr. Cairnes just now
+in the window?"
+
+"Nonsense, Robert!" said Eleanor. "I was talking of something you would
+not understand."
+
+"You underrate me," said he coolly. "My powers of understanding are
+equal to the old gentleman's, unless I am mistaken in myself. What are
+you unhappy about, darling?"
+
+"Nothing that you could make anything of," said Eleanor. "I was talking
+to Dr. Cairnes in a language that you do not understand. Do let it
+alone!"
+
+"Did he report you truly, to have used the English word 'unhappy'?"
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor; "but Mr. Carlisle, you do not know what you are
+talking about."
+
+"I am coming to it. Darling, do you think you would be unhappy at the
+Priory?"
+
+"I did not say that--" said Eleanor, confused.
+
+"Do you think I could make you happy there?--Speak, Eleanor--speak!"
+
+"Yes--if I could be happy anywhere."
+
+"What makes you unhappy? My wife must not hide her heart from me."
+
+"Yes, but I am not that yet," said Eleanor with spirit, rousing up to
+assert herself.
+
+He laughed and kissed her. "How long first, Eleanor?"
+
+"I am sure I don't know. Very long."
+
+"What is very long?"
+
+"I do not know. A year or two at least."
+
+"Do you suppose I will agree to that?"
+
+Eleanor knew he would not; and further saw a quiet purpose in his face.
+She was sure he had fixed upon the time, if not the day. She felt those
+cobweb bands all around her. Here she was, almost in bridal attire, at
+his side already. She made no answer.
+
+"Divide by twelve, and get a quotient, Eleanor."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean to have a merry Christmas--by your leave."
+
+Christmas! that was what the doctor had said. Was it so far without her
+leave? Eleanor felt angry. That did not hinder her feeling frightened.
+
+"You cannot have it in the way you propose, Mr. Carlisle. I am not
+ready for that."
+
+"You will be," he said coolly. "I shall be obliged to go up to London
+after Christmas; then I mean to instal you in Berkeley Square; and in
+the summer you shall go to Switzerland with me. Now tell me, my
+darling, what you are unhappy about?"
+
+Eleanor felt tongue-tied and powerless. The last words had been said
+very affectionately, and as she was silent they were repeated.
+
+"It is nothing you would understand."
+
+"Try me."
+
+"It is nothing that would interest you at all."
+
+"Not interest me!" said he; and if his manner had been self-willed, it
+was also now as tender and gentle as it was possible to be. He folded
+Eleanor in his arms caressingly and waited for her words. "Not interest
+me! Do you know that from your riding-cap to the very gloves you pull
+on and off, there is nothing that touches you that does not interest
+me. And now I hear my wife--she is almost that, Eleanor,--tell Dr.
+Cairnes that she is not happy. I must know why."
+
+"I wish you would not think about it, Mr. Carlisle! It is nothing to
+care about at all. I was speaking to Dr. Cairnes as a clergyman."
+
+"You shall not call me Mr. Carlisle. Say that over again, Eleanor."
+
+"It is nothing to think twice about, Mr. Macintosh."
+
+"You were speaking to Dr. Cairnes as a clergyman?" he said laughing.
+"How was that? I can think but of one way in which Dr. Cairnes'
+profession concerns you and me--was it on _that_ subject, Eleanor?"
+
+"No, no. It was only--I was only going to ask him a religious question
+that interested me."
+
+"A _religious_ question! Was it that which made you unhappy?"
+
+"Yes, if you will have it. I knew you would not like it."
+
+"I don't like it; and I will not have it," said he. "_You_, my little
+Eleanor, getting up a religious uneasiness! that will never do. You,
+who are as sound as a nut, and as sweet as a Cape jessamine! I shall
+prove your best counsellor. You have not had rides enough over the moor
+lately. We will have an extra gallop to-morrow;--and after Christmas I
+will take care of you. What were you uneasy about?"
+
+"Don't Robert!" said Eleanor,--"do not ask me any more about it. I do
+not want you to laugh at me."
+
+"Laugh at you!" he said. "I should like to see anybody else do that!
+but I will, as much as I like. Do you know you are a darling? and just
+as lovely in mind as you are in person. Do not you have any questions
+with the old priest; I do not like it; come to me with your
+difficulties, and I will manage them for you. Was that all, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then we are all right--or we soon shall be."
+
+They strolled a little longer over the soft turf, in the soft light.
+
+"We are not quite all right," said Eleanor; "for you think I will
+do--what I will not."
+
+"What is that?"
+
+"I have not agreed to your arrangements."
+
+"You will."
+
+"Do not think it, Macintosh. I will not."
+
+He looked down at her, smiling, not in the least disconcerted. She had
+spoken no otherwise than gently, and with more secret effort than she
+would have liked him to know.
+
+"You shall say that for half the time between now and Christmas," he
+said; "and after that you will adopt another form of expression."
+
+"If I say it at all, I shall hold to it, Macintosh."
+
+"Then do not say it at all, my little Eleanor," said he lightly; "I
+shall make you give it up. I think I will make you give it up now."
+
+"You are not generous, Robert."
+
+"No--I suppose I am not," he said contentedly. "I am forced to go to
+London after Christmas, and I cannot go without you. Do you not love me
+well enough to give me that, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor was silent. She was not willing to say no; she could not with
+truth say yes. Mr. Carlisle bent down to look into her face.
+
+"What have you to say to me?"
+
+"Nothing--" said Eleanor avoiding his eye.
+
+"Kiss me, Nellie, and promise that you will be my good little wife at
+Christmas."
+
+His mother's very phrase. Eleanor rebelled secretly, but felt powerless
+under those commanding eyes. Perhaps he was aware of her latent
+obstinacy; if he was, he also knew himself able to master it; for the
+eyes were sparkling with pleasure as well as with wilfulness. The
+occasion was not sufficient to justify a contest with Mr. Carlisle;
+Eleanor was not ready to brave one; she hesitated long enough to shew
+her rebellion, and then yielded, ingloriously she felt, though on the
+whole wisely. She met her punishment. The offered permission was not
+only taken; she was laughed at and rejoiced over triumphantly, to Mr.
+Carlisle's content. Eleanor bore it as well at she could; wishing that
+she had not tried to assert herself in such vain fashion, and feeling
+her discomfiture complete.
+
+It was more than time to return to the company. Eleanor knew what a
+mark she was for people's eyes, and would gladly have screened herself
+behind somebody in a corner; but Mr. Carlisle kept full possession of
+her. He walked her into the room, and gently retained her hand in its
+place while he went from one to another, obliging her to stand and talk
+or to be talked to with him through the whole company. Eleanor winced;
+nevertheless bore herself well and a little proudly until the evening
+was over.
+
+The weather had changed, and the ride home was begun under a cloudy
+sky. It grew very dark as they went on; impossible in many places to
+see the path. Mr. Carlisle was riding with her and the roads were well
+known to him and to the horses, and Eleanor did not mind it. She went
+on gayly with him, rather delighting in the novelty and adventure; till
+she heard a muttering of thunder. It was the only thing Eleanor's
+nerves dreaded. Her spirits were checked; she became silent and quiet,
+and hardly heard enough to respond to her companion's talk. She was
+looking incessantly for that which came at last as they were nearing
+the old ruins in the valley; a flash of lightning. It lit up the
+beautiful tower with its clinging ivy, revealed for an instant some
+bits of wall and the thick clustering trees; then left a blank
+darkness. The same illumination had entered the hidden places of
+memory, and startled into vivid life the scenes and the thoughts of a
+few months ago. All Eleanor's latent uneasiness was aroused. Her
+attention was absorbed now, from this point until they got home, in
+watching for flashes of lightning. They came frequently, but the storm
+was after all a slight one. The lightning lit up the way beautifully
+for the other members of the party. To Eleanor it revealed something
+more.
+
+Mr. Carlisle's leave-taking at the door bespoke him well satisfied with
+the results of the evening. Eleanor shunned the questions and remarks
+of her family and went to her own room. There she sat down, in her
+riding habit and with her head in her hands. What use was it for her to
+be baroness of Rythdale, to be mistress of the Priory, to be Mr.
+Carlisle's petted and favoured wife, while there was no shield between
+her head and the stroke that any day and any moment might bring? And
+what after all availed an earthly coronet, ever so bright, which had
+nothing to replace it when its fading time should come? Eleanor wanted
+something more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+WITH THE FERNS.
+
+
+  "It is the little rift within the lute,
+  That by and by will make the music mute."
+
+
+It was impossible for Eleanor to shake off the feeling. It rose fresh
+with her the next day, and neither her own nor Mr. Carlisle's efforts
+could dispose of it. To do Eleanor justice, she did not herself wish to
+lose it, unless by the supply of her want; while she took special care
+to hide her trouble from Mr. Carlisle. They took great gallops on the
+moor, and long rides all about the country; the rides were delightful;
+the talks were gay; but in them all, or at the end of them certainly,
+Eleanor's secret cry was for some shelter for her unprotected head. The
+thought would come up in every possible connexion, till it haunted her.
+Not her approaching marriage, nor the preparations which were even
+beginning for it, nor her involuntary subjection to all Mr. Carlisle's
+pleasure, so much dwelt with Eleanor now as the question,--how she
+should meet the storm which must break upon her some day; or rather the
+sense that she could not meet it. The fairest and sweetest scene, or
+condition of things, seemed but to bring up this thought more vividly
+by very force of contrast.
+
+Eleanor hid the whole within her own heart, and the fire burned there
+all the more. Not a sign of it must Mr. Carlisle see; and as for Dr.
+Cairnes, Eleanor could never get a chance for a safe talk with him.
+Somebody was always near, or might be near. The very effort to hide her
+thoughts grew sometimes irksome; and the whirl of engagements and
+occupations in which she lived gave her a stifled feeling. She could
+not even indulge herself in solitary consideration of that which there
+was nobody to help her consider.
+
+She hailed one day the announcement that Mr. Carlisle must let the next
+day go by without riding or seeing her. He would be kept away at a town
+some miles off, on county business. Mr. Carlisle had a good deal to do
+with county politics and county business generally; made himself both
+important and popular, and lost no thread of influence he had once
+gathered into his hand. So Brompton would have him all the next day,
+and Eleanor would have her time to herself.
+
+That she might secure full possession of it, she ordered her pony and
+went out alone after luncheon. She could not get free earlier. Now she
+took no servant to follow her, and started off alone to the moors. It
+was a delicious autumn day, mild and still and mellow. Eleanor got out
+of sight or hearing of human habitations; then let her pony please
+himself in his paces while she dropped the reins and thought. It was
+hardly in Eleanor's nature to have bitter thoughts; they came as near
+it on this occasion as they were apt to do; they were very dissatisfied
+thoughts. She was on the whole dissatisfied with everybody; herself
+most of all, it is true; but her mother and Mr. Carlisle had a share.
+She did not want to be married at Christmas; she did not even care
+about going to Switzerland, unless by her own good leave asked and
+obtained; she was not willing to be managed as a child; yet Eleanor was
+conscious that she was no better in Mr. Carlisle's hands. "I wonder
+what sort of a master he will make," she thought, "when he has me
+entirely in his power? I have no sort of liberty now." It humbled her;
+it was her own fault; yet Eleanor liked Mr. Carlisle, and thought that
+she loved him. She was young yet and very inexperienced. She also liked
+all the splendour of the position he gave her. Yet above the
+gratification of this, through the dazzle of wealth and pleasure and
+power, Eleanor discerned now a want these could not fill. What should
+she do when they failed? there was no provision in them for the want of
+them. Eleanor forgot her loss of independence, and pondered these
+thoughts till they grew bitter with pain. By turns she wished she had
+never seen Mr. Rhys, who she remembered first started them; or wished
+she could see him again.
+
+In the stillness and freedom and peace of the wide moor, Eleanor had
+fearlessly given herself up to her musings, without thinking or caring
+which way she went. The pony, finding the choice left to him, had
+naturally enough turned off into a track leading over some wild hills
+where he had been bred; the locality had pleasant associations for him.
+But it had none of any kind for Eleanor; and when she roused herself to
+think of it, she found she was in a distant part of the moor and
+drawing near to the hills aforesaid; a bleak and dreary looking region,
+and very far from home. Neither was she very sure by which way she
+might soonest regain a neighbourhood that she knew. To follow the path
+she was on and turn off into the first track that branched in the right
+direction, seemed the best to do; and she roused up her pony to an
+energetic little gallop. It seemed little after the long bounds Black
+Maggie would take through the air; but it was brisk work for the pony.
+Eleanor kept him at his speed. It was luxurious, to be alone; ride as
+she liked, slow or fast, and think as she liked, even forbidden
+thoughts. Her own mistress once more. Eleanor exulted, all the more
+because she was a rebel. The wild moor was delicious; the freedom was
+delicious; only she was far from home and the afternoon was on the
+wane. She kept the pony to his speed.
+
+By the base of the hills near to which the road led her, stood a
+miserable little house. It needed but a look at the place, to decide
+that the people who lived in it must be also miserable, and probably in
+more ways than one. Eleanor who had intended asking there for some news
+of her whereabouts and the roads, changed her mind as she drew near and
+resolved to pass the house at a gallop. So much for wise resolves. The
+miserable children who dwelt in the house had been that day making a
+bonfire for their amusement right on her track. The hot ashes were
+still there; the pony set his feet in them, reared high, and threw his
+rider, who had never known the pony do such a thing before and had no
+reason to expect it of him. Eleanor was thrown clean off on the ground,
+and fell stunned.
+
+She picked herself up after a few minutes, to find no bones broken, the
+miserable hut close by, and two children and an old crone looking at
+her. The pony had concluded it a dangerous neighbourhood and departed,
+shewing a clean pair of heels. Eleanor gathered her dress in her hand
+and looked at the people who were staring at her. Such faces!
+
+"What place is this?" she asked, forcing herself to be bold. The answer
+was utterly unintelligible. All Eleanor could make out was the hoarsely
+or thickly put question, "Be you hurted?"
+
+"No, thank you--not at all, I believe," she said breathlessly, for she
+had not got over the shock of her fall. "How far am I from the village
+of Wiglands?"
+
+Again the words that were spoken in reply gave no meaning to her ear.
+
+"Boys, will one of you shew me the nearest way there? I will give you
+something as soon as I get home."
+
+The children stared, at her and at each other; but Eleanor was more
+comprehensible to them than they to her. The old woman said some hoarse
+words to the children; and then one of them stepped forth and said
+strangely, "I 'ze go wiz ye."
+
+"I'll reward him for it," said Eleanor, nodding to the old grandmother;
+and set off, very glad to be walking away. She did not breathe freely
+till a good many yards of distance were between her and the hut, where
+the crone and the other child still remained watching her. There might
+be others of the family coming home; and Eleanor walked at a brave pace
+until she had well left the little hut behind, out of all fear of
+pursuit. Then she began to feel that she was somewhat shattered by her
+fall, and getting tired, and she went more gently. But it was a long,
+long way; the reach of moor seemed endless; for it was a very different
+thing to go over it on Black Maggie's feet from going over it on her
+own. Eleanor was exceedingly weary, and still the brown common
+stretched away on all sides of her; and the distant tuft of vegetation
+which announced the village of Wiglands, stood afar off, and seemed to
+be scarcely nearer after miles of walking. Before they reached it
+Eleanor's feet were dragging after one another in weariest style. She
+could not possibly go on to the Lodge without stopping to rest. How
+should she reward and send back her guide? As she was thinking of this,
+Eleanor saw the smoke curling up from a stray cottage hid among the
+trees; it was Mrs. Williams's cottage. Her heart sprang with a sudden
+temptation--doubted, balanced, and resolved. She had excuse enough; she
+would do a rebellious thing. She would go there and rest. It might give
+her a chance to see Mr. Rhys and hear him talk; it might not. If the
+chance came, why she would be very glad of it. Eleanor had no money
+about her; she hastily detached a gold pencil case from her watch
+chain, and put it into the ragged creature's hand who had guided her;
+saw him turn his back, then went with a sort of stealthy joy to the
+front of Mrs. Williams's cottage, pushed the door open softly and went
+in.
+
+Nobody was there; not a cat; it was all still. An inner door stood
+ajar; within there was a sound of voices, low and pleasant. Eleanor
+supposed Mrs. Williams would make her appearance in a minute, and sank
+down on the first chair that offered; sank even her head in her hands,
+for very weariness and the very sense of rest and security gained. The
+chair was one standing by the fire and near the open inner door; the
+voices came quite plainly through; and the next minute let Eleanor know
+that one of them was the voice of her little sister Julia; she heard
+one of Julia's joyous utterances. The other voice belonged to Mr. Rhys.
+No sound of Mrs. Williams. Eleanor sat still, her head bowed in her
+hands, and listened.
+
+It seemed that Julia was looking at something--or some collection of
+things. Eleanor could hear the slight rustling of paper handled--then a
+pause and talk. Julia had a great deal to say. Eleanor presently made
+out that they were looking at a collection of plants. She felt so tired
+that she had no inclination to move a single muscle. Mind and body sat
+still to listen.
+
+"And what is that?" she heard Julia say.
+
+"Mountain fern."
+
+"Isn't it beautiful! O that's as pretty as a feather."
+
+"If you saw them growing, dozens of them springing from the same root,
+you would think them beautiful. Then those brown edgings are black as
+jet and glossy."
+
+"Are those the _thecoe_, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Yes. The Lastraeas, and all their family, have the fruit in those
+little round spots, each with its own covering; that is their mark."
+
+"It is so funny that plants should have families," said Julia. "Now is
+this one of the family, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Certainly; that is a Cystopteris."
+
+"It's a dear little thing! Where did you get it, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I do not remember. They grow pretty nearly all over; you find them on
+rocks, and walls."
+
+"_I_ don't find them," said Julia. "I wish I could. Now what is that?"
+
+"Another of the family, but not a Cystopteris. That is the Holly fern.
+Do you see how stiff and prickly it is? That was a troublesome one to
+manage. I gathered it on a high mountain in Wales, I think."
+
+"Are high mountains good places?"
+
+"For the mountain ferns. That is another Lastraea you have now; that is
+very elegant. That grows on mountains too, but also on many other
+places; shoots up in elegant tufts almost a yard high. I have seen it
+very beautiful. When the fruit is ripe, the indusium is something of a
+lilac colour, spotting the frond in double rows--as you see it there. I
+have seen these Lastraeas and others, growing in great profusion on a
+wild place in Devonshire, in the neighbourhood of the rushing torrent
+of a river. The spray flew up on the rocks and stones along its banks,
+keeping them moist, and sometimes overflowed them; and there in the
+vegetable matter that had by little and little collected, there was
+such a shew of ferns as I have not often seen. Another Lastraea grew, I
+should think, five feet high; and this one, and the Lady fern. Turn the
+next sheet--there it is. That is the Lady fern."
+
+"How perfectly beautiful!" Julia exclaimed. "Is that a Lastraea too?"
+
+Mr. Rhys laughed a little as he answered "No." Until then his voice had
+kept the quiet even tone of feeble strength.
+
+"Why is it called Lady fern?"
+
+"I do not know. Perhaps because it is so delicate in its
+structure--perhaps because it is so tender. It does not bear being
+broken from its root."
+
+"But I think Eleanor is as strong as anybody," said Julia.
+
+"Don't you remember how ill she was, only from having wetted her feet,
+last summer?" said Mr. Rhys with perfect gravity.
+
+"Well, what is that?" said Julia, not liking the inference they were
+coming to.
+
+"That is a little fern that loves the wet. It grows by
+waterfalls--those are its homes. It grows close to the fall, where it
+will be constantly watered by the spray from it; sometimes this little
+half-brother it has, the Oak fern, is found there along with it. They
+are elegant species."
+
+"It must be nice to go to the waterfalls and climb up to get them,"
+said Julia. "What do you call these little wet beauties, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Polypodies."
+
+"Polypodies! Now, Mr. Rhys,--O what is this? This is prettiest of all."
+
+"Yes, one of the very prettiest. I found that in a cave, a wet cave, by
+the sea. That is the sort of home it likes."
+
+"In Wales?"
+
+"In Wales I have found it, and elsewhere; in the south of England; but
+always by the sea; in places where I have seen a great many other
+beautiful things."
+
+"By the sea, Mr. Rhys? Why I have been there, and I did not see
+anything but the waves and the sand and the rocks."
+
+"You did not know where to look."
+
+"Where did you look?"
+
+"Under the rocks;--and in them."
+
+"_In_ the rocks, sir?"
+
+"In their clefts and hollows and caves. In caves which I could only
+reach in a boat, or by going in at low tide; then I saw things more
+beautiful than a fairy palace, Julia."
+
+"What sort of things?"
+
+"Animals--and plants."
+
+"Beautiful animals?"
+
+"Very beautiful."
+
+"Well I wish you would take me with you, Mr. Rhys. I would not mind
+wetting my feet. I will be a Hard fern--not a Lady fern. Eleanor shall
+be the lady. O Mr. Rhys, won't you hate to leave England?"
+
+"There are plenty of beautiful things where I am going, Julia--if I get
+well."
+
+"But the people are so bad!"
+
+"That is why I want to go to them."
+
+"But what can you do to them?"
+
+"I can tell them of the Lord Jesus, Julia. They have never heard of
+him; that is why they are so evil."
+
+"Maybe they won't believe you, Mr. Rhys."
+
+"Maybe they will. But the Lord has commanded me to go, all the same."
+
+"How, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+He answered in the beautiful words of Paul--"How shall they believe on
+him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a
+preacher?" There was a sorrowful depth in his tones, speaking to
+himself rather than to his little listener.
+
+"Mr. Rhys, they are such dreadfully bad people, they might kill you,
+and eat you."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you not afraid?"
+
+"No."
+
+There is strangely much sometimes expressed, one can hardly say how, in
+the tone of a single word. So it was with this word, even to the ears
+of Eleanor in the next room. It was round and sweet, untrembling, with
+something like a vibration of joy in its low utterance. It was but a
+word, said in answer to a child's idle question; it pierced like a
+barbed arrow through all the involutions of another heart, down into
+the core. It was an accent of strength and quiet and fearless security,
+though spoken by lips that were very uncertain of their tenure of life.
+It gave the chord that Eleanor wanted sounded in her own soul; where
+now there was no harmony at all, but sometimes a jarring clang, and
+sometimes an echo of fear.
+
+"But Mr. Rhys, aren't they very _dreadful_, over there where you want
+to go?" Julia said.
+
+"Very dreadful; more than you can possibly imagine, or than I can,
+perhaps."
+
+"Well I hope you won't go. Mr. Rhys, I think Mrs. Williams stays a
+great while--it is time the kettle was on for your tea."
+
+Eleanor had hardly time to be astonished at this most novel display of
+careful housewifery on her little sister's part, whom indeed she would
+have supposed to be ignorant that such a thing as a kettle existed;
+when Julia came bounding into the outer room to look after the article,
+or after the old dame who should take charge of it. She stopped short,
+and Eleanor raised her head. Julia's exclamation was hearty.
+
+"Hush!" whispered Eleanor.
+
+"What should I hush for? there's nobody here but Mr. Rhys in the other
+room; and he was saying the other day that he wanted to see you."
+
+Back she bounded. "Mr. Rhys, here's Eleanor in the other room, and no
+Mrs. Williams."
+
+Eleanor heard the quiet answer--"Tell your sister, that as I cannot
+walk out to see her, perhaps she will do me the favour to come in here."
+
+There was nothing better, in the circumstances; indeed Eleanor felt she
+must go in to explain herself; she only waited for Julia's brisk
+summons--"Eleanor, Mr. Rhys wants to see you!"--and gathering up her
+habit she walked into the other room as steadily as if she had all the
+right in the world to be there; bearing herself a little proudly, for a
+sudden thought of Mr. Carlisle came over her. Mr. Rhys was lying on the
+couch, as she had seen him before; but she was startled at the paleness
+of his face, made more startling by the very dark eyebrows and bushy
+hair. He raised himself on his elbow as she came in, and Eleanor could
+not refuse to give him her hand.
+
+"I ought to apologise for not rising to receive you," he said,--"but
+you see I cannot help it."
+
+"I am very sorry, Mr. Rhys. Are you less strong than you were a few
+weeks ago?"
+
+"I seem to have no strength at all now," he answered with a half laugh.
+"Will you not sit down? Julia, suppose you coax the fire to burn a
+little brighter, for your sister's welcome?"
+
+"She can do it herself," said Julia. "I am going to see to the fire in
+the other room."
+
+"No, that would be inhospitable," Mr. Rhys said with a smile; "and I do
+not believe your sister knows how, Julia. She has not learned as many
+things as you have."
+
+Julia gave her friend a very loving look and went at the fire without
+more words. Eleanor sat under a strange spell. She hardly knew her
+sister in that look; and there was about the pale pure face that lay on
+the couch, with its shining eyes, an atmosphere of influence that
+subdued and enthralled her. It was with an effort that she roused
+herself to give the intended explanation of her being in that place.
+Mr. Rhys heard her throughout.
+
+"I am very glad you were thrown," he said; "since it has procured me
+the pleasure of seeing you."
+
+"Mr. Carlisle will never let you ride alone again--that is one thing!"
+said Julia. And having finished the fire and her exclamatory comments
+together, she ran off into the other room. Her last words had called up
+a deep flush on Eleanor's face. Mr. Rhys waited till it had passed
+quite away, then he asked very calmly, and putting the question also
+with his bright eyes,
+
+"How have you been, since I saw you last?"
+
+The eyes were bright, not with the specular brightness of many eyes,
+but with a sort of fulness of light and keenness of intelligent vision.
+Eleanor knew perfectly well to what they referred. She shrank within
+herself, cowered, and hesitated. Then made a brave effort and threw
+back the question.
+
+"How have _you_ been, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I have been well," he said. "You know it is the privilege of the
+children of God, to glory in tribulations. That is what I am doing."
+
+"Have you been so very ill?" asked Eleanor.
+
+"My illness gives me no pain," he answered; "it only incapacitates me
+for doing anything. And at first that was more grievous to me than you
+can understand. With so much to do, and with my heart in the work, it
+seemed as if my Master had laid me aside and said, 'You shall do no
+more; you shall lie there and not speak my name to men any longer.' It
+gave me great pain at first--I was tempted to rebel; but now I know
+that patience worketh experience. I thank him for the lessons he has
+taught me. I am willing to go out and be useful, or to lie here and be
+comparatively useless,--just as my Lord will!"
+
+The slow deliberate utterance, which testified at once of physical
+weakness and mental power; the absolute repose of the bright face,
+touched Eleanor profoundly. She sat spell-bound, forgetting her
+overthrow and her fatigue and everything else; only conscious of her
+struggling thoughts and cares of the weeks past and of the presence and
+influence of the one person she knew who had the key to them.
+
+"Having so few opportunities," he went on, "you will not be surprised
+that I hail every one that offers, of speaking in my Mater's name. I
+know that he has summoned you to his service, Miss Powle--is he your
+Master yet?"
+
+Eleanor pushed her chair round, grating it on the floor, so as to turn
+her face a little away, and answered, "No."
+
+"You have heard his call to you?"
+
+Eleanor felt her whole heart convulsed in the struggle to answer or not
+answer this question. With great difficulty she kept herself outwardly
+perfectly quiet; and at last said hoarsely, looking away from Mr. Rhys
+into the fire,
+
+"How do you know anything about it?"
+
+"Have you yielded obedience to his commands?" he said, disregarding her
+words.
+
+"I do not know what they are--" Eleanor answered.
+
+"Have you sought to find them out?"
+
+She hesitated, and said "no." Her face was completely turned away from
+him now; but the tender intonation of the next words thrilled through
+every nerve of her heart and brain.
+
+"Then your head is uncovered yet by that helmet of security which you
+were anxious about a little time ago?"
+
+It was the speech of somebody who saw right into her heart and knew all
+that was going on there; what was the use of holding out and trying to
+maintain appearances? Eleanor's head sank; her heart gave way; she
+burst into tears. Now was her chance, she thought; the ice was broken;
+she would ask of Mr. Rhys all she wanted to know, for he could tell
+her. Before another word was spoken, in rushed Julia.
+
+"I've got that going," she said; "you shall have some tea directly, Mr.
+Rhys. I hope Mrs. Williams will stay away till I get through. Now it
+will take a little while--come here, Eleanor, and look at these
+beautiful ferns."
+
+Eleanor was sitting upright again; she had driven the tears back. She
+hoped for another chance of speaking, when Julia should go to get her
+tea ready. In the mean while she moved her seat, as her sister desired
+her, to look over the ferns. This brought her into the neighbourhood of
+the couch, where Julia sat on a low bench, turning the great sheets of
+paper on the floor before her. It brought Eleanor's face into full
+view, too, she knew; but now she did not care for that. Julia went on
+rapturously with the ferns, asking information as before; and in Mr.
+Rhys's answers there was a grave tone of preoccupation which thrilled
+on Eleanor's ear and kept her own mind to the point where it had been.
+
+"Are there ferns out there where you are going if you get well, Mr.
+Rhys? new ones?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it."
+
+"Then you will gather them and dry them, won't you?"
+
+"I think it is very possible I may."
+
+"I wish you wouldn't go! O Mr. Rhys, tell Eleanor about that place; she
+don't know about it. Tell her what you told me."
+
+He did; perhaps to fill up the time and take Eleanor's attention from
+herself for the moment. He gave a short account of the people in
+question; a people of fine physical and even fine mental development,
+for savages; inhabiting a country of great beauty and rich natural
+resources; but at the same time sunk in the most abject depths of moral
+debasement. A country where the "works of the devil" had reached their
+utmost vigour; where men lived but for vile ends, and took the lives of
+their fellow-men and each other with the utmost ruthlessness and
+carelessness and horrible cruelty; and more than that, where they
+dishonoured human life by abusing, and even eating, the forms in which
+human life had residence. It was a terrible picture Mr. Rhys drew, in a
+few words; so terrible, that it did take Eleanor's attention from all
+else for the time.
+
+"Is other life safe there?" she asked. "Do the white people who go
+there feel themselves secure?"
+
+"I presume they do not."
+
+"Then why go to such a horrible place?"
+
+"Why not?" he asked. "The darker they are, the more they want light."
+
+"But it is to jeopardize the very life you wish to use for them."
+
+Mr. Rhys was silent for a moment, and when he spoke it was only to make
+a remark about the fern which lay displayed on the floor before Julia.
+
+"That Hart's-tongue," said he, "I gathered from a cavern on the
+sea-coast--where it grew hanging down from the roof,--quantities of it."
+
+"In a dark cavern, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia.
+
+"Not in a dark part of the cavern. No, it grew only where it could have
+the light.--Miss Powle, I am of David's mind--'In God I have put my
+trust; I will not fear what flesh can do to me.'"
+
+He looked up at Eleanor as he spoke. The slight smile, the look, in
+Eleanor's mood of mind, were like a coal of fire dropped into her
+heart. It burned. She said nothing; sat still and looked at the fern on
+the floor.
+
+"But will you not feel _afraid_, Mr. Rhys?" said Julia.
+
+"Why no, Julia. I shall have nothing to be afraid of. You forget who
+will be with me."
+
+Julia with that jumped up and ran off to see about her fire and kettle
+in the other room. Eleanor and Mr. Rhys were left alone. The latter did
+not speak. Eleanor longed to hear more, and made a great effort.
+
+"I do not understand you," she said hoarsely, for in the stir of her
+feelings she could not command a clear voice. "You say, He will be with
+you. What do you mean? We cannot see him now. How will he be with you?"
+
+She had raised her eyes, and she saw a strange softness and light pass
+over the face she was looking at. Indefinable, unaccountable, she yet
+saw it; a shining from the spiritual glory within, which Eleanor
+recognized, though she had never seen it before. Fire and water were in
+those bright eyes at once; and Eleanor guessed the latter evidence of
+emotion was for his ignorant questioner. She had no heart left. By such
+a flash of revelation the light from one spirit shewed the other its
+darkness; dimly known to her before; but now, once and forever, she
+knew where _she_ stood and where _he_ stood, and what the want of her
+life must be, till she should stand there too. Her face shewed but a
+little of the work going on with heavings and strugglings in her mind;
+yet doubtless it was as readable to her companion as his had been to
+her. She could only hear at the time--afterwards she pondered--the
+words of his reply.
+
+"I cannot shew him to you;--but he will shew himself to you, if you
+seek him."
+
+There was no chance for more words; Julia came in again; and was
+thereafter bustling in and out, getting her cup of tea ready. Eleanor
+could not meet her little sister's looks and probable words; she turned
+hastily from the ferns and the couch and put herself at the window with
+her back to everybody. There was a wild cry in her heart--"What shall I
+do! what shall I do!" One thing she must have, or be miserable; how was
+she to make it her own. As soon as she turned her face from that
+cottage room and what was in it, she must meet the full blast of
+opposing currents; unfavourable, adverse, overwhelming. Her light was
+not strong enough to stand that blast, Eleanor knew; it would be blown
+out directly;--and she left in darkness. In a desperate sense of this,
+a desperate resolve to overcome it somehow, a despairing powerlessness
+to contend, she sat at the window seeing nothing. She was brought to
+herself at last by Julia's, "Eleanor--Mr. Rhys wants you to take a cup
+of tea." Eleanor turned round mechanically, took the cup, and changed
+her place for one near the fire.
+
+She never forgot that scene. Julia's part in it gave it a most strange
+air to Eleanor; so did her own. Julia was moving about, quite at home,
+preparing cups of tea for everybody, herself included; and waiting upon
+Mr. Rhys with a steady care and affectionateness which evidently met
+with an affectionate return. The cottage room with its plain
+furniture--the little common blue cups in which the tea was served--the
+fire in the chimney on the coarse iron fire-dogs--the reclining figure
+on the couch, and her own riding-habit in the middle of the room; were
+all stereotyped on Eleanor's memory for ever. The tea refreshed her
+very much.
+
+"How are you going to get home, Miss Powle?" asked her host. "Have you
+sent for a carriage?"
+
+"No--I saw nobody to send--I can walk it quite well now," said Eleanor.
+And feeling that the time was come, she set down her tea-cup and came
+to bid her host good-bye; though she shrank from doing it. She gave him
+her hand again, but she had no words to speak.
+
+"Good-bye," said he. "I am sorry I am not well enough to come and see
+you; I would take that liberty."
+
+"And so I shall never see him again," thought Eleanor as she went out
+of the cottage; "and nobody will ever speak any more words to me of
+what I want to hear; and what will become of me! What chance shall I
+have very soon--what chance have I now--to attend to these things? to
+get right? and what chance would all these things have with Mr.
+Carlisle? I could manage my mother. What will become of me!"
+
+Eleanor walked and thought, both hard, till she got past the village;
+finding herself alone, thought got the better of haste, and she threw
+herself down under a tree to collect some order and steadiness in her
+mind if possible before other interests and distractions broke in. She
+sat with her face buried in her hands a good while. And one conclusion
+Eleanor's thoughts came to; that there was a thing more needful than
+other things; and that she would hold that one thing first in her mind,
+and keep it first in her endeavours, and make all her arrangements
+accordingly. Eleanor was young and untried, but her mind had a
+tolerable back-bone of stiffness when once aroused to take action; her
+conclusion meant something. She rose up, then; looked to see how far
+down the sun was; and turning to pursue her walk vigorously--found Mr.
+Carlisle at her side. He was as much surprised as she.
+
+"Why Eleanor! what are you doing here?"
+
+"Trying to get home. I have been thrown from my pony."
+
+"Thrown! where?"
+
+"Away on the moor--I don't know where. I never was there before. I am
+not hurt."
+
+"Then how come you here?"
+
+"Walked here, sir."
+
+"And where are your servants?"
+
+"You forget. I am only Eleanor Powle--I do not go with a train after
+me."
+
+But she was obliged to give an account of the whole affair.
+
+"You must not go alone in that way again," said he decidedly. "Sit down
+again."
+
+"Look where the sun is. I am going home," said Eleanor.
+
+"Sit down. I am going to send for a carriage."
+
+Eleanor protested, in vain. Mr. Carlisle sent his groom on to the Lodge
+with the message, and the heels of the horses were presently clattering
+in the distance. Eleanor stood still.
+
+"I do not want rest," she insisted. "I am ready to walk home, and able.
+I have been resting."
+
+"How long?"
+
+"A long while. I went into Mrs. Williams's cottage and rested there. I
+would rather go on."
+
+He put her hand upon his arm and turned towards the Lodge, but
+permitted her after all to move only at the gentlest of rates.
+
+"You will not go out in this way again?" he said; and the words were
+more an expression of his own will than an enquiry as to hers.
+
+"There is no reason why I should not," Eleanor answered.
+
+"I do not like that you should be walking over moors and taking shelter
+in cottages, without protection."
+
+"I can protect myself. I know what is due to me."
+
+"You must remember what is due to me," he said laughing, and stopping
+her lips when she would have replied. Eleanor walked along, silenced,
+and for the moment subdued. The wish was in her heart, to have let Mr.
+Carlisle know in some degree what bent her spirit was taking; to have
+given him some hint of what he must expect in her when she became his
+wife; she could not find how to do it. She could not see the way to
+begin. So far was Mr. Carlisle from the whole world of religious
+interests and concerns, that to introduce it to him seemed like
+bringing opposite poles together. She walked by his side very silent
+and doubtful. He thought she was tired; put her into the carriage with
+great tenderness when it came; and at parting from her in the evening
+desired her to go early to rest.
+
+Eleanor was very little likely to do it. The bodily adventures of the
+day had left little trace, or little that was regarded; the mental
+journey had been much more lasting in its effects. That night there was
+a young moon, and Eleanor sat at her window, looking out into the
+shadowy indistinctness of the outer world, while she tried to resolve
+the confusion of her mind into something like visible order and
+definiteness. Two points were clear, and seemed to loom up larger and
+clearer the longer she thought about them; her supreme need of that
+which she had not, the faith and deliverance of religion; and the
+adverse influence and opposition of Mr. Carlisle in all the efforts she
+might make to secure or maintain it. And under all this lurked a
+thought that was like a serpent for its unrecognized coming and going
+and for the sting it left,--a wish that she could put off her marriage.
+No new thing in one way; Eleanor had never been willing it should be
+fixed for so early a day; nevertheless she had accepted and submitted
+to it, and become accustomed to the thought of it. Now repugnance
+started up anew and with fresh energy. She could hardly understand
+herself; her thoughts were a great turmoil; they went over and over
+some of the experiences of the day, with an aimless dwelling upon them;
+yet Eleanor was in general no dreamer. The words of Mr. Rhys, that had
+pierced her with a sense of duty and need--the looks, that even in the
+remembrance wrung her heart with their silent lesson-bearing--the
+sympathy testified for herself, which intensified all her own
+emotions,--and in contrast, the very tender and affectionate but
+supreme manner of Mr. Carlisle, in whose power she felt she was,--the
+alternation of these images and the thoughts they gave rise to, kept
+Eleanor at her window, until the young moon went down behind the
+western horizon and the night was dark with only stars. So dark she
+felt, and miserable; and over and over and over again her cry of that
+afternoon was re-echoed,--"What shall I do! what will become of me!"
+
+Upon one thing she fixed. That Mr. Carlisle should know that he was not
+going to find a gay wife in her, but one whose mind was set upon
+somewhat else and upon another way of life. This would be very
+distasteful to him; and he should know it. How she would manage to let
+him know, Eleanor left to circumstances; but she went to bed with that
+point determined.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+IN THE BARN.
+
+
+  "It hath been the longest night
+  That e'er I watched, and the most heaviest."
+
+
+Good resolutions are sometimes excellent things, but they are
+susceptible of overturns. Eleanor's met with one.
+
+She was sitting with Mr. Carlisle the very next day, in a disturbed
+mood of mind; for he and her mother had been laying plans and making
+dispositions with reference to her approaching marriage; plans and
+dispositions in which her voice was not asked, and in which matters
+were carried rapidly forward towards their consummation. Eleanor felt
+that bands and chains were getting multiplied round her, fastening her
+more and more in the possession of her captor, while her own mind was
+preparing what would be considered resistance to the authority thus
+secured. The sooner she spoke the better; but how to begin? She bent
+over her embroidery frame with cheeks that gradually grew burning hot.
+The soft wind that blew in from the open window at her side would not
+cool them. Mr. Carlisle came and sat down beside her.
+
+"What does all this mean?" said he laughingly, drawing his finger
+softly over Eleanor's rich cheek.
+
+"It's hot!" said Eleanor.
+
+"Is it? I have the advantage of you. It is the perfection of a day to
+me."
+
+"Eleanor," cried Julia, bounding in through the window, "Mr. Rhys is
+better to-day. He says so."
+
+"Is he?" said Eleanor.
+
+"Yes; you know how weak he was yesterday; he is not quite so weak
+to-day."
+
+"Who is Mr. Rhys?" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"O he is nice! Eleanor says nice rhymes to Rhys. Wasn't my tea nice,
+Eleanor? We had Miss Broadus to tea this afternoon. We had you
+yesterday and Miss Broadus to-day. I wonder who will come next."
+
+"Is this a sick friend you have been visiting?" said Mr. Carlisle, as
+Julia ran off, having accomplished the discomfiture of her sister.
+
+"No, not at all--only I stopped at Mrs. Williams' cottage to rest
+yesterday; and he lives there."
+
+"You saw him?"
+
+"Yes; Julia found me, and I could not help seeing him."
+
+"But you took _tea_ there, Eleanor? With whom?"
+
+"I took tea with Julia and her sick friend. Why not? She was making a
+cup of tea for him and gave me one. I was very glad of it. There was no
+one else in the house."
+
+"How is your sister allowed to do such things?"
+
+"For a sick friend, Mr. Carlisle? I think it is well anybody's part to
+do such things."
+
+"I think I will forbid embroidery frames at the Priory, if they are to
+keep me from seeing your eyes," said he, with one arm drawing her back
+from the frame and with the other hand taking her fingers from it, and
+looking into her face, but kissing her. "Now tell me, who is this
+gentleman?"
+
+Eleanor was irritated; yet the assumption of authority, calm and proud
+as it was, had a mixture of tenderness which partly soothed her. The
+demand however was imperious. Eleanor answered.
+
+"He was Alfred's tutor--you have seen him--he has been very ill all
+summer. He is a sick man, staying in the village."
+
+"And what have you to do with such a person?"
+
+"Nothing in the world! I stopped there to rest myself, because I was
+too tired to walk home."
+
+He smiled at her kindling indignation, and gave her a kiss by way of
+forgiveness for it; then went on gravely.
+
+"You have been to that cottage before, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"I went with Julia when she was carrying some refreshments to her sick
+friend. I will do that for anybody, Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Say that over again," he said calmly, but with a manner that shewed he
+would have it. And Eleanor could not resist.
+
+"I would do that for anybody, Macintosh," she said gently, laying her
+hand upon his arm.
+
+"No, darling. You shall send nurses and supplies to all the folk in the
+kingdom--if you will--but you shall pay such honour as this to nobody
+but me."
+
+"Mr. Carlisle," said Eleanor rousing again, "if I am not worthy your
+trust, I am not fit to do either you or anybody else honour."
+
+She had straightened herself up to face him as she said this, but it
+was mortifying to feel how little she could rouse him. He only drew her
+back into his arms, folding her close and kissing her again and again.
+
+"You are naughty," he said, "but you are good. You are as sweet as a
+rose, Eleanor. My wife will obey me, in a few things, and she shall
+command me in all others. Darling, I wish you not to be seen in the
+village again alone. Let some one attend you, if I am not at hand."
+
+He suffered her to return to her embroidery; but though Eleanor's heart
+beat and her cheek was flushed with contending feelings, she could not
+find a word to say. Her heart rebelled against the authority held over
+her; nevertheless it subdued her; she dared not bring her rebellion
+into open light. She shrank from that; and hid now in her own thoughts
+all the new revelations she had meant to draw forth for Mr. Carlisle's
+entertainment. Now was no time. In fact Eleanor's consciousness made
+her afraid that if she mentioned her religious purposes and uneasiness,
+this man's acuteness would catch at the connecting link between the new
+dereliction of duty and the former which had been just rebuked. That
+would lay her open to imputations and suspicions too dishonouring to be
+risked, and impossible to disprove, however false. She must hold her
+tongue for the present; and Eleanor worked on at her embroidery, her
+fingers pulling at it energetically, while feeling herself much more
+completely in another's power than it suited her nature to be. Somehow
+at this time the vision of Rythdale Priory was not the indemnification
+it had seemed to her before. Eleanor liked Mr. Carlisle, but she did
+not like to be governed by him; although with an odd inconsistency, it
+was that very power of government which formed part of his attraction.
+Certainly women are strange creatures. Meanwhile she tugged on at her
+work with a hot cheek and a divided mind, and a wisely silent tongue;
+and M. Carlisle sat by and made himself very busy with her, finding out
+ways of being both pleasant and useful. Finally he put a stop to the
+embroidery and engaged Eleanor in a game of chess with him; began to
+teach her how to play it, and succeeded in getting her thoroughly
+interested and diverted from her troublesome thoughts. They returned as
+soon as he left her.
+
+"I can never speak to him about my religious feelings," mused Eleanor
+as she walked slowly to her own room,--"never! I almost think, if I
+did, he would find means to cheat me out of them, in spite of all my
+determinations--until it would be too late. What is to become of me?
+What a double part I shall play now--my heart all one way, my outer
+life all another. It must be so. I can shew these thoughts to no one.
+Will they live, shut up in the dark so?"
+
+Mr. Rhys's words about "seeking" recurred to her. Eleanor did not know
+how, and felt strange. "I could follow his prayers, if I heard them,"
+she said to herself;--"I do not know how to set about it. I suppose
+reading the Bible is good--that and good books."
+
+And that Eleanor tried. Good books however were by and by given up;
+none that she had in the least suited her wants; only the Bible proved
+both a light and a power to her. It had a great fascination for
+Eleanor, and it sometimes made her hopeful; at any rate she persevered
+in reading it, through gloom and cheer; and her mind when she was alone
+knew much more of the former condition than of the latter. When not
+alone, she was in a whirl of other occupations and interests. The
+preparations for her marriage went on diligently; Eleanor saw it and
+knew it, and would not help though she could not hinder. But she was
+very far from happy. The style and title of Lady Rythdale had faded in
+her imagination; other honour and glory, though dimly seen, seemed more
+desirable to Eleanor now, and seemed endangered by this. She was very
+uneasy. She struggled between the remaining sense of pride, which
+sometimes arose to life, and this thought of something better; at other
+times she felt as if her marriage with Mr. Carlisle would doom her
+forever to go without any treasure but what an earthly coronet well
+lined with ermine might symbolize and ensure. Meanwhile weeks flew by;
+while Eleanor studied the Bible and sought for light in her solitary
+hours at night, and joined in all Mr. Carlisle's plans of gayety by
+day. September and October were both gone. November's short days begun.
+And when the days should be at the shortest--"Then," thought Eleanor,
+"my fate will be settled. Mr. Carlisle will have me; and I can never
+disobey him. I cannot now."
+
+November reached the middle, and there wanted but little more than a
+month to the wedding-day. Eleanor sat one morning in her garden
+parlour, which a mild day made pleasant; working by the glass door. The
+old thought, "What will become of me!" was in her heart. A shadow
+darkened the door. Eleanor looked up, fearing to see Mr. Carlisle; it
+was her little sister Julia.
+
+Julia opened the door and came in. "It is nice in the garden, Eleanor,"
+she said. "The chrysanthemums are so beautiful as I never saw
+them--white and yellow and orange and rose-colour, and a hundred
+colours. They are beautiful, Eleanor."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"May I have a great bunch of them to take to Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"Have what you like. I thought you used to take them without asking."
+
+Julia looked serious.
+
+"I wish I could go down to the village to-night, I know"--she said.
+
+"_To-night!_ What do you wish that for?"
+
+"Because, Mr. Rhys is going to preach; and I do want to go so much; but
+I can't."
+
+"Going to preach!--why is he so well as that?"
+
+"He isn't well at all," said Julia,--"not what you would call well. But
+he says he is well. He is white and weak enough yet; and I don't think
+that is being well. He can't go to Lily Dale nor to Rythdale; so some
+of the people are coming to Wiglands."
+
+"Where is he going to preach?"
+
+"Where do you think? In Mr. Brooks's barn. They won't let him preach at
+the inn, and he can't have the church; and I _do_ want to see how he
+can preach in the barn!"
+
+Mr. Brooks was a well-to-do farmer, a tenant of the Rythdale estate,
+living near the road to the old priory and half a mile from the village
+of Wiglands. A consuming desire seized Eleanor to do as her little
+sister had said--hear Mr. Rhys preach. The desire was so violent that
+it half frightened her with the possibility of its fulfilment.
+
+She told Julia that it was an absurd wish, and impracticable, and
+dismissed her; and then her whole mind focussed itself on Mr. Brooks's
+barn. Eleanor saw nothing else through the morning, whatever she was
+doing. It was impossible! yet it was a first, last, and only chance,
+perhaps in her life, of hearing the words of truth so spoken as she
+knew they would be in that place that night. Besides, she had a craving
+curiosity to know _how_ they would be spoken. One month more, Eleanor
+once securely lodged in Rythdale Priory, and her chance of hearing any
+words whatever spoken in a barn, was over for ever; unless indeed she
+condescended to become an inspector of agricultural proceedings. Yet
+she said to herself over and over that she had no chance now; that her
+being present was a matter of wild impossibility; she said it and
+re-said it, and with every time a growing consciousness that
+impossibility should not stop her. At last impossibility shaped itself
+into a plan.
+
+"I am going down to see Jane Lewis, mamma," was Eleanor's announcement
+at luncheon.
+
+"To day, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"But Mr. Carlisle will be here, and he will not like it."
+
+"He will have enough of me by and by, ma'am. I shall may be never have
+another chance of taking care of Jane. I know she wants to see me, and
+I am going to-day. And if she wants me very much, I shall stay all
+night; so you need not send."
+
+"What will Mr. Carlisle say to all that?"
+
+"He will say nothing to it, if you do not give him an opportunity,
+mamma. I am going, at all events."
+
+"Eleanor, I am afraid you have almost too much independence, for one
+who is almost a married woman."
+
+"Is independence a quality entirely given up, ma'am, when 'the ring is
+on'?"
+
+"Certainly! I thought you knew that. You must make up your mind to it.
+You are a noble creature, Eleanor; but my comfort is that Mr. Carlisle
+will know how to manage you. I never could, to my satisfaction. I
+observe he has brought you in pretty well."
+
+Eleanor left the room; and if the tide of her independence could have
+run higher, her mother's words would have furnished the necessary
+provocative.
+
+Jane Lewis was a poor girl in the village; the daughter of one who had
+been Eleanor's nurse, and who now old and infirm, and unable to do much
+for herself or others, watched the declining days of her child without
+the power to give them much relief. Jane was dying with consumption.
+The other member of the family was the old father, still more helpless;
+past work and dependent on another child for all but the house they
+lived in. That, in earlier days, had been made their own. Eleanor was
+their best friend, and many a day, and night too, had been a sunbeam of
+comfort in the poor house. She now, when the day was far enough on its
+wane, provided herself with a little basket of grapes, ordered her
+pony, and rode swiftly down to the village; not without attendance this
+time, though confessing bitterly to herself the truth of her mother's
+allegations. At the cottage door she took the basket; ordered the pony
+should come for her next morning at eight o'clock, and went into the
+cottage; feeling as if she had for a little space turned her back upon
+troublesome people and things and made herself free. She went in
+softly, and was garrulously welcomed by her old nurse and her husband.
+It was so long since they had seen her! and she was going to be such a
+great lady! and they knew she would not forget them nevertheless. It
+was not flattery. It was true speech. Eleanor asked for Jane, and with
+her basket went on into the upper little room where the sick girl lay.
+There felt, when she had got above the ground floor, as if she was
+tolerably safe.
+
+It was a little low room under the thatch, in which Eleanor now hid
+herself. A mere large closet of a room, though it boasted of a
+fireplace, happily. A small lattice under the shelving roof let in what
+it could of the light of a dying November day. The bed with its sick
+occupant, two chairs, a little table, and a bit of carpet on the floor,
+were all the light revealed. Eleanor's welcome here was also most
+sincere; less talkative, it was yet more glad than that given by the
+old couple down stairs; a light shone all over the pale face of the
+sick girl, and the weary eye kindled, at sight of her friend.
+
+Extreme neatness was not the characteristic of this little low room,
+simply for want of able hands to ensure it. Eleanor's first work was to
+set Jane to eating grapes; her next, to put the place in tidy order.
+"Lady Rythdale shall be useful once more in her life," she thought. She
+brushed up the floor, swept the hearth, demolished cobwebs on the
+walls, and rubbed down the chairs. She had borrowed an apron and cap
+from old Mrs. Lewis. The sick girl watched her with eager eyes.
+
+"I can't bear to see you a doing of that, Miss Eleanor," she exclaimed.
+
+"Hush, Jane! Eat your grapes."
+
+"You've a kind heart," said the girl sighing; "and it's good when them
+that has the power has the feelings."
+
+"How are your nights now, Jane?"
+
+"They're tedious--I lie awake so; and then I get coughing. I am always
+so glad to see the light come in the mornings! but it's long a coming
+now. I can't get nobody to hear me at night if I want anything."
+
+"Do you often want something?"
+
+"Times, I do. Times, I get out of wanting, because I can't have--and
+times I only want worse."
+
+"_What_ do you want, Jane?"
+
+"Well, Miss Eleanor,--I conceit I want to see somebody. The nights is
+very long--and in the dark and by myself--I gets feared."
+
+To Eleanor's dismay she perceived Jane was weeping.
+
+"What in the world are you afraid of, Jane? I never saw you so before."
+
+"'Tisn't of anything in _this_ world, Miss Eleanor," said Jane. Her
+face was still covered with her hands, and the grapes neglected.
+
+Eleanor was utterly confounded. Had Jane caught her feeling? or was
+this something else?
+
+"Are you afraid of spirits, Jane?"
+
+"No, Miss Eleanor."
+
+"What is it, then? Jane, this is something new. I never saw you feeling
+so before."
+
+"No, ma'am--and I didn't. But there come a gentleman to see me, ma'am."
+
+"A gentleman to see you? What gentleman?"
+
+"I don't know, Miss Eleanor; only he was tall, and pale-like, and black
+hair. He asked me if I was ready to die--and I said I didn't know what
+it was I wanted if I wasn't; and he told me---- Oh, I know I'll never
+have rest no more!"
+
+A burst of weeping followed these words. Eleanor felt as if a
+thunderbolt had broken at her feet; so terrible to her, in her own
+mood, was this revelation of a kindred feeling. She stood by the
+bedside, dismayed, shocked, a little disposed to echo Jane's despairing
+prophecy in her own case.
+
+"Did he say no more to you, Jane?"
+
+"Yes, Miss Eleanor, he did; and every word he said made me feel worser.
+His two eyes was like two swords going through me; and they went
+through me so softly, ma'am, I couldn't abear it. They killed me."
+
+"But, Jane, he did not mean to kill you. What did he say?"
+
+"I don't know, Miss Eleanor--he said a many things; but they only made
+me feel----how I ain't fit----"
+
+There was no more talking. The words were broken off by sobs. Eleanor
+turned aside to the fire-place and began to make up the fire, in a
+blank confusion and distress; feeling, to use an Arabic phrase, as if
+the sky had fallen. She could give no comfort; she wanted it herself.
+The best she could think of, was the suggestion that the gentleman
+would come again, and that then he would make all things plain. Would
+he come while Eleanor was there, that afternoon? What a chance! But she
+remembered it was very unlikely. He was to preach in the evening; he
+would want to keep all his strength for that. And now the question
+arose, how should she get to the barn.
+
+The first thing was to soothe Jane. Eleanor succeeded in doing that
+after a while. She made her a cup of tea and a piece of toast, and took
+some herself; and sat in the darkening light musing how she should do.
+One good thing was secure. She had not been followed up this afternoon,
+nor sent for home; both which disagreeables she had feared. Jane dozed,
+and she thought; and the twilight fell deeper and deeper.
+
+There was after all only one way in which Eleanor could accomplish her
+desire; though she turned the matter all round in her head before she
+would see it, or determine upon adopting it. No mortal that she knew
+could be trusted with the secret--if she meant to have it remain a
+secret: and that at all costs was Eleanor's desire. Julia might have
+been trusted, but Julia could not have been brought along. Eleanor was
+alone. She thought, and trembled, and made up her mind.
+
+The hour must be waited for when people from the village would be
+setting forth to go to Brooks' farm. It was dark then, except some
+light from the stars. Eleanor got out a bonnet of Jane's, which the
+owner would never use again; a close little straw bonnet; and tied over
+it a veil she had taken the precaution to bring. Her own hat and mantle
+she laid away out of sight, and wrapped round her instead a thick
+camlet cloak of the sick girl's, which enveloped her from head to feet.
+Pretty good disguise--thought Eleanor to herself. Mr. Carlisle would
+not find her out in this. But there was no danger of _his_ seeing her.
+She was all ready to steal out; when she suddenly recollected that she
+might be missed, and the old people in terror make a hue and cry after
+her. That would not do. She stripped off the bonnet again and awoke the
+sleeping girl.
+
+"Jane," she said bending over her, "I have somebody else to see--I am
+going out for a little while. I will be back and spend the night with
+you. Tell your mother to leave the door open for me, if she wishes to
+go to bed; and I will look after you. Now go to sleep again."
+
+Without waiting for Jane to think about it, Eleanor slipped out, bonnet
+in hand, and went softly down stairs. The old man was already gone to
+bed in a little inner chamber; the old mother sat dozing by the fire.
+Standing behind her Eleanor put on the bonnet, and then gently opening
+the house door, with one step was in the road. A moment stood still;
+but the next moment set off with quick, hasty steps.
+
+It was damp and dark; the stars were shining indeed, yet they shed but
+a glimmering and doubtful light upon Eleanor's doubtful proceeding. She
+knew it was such; her feet trembled and stumbled in her way, though
+that was as much with the fever of determination as with the hinderings
+of doubt. There was little occasion for bodily fear. People, she knew,
+would be going to the preaching, all along the way; she would not be
+alone either going or coming. Nevertheless it was dark, and she was
+where she had no business to be; and she hurried along rather nervously
+till she caught sight of one or two groups before her, evidently bent
+for the same place with herself. She slackened her footsteps then, so
+as to keep at a proper distance behind them, and felt that for the
+present she was secure. Yet, it was a wild, strange walk to Eleanor.
+Secure from personal harm she might be, and was, no doubt; but who
+could say what moral consequences might follow her proceeding. What if
+her mother knew it? what if Mr. Carlisle? Eleanor felt she was doing a
+very questionable thing; but the desire to do it on her part amounted
+to a necessity. She must hear these words that would be spoken in the
+barn to-night. They would be on the subject that of all others
+interested her, and spoken by the lips that of all others could alone
+speak to the purpose. So Eleanor felt; so was in some measure for her
+the truth; and amid all her sense of doubt and danger and inward
+trembling, there was a wild thrill of delight at accomplishing her
+object. She would hear--yes, she would hear--what Mr. Rhys had to say
+to the people that night. Nobody should ever know it; neither he nor
+others; but if they _did_, she would run all risks rather than be
+balked.
+
+It was a walk never to be forgotten. Alone, though near people that
+knew not she was near; in the darkness of night; the stars shewing only
+the black forms of trees and hedgerows, and a line of what could not be
+called light, where the road ran; keeping in the shadow of the hedge
+and hurrying along over the undiscerned footway;--it was a novel
+experience for one who had been all her life so tended and sheltered as
+she. It was strange and disagreeable. Waymarks did not seem familiar;
+distances seemed long. Eleanor wished the walk would come to an end.
+
+It did at last. The people,--there was a stream of them now pouring
+along the road, indeed so many that Eleanor was greatly surprised at
+them,--turned off into a field, within which at a few rods from the
+road stood the barn in question; at the door of which one or two lamps
+hung out shewed that something unusual was going on there. Mr. Brooks
+had several barns, the gables and roofs of which looked like a little
+settlement in the starlight, not far off; but this particular barn
+stood alone, and was probably known to the country people from former
+occasions; for they streamed towards it and filed in without any
+wavering or question. So Eleanor followed, trembling and wondering at
+herself; passed the curtain that hung at the door, and went in with the
+others.
+
+The place that received them was a great threshing-floor, of noble
+proportions, for a threshing-floor. Perhaps Mr. Brooks had an eye to
+contingencies when he built it. On two sides it was lined with grain,
+rising in walls of cereal sweetness to a great height; and certainly,
+if Eleanor had been in many a statelier church, she had never been in
+one better ventilated or where the air was more fragrantly scented. But
+a new doubt struck her. Could it be right to hold divine service in
+such a place? Was this a fit or decorous temple, for uses of such high
+and awful dignity? The floor was a bare plank floor; footfalls echoed
+over it. The roof was high indeed; but no architect's groining of beams
+reminded one that the place was set apart to noble if not sacred
+purposes. Nothing but common carpenter's joinery was over her head, in
+the roof of the barn. The heads of wheat ears instead of carved
+cornices and pendents; and if the lights were dim, which they certainly
+were, it did not seem at all a religious light. Only at the further
+end, where a table and chair stood ready for the preacher, some tall
+wax candles threw a sufficient illumination for all present to see him
+well. Was that his pulpit? What sort of preaching could possibly be had
+from it?
+
+Eleanor looked round the place. There was no really lighted part of it
+except about that table and chair. It was impossible for people to see
+each other well from a little distance off, unless thoroughly well
+known.
+
+Eleanor felt there was very little danger indeed that anybody should
+recognize her identity, in Jane's bonnet and cloak. That was so much
+comfort. Another comfort was, that the night was mild. It was not like
+November. A happy circumstance for everybody there; but most of all for
+the convalescent preacher, whose appearance Eleanor looked for now with
+a kind of fearful anxiety. If he should have been hindered from coming,
+after all! Her heart beat hard. She stood far back behind most of the
+people, near the door by which she had entered. A few benches and
+chairs were in the floor, given up to the use of the women and the aged
+people. Eleanor marvelled much to see that there were some quite old
+people among the company. The barn was getting very full.
+
+"There is a seat yonder," said some one touching her on the elbow.
+"Won't you have it?"
+
+Eleanor shook her head.
+
+"You had better," he said kindly; "there's a seat with nobody in it;
+there's plenty of room up there. Come this way."
+
+Eleanor was unwilling to go further forward, yet did not like to trust
+her voice to speak, nor choose to draw attention to herself in any way.
+She was needlessly afraid. However, she yielded to the instance of her
+kind neighbour and followed him among the crowd to the spot he had
+picked out for her. She would have resisted further, if she had known
+where this spot was; for it was far forward in the barn, more than half
+way between the door and the candle-lighted table, and in the very
+midst of the assembly. There was no help for it now; she could not go
+back; and Eleanor was thankful for the support the seat gave her. She
+was trembling all over. A vague queer feeling of her being about
+something wrong, not merely in the circumstances of her getting there,
+but in the occasion itself, haunted her with a sort of superstition.
+Could such an assembly be rightfully gathered for such a purpose in
+such a place? Could it be right, to speak publicly of sacred things
+with such an absence of any public recognition of their sacredness? In
+a bare barn? an unconsecrated building, with no beauty or dignity of
+observance to give homage to the work and the occasion? Eleanor was a
+compound of strange feelings; till she suddenly became conscious of a
+stir in the gathered throng, and then heard on the plank floor a step
+that she intuitively knew. As the step and the tall figure that it bore
+passed close by her on the way to the table, an instant sense of quiet
+and security settled down on her. Nervousness died away. There was one
+person there now that she knew; the question of his coming was settled,
+and her coming was not for nothing; and moreover, whatever business he
+was concerned in was right, in all its parts! She was sure of that. She
+watched him, with a great bound of exultation in her heart; watched him
+kneel down for prayer as he reached his place; and wondered, while awe
+mixed with her wonder, how he could do it, before and amongst all those
+people as he was; not shut off in a distant chancel alone by himself,
+but there with everybody crowding upon him. Her wonder had but little
+space to exercise itself. After a few minutes Mr. Rhys rose and gave
+out a hymn; and every thought of Eleanor's was concentrated on the
+business and on the speaker.
+
+She knew nothing about hymns except that they were sung in church; all
+such lyrics were unfamiliar to her, though the music of them was not.
+It was always stately music, with an organ, in the swell of which the
+words were lost. There could be no organ in a barn. Instead of that,
+the whole assembly rose to their feet and struck out together into a
+sweet air which they sung with a vast deal of spirit. No difficulty
+about hearing the words now; the music was not at a distance; the words
+were coming from every lip near Eleanor, and were sung as if they were
+a personal matter. Perhaps she was in a mood to be easily touched; but
+the singing did reach her and move her profoundly.
+
+
+"When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid
+farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes."
+
+
+The sense of this, Eleanor did not thoroughly understand, yet the
+general spirit of it was not to be mistaken. And the soft repetition of
+the last line struck her heart sorrowfully. Here was her want breathed
+out again. "And wipe my weeping eyes.--I'll bid farewell to every fear,
+and wipe my weeping eyes." Eleanor was perhaps the only one who did not
+sing; nobody paid better attention.
+
+The hymn was followed by a prayer. If the one had touched Eleanor, the
+other prostrated her in the dust. She heard a child of God speaking to
+his Father; with a simplicity of utterance, a freedom of access, and a
+glow of happy affections, evident in every quietly spoken word, that
+testified to his possession of the heavenly treasures that were on his
+tongue; and made Eleanor feel humbled and poor with an extreme and
+bitter sense of want. Her heart felt as empty as a deep well that had
+gone dry. This man only had ever shewed her what a Christian might be;
+she saw him standing in a glory of heavenly relationships and
+privileges and character, that were a sort of transfiguration. And
+although Eleanor comprehended but very imperfectly wherein this glory
+might lie, she yet saw the light, and mourned her own darkness.
+Eleanor's mind went a great way during the minutes of that prayer;
+according to the strange fashion in which the work of many days is
+sometimes done in one. She was sorry when it ended; however, every part
+of the services had a vivid new interest for her. Another hymn, and
+reading, during which her head was bowed on her breast in still
+listening; it was curious, how she had forgot all about being in a
+barn; and then the sermon began. She had to raise up her head when that
+began; and after a while Eleanor could not bear her veil, and threw it
+back, trusting that the dim light would secure her from being known.
+But she felt that she must see as well as hear, this one time.
+
+Of all subjects in the world to fall in with Eleanor's mood, the sermon
+to-night was on _peace_. The peace that the Lord Jesus left as his
+parting gift to his people; the peace that is not as the world giveth.
+How the world gives, Mr. Rhys briefly set forth; with one hand, to take
+away with the other--as a handful of gold, what proves but a clutch of
+ashes--as the will-o'-the-wisp gives, promise but never possession.
+Eleanor would not have much regarded these words from any other lips;
+they accorded with her old theory of disgust with the world. From Mr.
+Rhys she did regard them, because no word of his fell unheeded by her.
+But when he went on from that to speak of Christ's gift, and how that
+is bestowed--his speech was as bitter in her heart as it was sweet in
+his mouth. The peace he held up to her view,--the joy in which a child
+of God lives and walks--and dies; the security of every movement, the
+confidence in every action, the rest in all turmoil, the fearlessness
+in all danger; the riches in the midst of poverty, the rejoicing even
+in time of sorrow; the victory over sin and death, wrought in him as
+well as for him;--Eleanor's heart seemed to die within her, and at the
+same time started in a struggle for life. Had the words been said
+coldly, or as matter of speculative belief, or as privilege not
+actually entered into, it would have been a different thing. Eleanor
+might have sat back in her chair and listened and sorrowed for herself
+in outward quiet. But there was unconscious testimony from every tone
+and look of the speaker that he told the people but of what he knew.
+The pale face was illumined by a high grave light, that looked like a
+halo from the unseen world; it was nothing less to Eleanor; and the
+mouth in its general set so sober, broke occasionally into a smile so
+sweet, that it straitened Eleanor's heart with its unconscious
+tale-telling. As the time went on, the speaker began to illustrate his
+words by instances; instances of the peace which Christians have shewn
+to be theirs in all sorts of circumstances where the world would have
+given them none, or would have surely withdrawn the gift once made. In
+poverty--in pain--in loneliness--in the want of all things--in the
+close prospect of suffering, and in the presence of death. Wonderful
+instances they were! glorious to the power of that Redeemer, who had
+declared, "Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. In the world ye
+shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the
+world." How the speaker's eye flushed and fired; flushed with tears,
+and fired with triumph; what a tint rose on the pale cheek, testifying
+to the exultation he felt; with what tremulous distinctness the words
+were sometimes given--and heard in the breathless stillness to the
+furthest corner of the place. It was too much at last. Feeling was
+wrought too high. Eleanor could not bear it. She bowed her head on her
+hand to hide the tears that would come, and only struggled to keep her
+sobs quiet that she might not lose a word. There were other sobs in the
+assembly that were less well controlled; they were audible; Eleanor
+could not endure to hear them, for she feared her excitement would
+become unmanageable. Nevertheless by strong effort she succeeded in
+keeping perfectly still; though she dared not raise her head again till
+the last hymn and prayers were over, and the people made a general stir
+all round her. Then she too rose up and turned her face in the
+direction whither they were all turning, towards the door.
+
+She made her way out with the crowd blindly, conscious that it was all
+over--that was the prominent thought--and yet that work was done which
+would never be "over" for her. So conscious of this, that she had no
+care either of her whereabouts or of her walk home, except in an
+incidental sort of way. She got out into the starlight, and stepped
+over the grassy sward of the field in a maze; she hardly felt the
+ground; it was not till she reached the fence and found herself in the
+road, that Eleanor really roused up. Then it was necessary to turn in
+one direction or the other; and Eleanor could not tell which to take.
+She stood still and tried to collect herself. Which side of the road
+was the barn? She could not remember; she was completely confused and
+turned about; and in the starlight she could be sure of no tree or
+fence or other landmark. She stood still, while the people poured past
+her and in groups or in pairs took the one direction or the opposite.
+Part went one way and part went the other, to Wiglands and to Rythdale.
+Eleanor longed to ask which way somebody was going, but she was afraid
+of betraying herself. She did not dare. Yet if she took the wrong
+turning, she might find herself in the Rythdale valley, a great
+distance from Wiglands, and with a lone road to traverse all the way
+back again. Her heart beat. What should she do? The people poured past
+her, dividing off right and left; they would be all scattered soon to
+their several homes, and she would be left alone. She must do something
+quickly. Yet she shrank very much from speaking, and still stood by the
+fence trembling and hesitating.
+
+"Are you alone?" said a voice at her shoulder that she knew very well.
+If a cannon had gone off at her feet, it would not have startled
+Eleanor more. The tone of the question implied that _she_ was known.
+She was too startled to answer. The words were repeated. "Are you
+alone?"
+
+Eleanor's "yes" got out, with nothing distinguishable except the last
+letter.
+
+"I have a waggon here," said he. "Come with me."
+
+The speaker waited for no answer to the words which were not a request;
+and acting as decidedly as he had spoken, took hold of Eleanor's arm
+and led her forward to a little vehicle which had just drawn up. He
+helped her into it, took his place beside her, and drove away; but he
+said not another word.
+
+It was Mr. Rhys, and Eleanor knew that he had recognized her. She sat
+in a stupor of confusion and shame. What would he think of her! and
+what could she make him think? Must she be a bold, wild girl in his
+estimation for ever? Why would he not speak? He drove on in perfect
+silence. Eleanor must say something to break it. And it was extremely
+difficult, and she had to be bold to do that.
+
+"I see you recognize me, Mr. Rhys," she said.
+
+"I recognized you in the meeting," he answered in perfect gravity.
+Eleanor felt it. She was checked. She was punished.
+
+"Where are you taking me?" she asked after a little more time.
+
+"I will take you wherever you tell me you desire."
+
+Grave and short. Eleanor could not bear it.
+
+"You think very hardly of me, Mr. Rhys," she said; "but I was spending
+the night at a poor girl's house in the village--she is ill, and I was
+going to sit up with her--and I knew you were to preach at that
+place--and--" Eleanor's voice choked and faltered.
+
+"And what could prompt you to go alone, Miss Powle?"
+
+"I wanted to go--" faltered Eleanor. "I knew it would be my last
+chance. I felt I must go. And I could go no way but alone."
+
+"May I ask what you mean by 'your last chance?'"
+
+"My last chance of hearing what I wanted to hear--what I can't help
+thinking about lately. Mr. Rhys, I am not happy."
+
+"Did you understand what you heard to-night?"
+
+"In part I did--I understood, Mr. Rhys, that you have something I have
+not,--and that I want." Eleanor spoke with great emotion.
+
+"The Lord bless you!" he said, with a tenderness of tone that broke her
+down at once. "Trust Jesus, Miss Powle. He can give it to you. He only
+can. Go to him for what you want, and for understanding of what you do
+not understand. Trust the Lord! Make your requests known to him, and
+believe that he will hear your prayers and answer them, and more than
+fulfil them. Now where shall I set you down?"
+
+"Anywhere--" Eleanor said as well as she could. "Here, if you please."
+
+"Here is no house. We are just at the entrance of the village."
+
+"This is a good place then," said Eleanor. "I do not want anybody to
+see me."
+
+"Miss Powle," said her guardian, and he spoke with such extreme gravity
+that Eleanor was half frightened,--"did you come without the knowledge
+of your friends at home?"
+
+"Yes, to the place we have come from. Mamma knew I was going to spend
+the night with a sick girl in the village--she did not know any more."
+
+"It was very dangerous!" he said in the same tone.
+
+"I knew it. I risked that. I felt I must come."
+
+"You did very wrong," said her companion. It hurt her that he should
+say it, and have cause; but she was so miserable before, that it could
+be felt only in the dull way in which pain added to pain sometimes
+makes itself known. She was subdued, humbled, ashamed. She said nothing
+more, nor did he, until after passing two or three houses they arrived
+at a spot where the trees and the road were the only village
+representatives; a clear space, with no house very near, and no person
+in sight. Mr. Rhys drew up by the side of the road, and helped Eleanor
+out of the waggon. He said only "Good night," but it was said kindly
+and sympathizingly, and with the earnest grasp of the hand that Eleanor
+remembered. He got into the waggon again, but did not drive away as she
+expected; she found he was walking his horse and keeping abreast of her
+as she walked. Eleanor hurried on, reached Mrs. Lewis's cottage, paused
+a second at the door to let him see that she had reached her stopping
+place, and went in.
+
+All still; the embers dying on the hearth, a cricket chirrupping under
+it. Mrs. Lewis was gone to bed, but had not covered up the fire for
+fear her young lady might want it. Eleanor did not dare sit down there.
+She drew the bolt of the house door; then softly went up the stairs to
+Jane's room. Jane was asleep. Eleanor felt thankful, and moved about
+like a shadow. She put the brands together in a sort of mechanical way;
+for she knew she was chilly and needed fire bodily, though her spirit
+was in a fever. The night had turned raw, and the ride home had been
+not so cheering mentally as to do away with the physical influence of a
+cold fog. Eleanor put off bonnet and cloak, softly piled the brands
+together and coaxed up a flame; and sat down on a low stool on the
+hearth to spread her hands over it, to catch all the comfort she could.
+
+Comfort was not near, however. Jane waked up in a violent fit of
+coughing; and when that was subdued or died away, as difficult a fit of
+restlessness was left behind. She was nervous and uneasy; Eleanor had
+only too much sympathy with both moods, nevertheless she acted the part
+of a kind and delicate nurse; soothed Jane and ministered to her, even
+spoke cheerful words; until the poor girl's exhausted mind and body
+sank away again into slumber, and Eleanor was free to sit down on the
+hearth and fold her hands.
+
+Then she began to think. Not till then. Indeed what she did then at
+first was not to think, but to recall in musing all the scenes and as
+far as possible all the words of that evening; with a consciousness
+behind this all the while that there was hard thinking coming. Eleanor
+went dreamily over the last few hours, looking in turn at each image so
+stamped upon her memory; felt over again the sermon, the hymns, the
+prayers; then suddenly broke from her musings to face this
+consciousness that was menacing her. Set herself to think in earnest.
+
+What was it all about? Eleanor might well have shunned it, might well
+grasp it in desperation with a sudden inability to put it off any
+longer. Down in her heart, as strong as the keep of an old castle, and
+as obstinate-looking, was the feeling--"I do not want to marry Mr.
+Carlisle." Eleanor did not immediately discern its full outline and
+proportions, in the dim confusion which filled her heart; but a little
+steady looking revealed it, revealed it firm and clear and established
+there. "I do not want to marry him--I will not marry him"--she found
+the words surging up from this stronghold. Pride and ambition cowering
+somewhere said, "Not ever? Do you mean, not at all? not ever?"--"Not
+ever!"--was the uncompromising answer; and Eleanor's head dropped in
+agony. "Why?" was the next question. And the answer was clear and
+strong and ready. "I am bent upon another sort of life than his life--I
+am going another way--I _must_ live for aims and objects which he will
+hate and thwart and maybe hinder--I _will not_ walk with him in his
+way--I cannot walk with him in mine--I cannot, oh, I do not wish, to
+walk with him at all!" Eleanor sat face to face with this blank
+consciousness, staring at it, and feeling as if the life was gradually
+ebbing out of her. What was she to do? The different life and temper
+and character, and even the face, of Mr. Rhys, came up to her as so
+much nobler, so much better, so much more what a man should be, so much
+more worthy of being liked. But Eleanor strove to put that image away,
+as having very truly, she said to herself, nothing to do with the
+present question. However, she thought she could not marry Mr.
+Carlisle; and intrenched herself a little while in that position, until
+the next subject came up for consideration; how she could escape from
+it? What reason could be assigned? Only this religious one could be
+given--and it might be, it might well be, that Mr. Carlisle would not
+on his part consider that reason enough. He would certainly hope to
+overcome the foundation on which it stood; and if he could not, Eleanor
+was obliged to confess to herself that she believed he loved her to
+that degree that he would rather have her a religious wife than not his
+wife at all. What should Eleanor do? Was she not bound? had she not
+herself given him claims over her which she had no right to disallow?
+had he not a right to all her fulfilment of them? Eleanor did not love
+him as he loved her; she saw that with singular and sudden
+distinctness; but there again, when she thought of that as a reason for
+not fulfilling her contract, she was obliged to own that it would be no
+reason to Mr. Carlisle. He never had had ground to suppose that Eleanor
+gave him more than she had expressed; but he was entirely content with
+what he had and his own confidence that he could cultivate it into what
+he pleased. There was no shaking loose from him in that way. As Eleanor
+sat on the hearth and looked at the ashes, in reality looking at Mr.
+Carlisle, her own face grew wan at what she saw there. She could give
+him no reason for changing their relations to each other, that would
+make him hold her a bit the less closely, no, nor the less fondly. What
+could Eleanor do? To go on and be Mr. Carlisle's wife, if necessary;
+give him all the observance and regard that she could, that she owed
+him, for having put herself in a false position where she could not
+give him more;--Eleanor saw nothing else before her. But one thing
+beside she would do. She would make Mr. Carlisle clearly and fully
+understand what sort of a woman he must expect in her. She would
+explain thoroughly what sort of a life she meant to lead. Justly
+stated, what would that be?
+
+Eleanor thought; and found herself determined, heart and soul, to
+follow the path of life laid before her that evening. Whether "peace"
+could visit her, in the course that seemed to lie through her future
+prospects, Eleanor much doubted; but at any rate she would have the
+rest of a satisfied conscience. She would take the Bible for her rule.
+Mr. Rhys's God should be her God, and with all she had of power and
+ability she would serve him. Dim as religious things still were to her
+vision, one thing was not dim, but shiningly clear; the duty of every
+creature to live the devoted servant of that Lord to whom he belongs by
+creation and redemption both. Here Eleanor's heart fixed, if it had a
+fixed point that tumultuous night; but long before it settled anywhere
+her thoughts were bathed in bitter tears; in floods of weeping that
+seemed fit to wash her very heart away. It occurred to Eleanor, if they
+could, how much trouble would be saved! She saw plenty before her. But
+there was the gripe of a fear and a wish upon her heart, that
+overmastered all others. The people had sung a hymn that evening, after
+the first one; a hymn of Christian gladness and strength, to an air as
+spirited as the words. Both words and air rang in her mind, through all
+the multifarious thoughts she was thinking; they floated through and
+sounded behind them like a strain of the blessed. Eleanor had taken one
+glance at Mr. Rhys while it was singing; and the remembrance of his
+face stung her as the sight of an angel might have done. The counter
+recollection of her own misery in the summer at the time she was ill;
+the longing want of that security and hope and consequent rest of mind,
+was vividly with her too. Pushed by fear and desire, Eleanor's
+resolution was taken. She saw not the way clear, she did not know yet
+the "wicket-gate" towards which Bunyan's Pilgrim was directed; like him
+however she resolved to "keep the light in her eye, and run."
+
+The fire had died all out; the grey ashes were cold; she was very cold
+herself, but did not know it. The night had waned away, and a light had
+sprung in at the window which Eleanor thought must be the dawn. It was
+not; it was the old moon just risen, and struggling through the fog.
+But the moon was the herald of dawn; and Eleanor got up from the
+hearth, feeling old and stiff; as if she had suddenly put on twenty
+years of age more than she came to the village with. The room was quite
+too cold for Jane, she remembered; and softly she went up and down for
+kindling and lighted up the fire again. Till she had done that, she
+felt grey and stern, like the November morning; but when the fire
+crackled and sparkled before her, and gave its cheery look and
+comforting warmth to her chilled senses, some curious sympathy with
+times that were gone and that she dared not hope to see again, smote
+Eleanor with a softer sorrow; and she wept a very rain of new tears.
+These did her good; they washed some of the bitterness out of her; and
+after that she sat thinking how she should manage; when Mr. Rhys's
+parting words suddenly recurred to her. A blanker ignorance how they
+should be followed, can scarcely be imagined, in a person of general
+sense and knowledge. Nevertheless, she bowed herself on the hearth,
+surely not more in form than in feeling, and besought of that One whose
+aid she knew not how to ask, that he would yet give it to her and
+fulfil all her desires. Eleanor was exhausted then. She sat in a stupor
+of resting, till the faint illumination of the moon was really replaced
+by a growing and broadening light of day. The night was gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+IN PERPLEXITIES.
+
+
+  "Look, a horse at the door,
+  And little King Charles is snarling;
+  Go back, my lord, across the moor,
+  You are not her darling."
+
+
+Eleanor set out early to go home. She would not wait to be sent for.
+The walk might set her pulses in motion again perhaps. The fog was
+breaking away under the sun's rays, but it had left everything wet; the
+morning was excessively chill. There was no grass in her way however,
+and Eleanor's thick shoes did not fear the road, nor her feet the three
+miles of way. The walk was good. It could not be said to be pleasant;
+yet action of any kind was grateful and helpful. She saw not a creature
+till she got home.
+
+
+Home struck her with new sorrow, in the sense of the disappointment she
+was going to bring to so many there. She made her own room without
+having to speak to anybody; bathed and dressed for breakfast. How grave
+her face was, this morning! She could not help that. And she felt that
+it grew graver, when entering the breakfast room she found Mr. Carlisle
+there.
+
+"What have you done to yourself?" said he after they were seated at the
+breakfast table.
+
+"Taken a walk this morning."
+
+"Judicious! in this air, which is like a suspended shower-bath! Where
+did you go?"
+
+"On the Wiglands road."
+
+"If I had come in time, I should have taken you up before me, and cut
+short such a proceeding. Mrs. Powle, you do not make use of your
+authority."
+
+"Seems hardly worth while, when it is on the point of expiring," said
+Mrs. Powle blandly, with a smiling face.
+
+"Why Eleanor had to come home," said Julia; "she spent the night in the
+village. She could not help walking--unless mamma had sent the carriage
+or something for her."
+
+"Spent the night in the village!" said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"Eleanor took it into her head that she must go to take care of a sick
+girl there--the daughter of her nurse. It is great foolishness, I
+think, but Eleanor will do it."
+
+"It don't agree with her very well," said Julia. "How you do look,
+Eleanor, this morning!"
+
+"She looks very well," said the Squire--"for all I see. Walking won't
+hurt her."
+
+What Mr. Carlisle thought he did not say. When breakfast was over he
+drew Eleanor off into the library.
+
+"How do you do this morning?" said he stopping to look at her.
+
+"Not very well."
+
+"I came early, to give you a great gallop to the other end of the
+moor--where you wished to go the other day. You are not fit for it now?"
+
+"Hardly."
+
+"Did you sit up with that girl last night?
+
+"I sat up. She did not want much done for her. My being there was a
+great comfort to her."
+
+"Far too great a comfort. You are a naughty child. Do you fancy,
+Eleanor, your husband will allow you to do such things?"
+
+"I must try to do what is right, Macintosh."
+
+"Do you not think it will be right that you should pleasure me in what
+I ask of you?" he said very gently and with a caressing action which
+took away the edge of the words.
+
+"Yes--in things that are right," said Eleanor, who felt that she owed
+him all gentleness because of the wrong she had done.
+
+"I shall not ask you anything that is not right; but if I should,--the
+responsibility of your doing wrong will rest on me. Now do you feel
+inclined to practise obedience a little to day?"
+
+"No, not at all," said Eleanor honestly, her blood rousing.
+
+"It will be all the better practice. You must go and lie down and rest
+carefully, and get ready to ride with me this afternoon, if the weather
+will do. Eh, Eleanor?"
+
+"I do not think I shall want to ride to-day."
+
+"Kiss me, and say you will do as I bid you."
+
+Eleanor obeyed, and went to her room feeling wretched. She must find
+some way quickly to alter this state of things--if she could alter
+them. In the mean time she had promised to rest. It was a comfort to
+lock the door and feel that for hours at any rate she was alone from
+all the world. But Eleanor's heart fainted. She lay down, and for a
+long time remained in motionless passive dismay; then nature asserted
+her rights and she slept.
+
+If sleep did not quite "knit up the ravelled sleeve of care" for her,
+Eleanor yet felt much less ragged when she came out of her slumber.
+There was some physical force now to meet the mental demand. The first
+thing demanded was a letter to Mr. Carlisle. It was in vain to think to
+tell him in spoken words what she wanted him to know; he would cut them
+short or turn them aside as soon as he perceived their drift, before
+she could at all possess him with the facts of the case. Eleanor sat
+down before dressing, to write her letter, so that no call might break
+her off until it was done.
+
+It was a weary, anxious, sorrowful writing; done with some tears and
+some mute prayers for help; with images constantly starting into her
+mind that she had to put aside together with the hot drops they called
+forth. The letter was finished, when Eleanor was informed that Mr.
+Carlisle waited for her.
+
+"To ride, I suppose," she thought. "I will not go." She put on a house
+dress and went down to the library, where her mother and Mr. Carlisle
+were together; looking both of them so well pleased!
+
+"You are not dressed for riding!" he said, taking her into his arms.
+
+"As you see," returned Eleanor.
+
+"I have brought a new horse for you. Will you change your dress?"
+
+"I think not. I am not equal to anything new."
+
+"Have you slept?"
+
+"Yes, but I have not eaten; and it takes both to make muscle. I cannot
+even talk to you till after tea."
+
+"Have you had no luncheon?"
+
+"I was asleep."
+
+"Mrs. Powle," said the gentleman, "you do not take care of my interests
+here. May I request you to have this want supplied--I am going to take
+Eleanor a great gallop presently; she must have something first." He
+put Eleanor in an easy chair as he spoke, and stood looking at her.
+Probably he saw some unusual lines of thought or care about the face,
+but it was by no means less fine for that. Mr. Carlisle liked what he
+saw. Refreshments came; and he poured out chocolate for her and served
+her with an affectionate supervision that watched every item. But when
+after a very moderate meal Eleanor's hand was stretched out for another
+piece of bread, he stopped her.
+
+"No," he said; "no more now. Now go and put on your habit."
+
+"But I am very hungry," said Eleanor.
+
+"No matter--you will forget it in five minutes. Go and put on your
+habit."
+
+Eleanor hesitated; thought that perhaps after all the ride would be the
+easiest way of passing the afternoon; and went.
+
+"Well you do understand the art of command," said Mrs. Powle
+admiringly. "She would never have done that for me."
+
+Mr. Carlisle did not look surprised, nor gratified, nor in fact shew
+anything whatever in his looks. Unless it were, that the difference of
+effects produced by himself and his future mother-in-law, was very much
+a matter of course. He stood before the fire, with no change at all in
+his clear hazel eyes, until Eleanor appeared. Then they sparkled.
+Eleanor was for some reason or other particularly lovely in his eyes
+to-day.
+
+The horse he had brought for her was a superb Arabian, shewing nerve
+and fire in every line of his form and starting muscle, from the tips
+of the ears down to the long fetlock and beautiful hoof. Shewing fire
+in the bright eye too. A brown creature, with luxuriant flowing mane
+and tail.
+
+"He is not quite so quiet as Black Maggie," Mr. Carlisle said as he put
+Eleanor upon his back; "and you must not curb him, Eleanor, or he will
+run."
+
+They went to the moor; and by degrees getting wonted to her fiery
+charger and letting him display his fine paces and increase his speed,
+Eleanor found the sensation very inspiriting. Even Black Maggie was not
+an animal like this; every motion was instinct with life and power, and
+not a little indication of headstrongness and irritability gave a great
+additional interest and excitement to the pleasure of managing him. Mr.
+Carlisle watched her carefully, Eleanor knew; he praised her handling.
+He himself was mounted on a quiet, powerful creature that did not make
+much shew.
+
+"If this fellow--what is his name?"
+
+"Tippoo Sultan."
+
+"If he were by any chance to run--would that horse you are riding keep
+up with him?"
+
+"I hope you will not try."
+
+"I don't mean it--but I am curious. There, Mr. Carlisle, there is the
+place where I was thrown."
+
+"A villainous looking place. I wish it was mine. How do you like
+Tippoo?"
+
+"Oh, he is delightful!"
+
+Mr. Carlisle looked satisfied, as he might; for Eleanor's colour had
+become brilliant, and her face had changed greatly since setting out.
+Strength and courage and hope seemed to come to her on Tippoo's back,
+facing the wind on the moor and gallopping over the wild, free way.
+They took in part the route Eleanor had followed that day alone, coming
+back through the village by a still wider circuit. As they rode more
+moderately along the little street, if it could be called so--the
+houses were all on one side--Eleanor saw Mr. Rhys standing at Mrs.
+Lewis's door; he saw her. Involuntarily her bow in return to his
+salutation was very low. At the same instant Tippoo started, on a run
+to which all his former gallopping had been a gentle amble. This was
+not ungentle; the motion had nothing rough; only Eleanor was going in a
+straight line over the ground at a rate that took away her breath. She
+had presence of mind not to draw the curb rein, but she felt that she
+could hardly endure long the sort of progress she was making through
+the air. It did not seem to be on the ground. Her curiosity was
+gratified on one point; for after the first instant she found Mr.
+Carlisle's powerful grey straining close beside her. Nevertheless
+Tippoo was so entirely in earnest that it was some little time--it
+seemed a very long one--before the grey could get so close to the brown
+and so far up with him that Mr. Carlisle could lay his hand upon the
+thick brown mane of Tippoo and stoop forward to speak to him. As soon
+as that was done once or twice, Tippoo's speed gradually relaxed; and a
+perseverance in his master's appeals to his reason and sense of duty,
+brought the wild creature back to a moderate pace and the air of a
+civilized horse. Mr. Carlisle transferred his grasp from the mane to
+Eleanor's hand.
+
+"Eleanor, what did you do that for?"
+
+"Do what? I did nothing."
+
+"You curbed him. You drew the rein, and he considered himself insulted.
+I told you he would not bear it."
+
+"He has had nothing to bear from me. I have not drawn the curb at all,
+Robert."
+
+"I must contradict you. I saw you do it. That started him."
+
+Eleanor remained silent and a little pale. Was Mr. Carlisle right? The
+ride had until then done her a great deal of good; roused up her
+energies and restored in some degree her spirit; the involuntary race
+together with the sudden sight of Mr. Rhys, had the effect to bring
+back all the soberness which for the moment the delight and stir of the
+exercise had dissipated. She went on pondering various things.
+Eleanor's letter to Mr. Carlisle was in the pocket of her habit, ready
+for use; she determined to give it him when he left her that evening;
+that was one of her subjects of thought. Accordingly he found her very
+abstracted and cold the rest of the way; grave and uninterested. He
+fancied she might have been startled by her run on Tippoo's back,
+though it was not very like her; but he did not know what to fancy. And
+true it is, that a remembrance of fear had come up to Eleanor after
+that gallop. _Afraid_ she was not, at the time; but she felt that she
+had been in a condition of some peril from which her own forces could
+not have extricated her; that brought up other considerations, and
+sadly in Eleanor's mind some words of the hymn they had sung last night
+in the barn floated over among her thoughts:
+
+
+"When I can read my title clear, To mansions in the skies, I'll bid
+farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes."
+
+
+Very simple words; words that to some ears have become trite with
+repetition; but thoughts that went down into the depths of Eleanor's
+heart and garrisoned themselves there, beyond the power of any attacks
+to dislodge. Her gravity and indifference piqued Mr. Carlisle,
+curiosity and affection both. He spent the evening in trying to
+overcome them; with very partial success. When he was leaving her,
+Eleanor drew the letter from her pocket.
+
+"What is this?" said he taking it.
+
+"Only a letter for you."
+
+"From you! The consideration of that must not be postponed." He broke
+the seal. "Come, sit down again. I will read it here."
+
+"Not now! Take it home, Macintosh, and read it there. Let it wait so
+long."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Never mind why. Do! Because I ask you."
+
+"I don't believe I can understand it without you beside me," said he
+smiling, and drawing the letter from its envelope while he looked at
+her.
+
+"But there is everybody here," said Eleanor glancing at another part of
+the room where the rest of the family were congregated. "I would rather
+you took it home with you."
+
+"It is something that requires serious treatment?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You are a wise little thing," said he, "and I will take your advice."
+He put the letter in his pocket; then took Eleanor's hand upon his arm
+and walked her off to the library. Nobody was there; lamplight and
+firelight were warm and bright. Mr. Carlisle placed his charge in an
+easy chair by the library table, much to her disappointment; drew
+another close beside it, and sat down with his arm over the back of
+hers to read the letter. Thus it ran:
+
+
+"It is right you should know a change which has taken place in me since
+the time when I first became known to you. I have changed very much,
+though it is a change perhaps which you will not believe in; yet I feel
+that it makes me very different from my old self, and alters entirely
+my views of almost everything. Life and life's affairs--and aims--do
+not look to me as they looked a few months ago; if indeed I could be
+said to have taken any view at all of them then. They were little more
+than names to me, I believe. They are great realities now.
+
+"I do not know how to tell you in what this change in me consists, for
+I doubt you will neither like it nor believe in it. Yet you _must_
+believe in it; for I am not the woman I was a little while ago; not the
+woman you think me now. If I suffered you to go on as you are, in
+ignorance of it, I should be deceiving you. I have opened my eyes to
+the fact that this life is not the end of life. I see another
+beyond,--much more lasting, unknown, strange, perhaps not very distant.
+The thought of it presses upon me like a cloud. I want to be ready for
+it--I feel I am not ready--and that before I can be ready, not only my
+views but my character must be changed. I am determined it shall. For,
+Mr. Carlisle, there is a Ruler whose government extends over this life
+and that, whose requisitions I have never met, whose commands I have
+never obeyed, whom consequently I fear; and until this fear is changed
+for another feeling I cannot be happy. I will not live the life I have
+been leading; careless and thoughtless; I will be the servant of this
+Ruler whom hitherto I have disregarded. Whatever his commands are,
+those I will follow; at all costs, at any sacrifice; whatever I have or
+possess shall be used for his service. One thing I desire; to be a true
+servant of God, and not fear his face in displeasure. To secure that, I
+will let everything else in the world go.
+
+"I wish you to understand this thoroughly. It will draw on consequences
+that you would not like. It will make me such a woman as you would not,
+I feel, wish your wife to be. I shall follow a course of life and
+action that in many things, I know, would be extremely distasteful to
+you. Yet I must follow them--I can do no other--I dare do no other. I
+cannot live as I have lived. No, not for any reward or consideration
+that could be offered me. Nor to avoid any human anger.
+
+"I think you would probably choose never to see me at the Priory,
+rather than to see me there such a woman as I shall be. In that case I
+shall be very sorry for all the disagreeable consequences which would
+to you attend the annulling of the contract formed between us. My own
+part of them I am ready to bear.
+
+"ELEANOR POWLE."
+
+
+The letter was read through almost under Eleanor's own eyes. She looked
+furtively, as she could, to see how Mr. Carlisle took it. He did not
+seem to take it at all; she could find no change in his face. If the
+brow slightly bent before her did slightly knit itself in sterner lines
+than common, she could not be sure of it, bent as it was; and when he
+looked up, there was no such expression there. He looked as pleasant as
+possible.
+
+"Do you want me to laugh at you?" he said.
+
+"That was not the precise object I had in writing," said Eleanor
+soberly.
+
+"I do not suppose it, and yet I feel very much like laughing at you a
+little. So you think you can make yourself a woman I would not
+like,--eh, my darling?"
+
+He had drawn Eleanor's head down to his shoulder, within easy reach of
+his lips, but he did not kiss her. His right hand smoothed back the
+masses of her beautiful hair, and then rested on her cheek while he
+looked into the face thus held for near inspection; much as one handles
+a child. The touch was light and caressing, and calm as power too.
+Eleanor breathed quick. She could not bear it. She forced herself back
+where she could look at him.
+
+"You are taking it lightly, but I mean it very seriously," she said. "I
+think I could--I think I shall. I did not write you such a letter
+without very deep reason."
+
+He still retained his hold of her, and in his right hand had captured
+one of hers. This hand he now brought to his lips, kissing and
+caressing it.
+
+"I do not think I understand it yet," he said. "What are you going to
+do with yourself? Is it your old passion for a monastic life come up
+again? do you want the old Priory built up, and me for a Father
+Confessor?"
+
+Did he mean ever to loose his hold of the little hand he held so
+lightly and firmly? Never! Eleanor's head drooped.
+
+"What is it, Eleanor?"
+
+"It is serious work, Mr. Carlisle; and you will not believe me."
+
+"Make me serious too. Tell me a little more definitely what dreadful
+thing I am to expect. What sort of a woman is my wife going to be?"
+
+"Such a one as you would not have, if you knew it;--such a one as you
+never would have sought, if I had known it myself earlier; I feel
+sure." Eleanor's colour glowed all over her face and brow; nevertheless
+she spoke steadily.
+
+"Enigmatical!" said Mr. Carlisle. "The only thing I understand is
+this--and this--" and he kissed alternately her cheek and lips. "_Here_
+is my wife--_here_ is what I wish her to be. It will be all right the
+twenty-first of next month. What will you do after that, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor was silent, mortified, troubled, silenced. What was the use of
+trying to explain herself?
+
+"What do you want to do, Eleanor? Give all your money to the poor? I
+believe that is your pet fancy. Is that what you mean to do?"
+
+Eleanor's cheeks burnt again. "You know I have very little money to
+give, Mr. Carlisle. But I have determined to give _myself_."
+
+"To me?"
+
+"No, no. I mean, to duties and commands higher than any human
+obligation. And they may, and probably will, oblige me to live in a way
+that would not please you."
+
+"Let us see. What is the novelty?"
+
+"I am going to live--it is right I should tell you, whether you will
+believe me or not,--I am going to live henceforth not for this world
+but the other."
+
+"How?" said he, looking at her with his clear brilliant eyes.
+
+"I do not know, in detail. But you know, in the Church service, the
+pomps and vanities of the world are renounced; whatever that involves,
+it will find me obedient."
+
+"What has put this fancy in your head, Eleanor?"
+
+"A sense of danger, first, I think."
+
+"A sense of danger! Danger of what?"
+
+"Yes. A feeling of being unready for that other life to which I might
+at any time go;--that other world, I mean. I cannot be happy so." She
+was agitated; her colour was high; her nerves trembled.
+
+"How came this 'sense of danger' into your head? what brought it, or
+suggested it?"
+
+"When I was ill last summer--I felt it then. I have felt it since. I
+feel my head uncovered to meet the storm that may at any time break
+upon it. I am going to live, if I can, as people live whom you would
+laugh at; you would call them fanatics and fools. It is the only way
+for me to be happy; but you would not like it in one near you."
+
+"Go in a black dress, Eleanor?"
+
+She was silent. She very nearly burst into tears, but prevented that.
+
+"You can't terrify me," said Mr. Carlisle, lazily throwing himself back
+in his chair. "I don't get up a 'sense of danger' as easily as you do,
+darling. One look in your face puts all that to flight at once. I am
+safe. You may do what you like."
+
+"You would not say that by and by," said Eleanor.
+
+"Would I not?" said he, rousing up and drawing her tenderly but
+irresistibly to his arms again. "But make proper amends to me for
+breaking rules to-night, and you shall have _carte blanche_ for this
+new fancy, Eleanor. How are you going to ask my forgiveness?"
+
+"You ought to ask mine--for you will not attend to me."
+
+"Contumacious?" said he lightly, touching her lips as if they were a
+goblet and he were taking sips of the wine;--"then I shall take my own
+amends. You shall live as you please, darling, only take me along with
+you."
+
+"You will not go."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Neither your feeling nor your taste agree with it."
+
+"What _are_ you going to do!" said he half laughing, holding her fast
+and looking down into her face. "My little Eleanor! Make yourself a
+grey nun, or a blue Puritan? Grey becomes you, darling; it makes a
+duchess of you; and blue is set off by this magnificent brown head of
+yours. I will answer for my taste in either event; and I think you
+could bear, and consequently I could, all the other colours in the
+rainbow. As for your idea, of making yourself a woman that I would not
+like, I do not think you can compass it. You may try. I will not let
+you go too far."
+
+"You cannot hinder it, Macintosh," said Eleanor in a low voice.
+
+"Kiss me!" said he laughingly.
+
+Eleanor slowly raised her head from his shoulder and obeyed, so far as
+a very dainty and shyly given permission went; feeling bitterly that
+she had brought herself into bonds from which only Mr. Carlisle's hand
+could release her. She could not break them herself. What possible
+reason could she assign? And so she was in his power.
+
+"Cheeks hot, and hands cold," said Mr. Carlisle to himself as he walked
+away through the rooms. "I wish the twenty-first were to-morrow!" He
+stopped in the drawing-room to hold a consultation of some length with
+Mrs. Powle; in which however he confided to her no more than that the
+last night's attention to her nurse's daughter had been quite too much
+for Eleanor, and he should think it extremely injudicious to allow it
+again. Which Mrs. Powle had no idea of doing.
+
+Neither had Eleanor any idea of attempting it. But she spent half that
+night in heart-ache and in baffled searchings for a path out of her
+difficulties. What could she do? If Mr. Carlisle _would_ marry her, she
+saw no help for it; and to disgust him with her would be a difficult
+matter. For oh, Eleanor knew, that though he would not like a religious
+wife, he had good reason to trust his own power of regulating any
+tendency of that sort which might offend him. Once his wife, once let
+that strong arm have a right to be round her permanently; and Eleanor
+knew it would be an effectual bar against whatever he wished to keep at
+a distance.
+
+Eleanor was armed with no Christian armour; no helmet or shield of
+protection had she; all she had was the strength of fear, and the
+resolute determination to seek until she should find that panoply in
+which she would be safe and strong. Once married to Mr. Carlisle, and
+she felt that her determination would be in danger, and her resolution
+meet another resolution with which it might have hard fighting to do.
+Ay, and who knew whether hers would overcome! She must not finish this
+marriage; yet how induce Mr. Carlisle to think of her as she wished?
+
+"I declare," said Mrs. Powle coming into her room the next day, "that
+one night's sitting up, has done the work of a week's illness upon you,
+Eleanor! Mr. Carlisle is right."
+
+"In what?"
+
+"He said you must not go again."
+
+"I think he is somewhat premature in arranging my movements."
+
+"Don't you like it?" said Mrs. Powle laughing a little. "You must learn
+to submit to that. I am glad there is somebody that can control you,
+Eleanor, at last. It does me good. It was just a happiness that you
+never took anything desperate into your head, for your father and you
+together were more than a match for me; and it's just the same with
+Julia. But Julia really is growing tame and more reasonable, I think,
+lately."
+
+"Good reason why," thought Eleanor moodily. "But that is a better sort
+of control she is under."
+
+"I am charged with a commission to you, Eleanor."
+
+"What is it, ma'am?"
+
+"To find out what particular kind of jewels you prefer. I really don't
+know, so am obliged to ask you--which was not in my commission."
+
+"Jewels, mamma!"
+
+"Jewels, my lady."
+
+"O mamma! don't talk to me of jewels!"
+
+"Nor of weddings, I suppose; but really I do not see how things are to
+be done unless they are to be talked about. For instance, this matter
+of your liking in jewellery--I think rubies become you, Eleanor; though
+to be sure there is nothing I like so well as diamonds. What is the
+matter?"
+
+For Eleanor's brown head had gone down on the table before her and her
+face was hidden in her hands. She slowly raised it at her mother's
+question.
+
+"Mamma, Mr. Carlisle does not know what he is doing!"
+
+"Pray what do you mean?"
+
+"He thinks he is marrying a person who will be gay and live for and in
+the world, as he lives--and as he would wish me. Mamma, I will not! I
+never will. I never shall be what he likes in that respect. I mean to
+live a religious life."
+
+"A religious life! What sort of a life is that?"
+
+"It is what you do not like--nor he."
+
+"A religious life! Eleanor, you do not suppose Mr. Carlisle would wish
+his wife to lead an irreligious life?"
+
+"Yes--I do."
+
+"I should not like you to tell _him_ that," said Mrs. Powle colouring
+with anger. "How dare you say it? What sort of a religious life do you
+want to live?"
+
+"Such a one as the Bible bids, mamma," Eleanor said in a low voice and
+drooping her head. "Such a one as the Prayer Book recommends, over and
+over."
+
+"And you think Mr. Carlisle would not like that? What insinuations you
+are making against us all, Eleanor. For of course, I, your mother, have
+wished you also to live this irreligious life. We are a set of heathens
+together. Dr. Cairnes too. He was delighted with it."
+
+"It changes nothing, mamma," said Eleanor. "I am resolved to live in a
+different way; and Mr. Carlisle would not like it; and if he only knew
+it, he would not wish to marry me; and I cannot make him believe it."
+
+"You have tried, have you?"
+
+"Yes, I have tried. It was only honest."
+
+"Well I did not think you were such a fool, Eleanor! and I am sure he
+did not. Believe you, you little fool? he knows better. He knows that
+he will not have had you a week at the Priory before you will be too
+happy to live what life he pleases. He is just the man to bring you
+into order. I only wish the wedding-day was to-morrow."
+
+Eleanor drew herself up, and her face changed from soft and sorrowful
+to stubborn. She kept silence.
+
+"In this present matter of jewels," said Mrs. Powle returning to the
+charge, "I suppose I am to tell him that a plain set of jet is as much
+as you can fancy; or that, as it would be rather uncommon to be married
+in black, you will take bugles. What he will say I am sure I don't
+know."
+
+"You had better not try, mamma," said Eleanor. "If the words you last
+said are true, and I should be unable to follow my conscience at
+Rythdale Priory, then I shall never go there; and in that case the
+jewels will not be wanted, except for somebody else whose taste neither
+bugles nor jet would suit."
+
+"Now you have got one of your obstinate fits on," said Mrs. Powle, "and
+I will go. I shall be a better friend to you than to tell Mr. Carlisle
+a word of all this, which I know will be vanished in another month or
+two; and if you value your good fortune, Eleanor, I recommend you to
+keep a wise tongue between your teeth in talking to him. I know one
+thing--I wish Dr. Cairnes, or the Government, or the Church, or whoever
+has it in hand, would keep all dissenting fools from coming to Wiglands
+to preach their pestiferous notions here! and that your father would
+not bring them to his house! That is what I wish. Will you be
+reasonable, and give me an answer about the jewels, Eleanor?"
+
+"I cannot think about jewels, mamma."
+
+Mrs. Powle departed. Eleanor sat with her head bowed in her hands; her
+mind in dim confusion, through which loomed the one thought, that she
+must break this marriage. Her mother's words had roused the evil as
+well as the good of Eleanor's nature; and along with bitter
+self-reproaches and longings for good, she already by foretaste champed
+the bit of an authority that she did not love. So, while her mind was
+in a sea of turmoil, there came suddenly, like a sun-blink upon the
+confusion, a soft question from her little sister Julia. Neither mother
+nor daughter had taken notice of her being in the room. The question
+came strangely soft, for Julia.
+
+"Eleanor, do you love Jesus?"
+
+Eleanor raised her head in unspeakable astonishment, startled and even
+shocked, as one is at an unheard-of thing. Julia's face was close
+beside her, looking wistful and anxious, and tender also. The look
+struck Eleanor's heart. But she only stared.
+
+"Do you?" said Julia wistfully.
+
+It wrought the most unaccountable convulsion in Eleanor's mind, this
+little dove's feather of a question, touching the sore and angry
+feelings that wrestled there. She flung herself off her chair, and on
+her knees by the table sobbed dreadfully. Julia stood by, looking as
+sober as if she had been a ministering angel.
+
+Eleanor knew what the question meant--that was all. She had heard Mr.
+Rhys speak of it; she had heard him speak of it with a quiver on his
+lip and a flush in his face, which shewed her that there was something
+in religion that she had never fathomed, nor ever before suspected;
+there was a hidden region of joy the entrance to which was veiled from
+her. To Eleanor the thing would have been a mere mystery, but that she
+had seen it to be a reality; once seen, that was never to be forgotten.
+And now, in the midst of her struggles of passion and pain, Julia's
+question came innocently asking whether she were a sharer in that
+unearthly wonderful joy which seemed to put its possessor beyond the
+reach of struggles. Eleanor's sobs were the hard sobs of pain. As
+wisely as if she had really been a ministering angel, her little sister
+stood by silent; and said not another word until Eleanor had risen and
+taken her seat again. Nor then either. It was Eleanor that spoke.
+
+"What do you know about it, Julia?"
+
+"Not much," said the child. "_I_ love the Lord Jesus--that is all,--and
+I thought, perhaps, from the way you spoke, that you did. Mr. Rhys
+would be so glad."
+
+"He? Glad? what do you mean, Julia?"
+
+"I know he would; because I have heard him pray for you a great many
+times."
+
+"No--no," said Eleanor turning away,--"I know nothing but fear. I do
+not feel anything better. And they want me to think of everything else
+in the world but this one thing!"
+
+"But you will think of it, Eleanor, won't you?"
+
+Eleanor was silent and abstracted. Her sister watched her with strange
+eyes for Julia, anxiously observant. The silence lasted some time.
+
+"When does Mr. Rhys--Is he going to preach again, Julia, that you know
+of?"
+
+"I guess not. He was very tired after he preached the other night; he
+lay on the couch and did not move the whole next day. He is better
+to-day."
+
+"You have seen him this morning?"
+
+"O yes. I see him every day; and he teaches me a great many things. But
+he always prays for you."
+
+Eleanor did not wish to keep up the conversation, and it dropped. And
+after that, things went on their train.
+
+It was a very fast train, too; and growing in importance and thickening
+in its urgency of speed. Every day the preparations converged more
+nearly towards their great focus, the twenty-first of December. Eleanor
+felt the whirl of circumstances, felt borne off her feet and carried
+away with them; and felt it hopelessly. She knew not what to urge that
+should be considered sufficient reason either by her mother or Mr.
+Carlisle for even delaying, much less breaking off the match. She was
+grave and proud, and unsatisfactory, as much as it was in her nature to
+be, partly on purpose; and Mr. Carlisle was not satisfied, and hurried
+on things all the more. He kept his temper perfectly, whatever thoughts
+he had; he rode and walked with Eleanor, when she would go, with the
+same cool and faultless manner; when she would not, he sometimes let it
+pass and sometimes made her go; but once or twice he failed in doing
+this; and recognized the possibility of Eleanor's ability to give him
+trouble. He knew his own power however; on the whole he liked her quite
+as well for it.
+
+"What is the matter with you, my darling?" he said one day. "You are
+not like yourself."
+
+"I am not happy," said Eleanor. "I told you I had a doubt unsettled
+upon my mind; and till that doubt is put at rest I cannot be happy; I
+cannot have peace; you will take no pleasure in me."
+
+"Why do you not settle it then?" said Mr. Carlisle, quietly.
+
+"Because I have no chance. I have not a moment to think, in this whirl
+where I am living. If you would put off the twenty-first of next month
+to the twenty-first of some month in the spring--or summer--I might
+have a breathing place, and get myself in order. I cannot, now."
+
+"You will have time to think, love, when you get to the Priory," Mr.
+Carlisle observed in the same tone--an absolute tone.
+
+"Yes. I know how that would be!" Eleanor answered bitterly. "But I can
+take no pleasure in anything,--I cannot have any rest or comfort,--as
+long as I know that if anything happened to me--if death came
+suddenly--I am utterly unready. I cannot be happy so."
+
+"I think I had better send Dr. Cairnes to see you," said Mr. Carlisle.
+"He is in duty bound to be the family physician in all things spiritual
+where they need him. But this is morbid, Eleanor. I know how it is.
+These are only whims, my darling, that will never outlive that day you
+dread so much."
+
+He had drawn her into his arms as he spoke; but in his touch and his
+kiss Eleanor felt or fancied something masterful, which irritated her.
+
+"If I thought that, Mr. Carlisle," she said,--"if I knew it was
+true,--that day would never come!"
+
+Mr. Carlisle's self-control was perfect; so was his tact. He made no
+answer at all to this speech; only gave Eleanor two or three more of
+those quiet ownership kisses. No appearance of discomposure in his
+manner or in his voice when he spoke; still holding her in his arms.
+
+"I shall know how to punish you one of these days for this," he said.
+"You may expect to be laughed at a little, my darling, when you turn
+penitent. Which will not hinder the moment from coming."
+
+And so, dismissing the matter and her with another light touch of her
+lips, he left her.
+
+"Will it be so?" thought Eleanor. "Shall I be so within his control,
+that I shall even sue to him to forget and pardon this word of my true
+indignation? Once his wife--once let the twenty-first of December
+come--and there will be no more help for me. What shall I do?"
+
+She was desperate, but she saw no opening. She saw however the next day
+that Mr. Carlisle was coldly displeased with her. She was afraid to
+have him remain so; and made conciliations. These were accepted
+immediately and frankly, but so at the same time as made her feel she
+had lost ground and given Mr. Carlisle an advantage; every inch of
+which he knew and took. Nobody had seen the tokens of any part of all
+this passage of arms; in three days all was just as it had been, except
+Eleanor's lost ground. And three days more were gone before the
+twenty-first of December.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+AT LUNCHEON.
+
+
+  "And, once wed,
+  So just a man and gentle, could not choose
+  But make my life as smooth as marriage-ring."
+
+
+"Macintosh, do you ever condescend to do such a thing as walk?--take a
+walk, I mean?"
+
+"You may command me," he answered somewhat lazily.
+
+"May I? For the walk; but I want further to make a visit in the
+village."
+
+"You may make twenty, if you feel inclined. I will order the horses to
+meet us there--shall I? or do you not wish to do anything but walk
+to-day?"
+
+"O yes. After my visit is paid, I shall be ready."
+
+"But it will be very inconvenient to walk so far in your habit. Can you
+manage that?"
+
+"I expect to enlighten you a good deal as to a woman's power of
+managing," said Eleanor.
+
+"Is that a warning?" said he, making her turn her face towards him.
+Eleanor gratified him with one of her full mischievous smiles.
+
+"Did anybody ever tell you," said he continuing the inspection, "that
+you were handsome?"
+
+"It never was worth anybody's while."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"Simply, that he would have gained nothing by it."
+
+"Then I suppose I should not, or you think so?"
+
+"Nothing in the world. Mr. Carlisle, if you please, I will go and put
+on my hat."
+
+The day was November in a mild mood; pleasant enough for a walk; and so
+one at least of the two found it. For Eleanor, she was in a divided
+mood; yet even to her the exercise was grateful, and brought some glow
+and stir of spirits through the body to the mind. At times, too, now,
+she almost bent before what seemed her fate, in hopelessness of
+escaping from it; and at those times she strove to accommodate herself
+to it, and tried to propitiate her captor. She did this from a twofold
+motive. She did fear him, and feared to have him anything but pleased
+with her; half slumbering that feeling lay; another feeling she was
+keenly conscious of. The love that he had for her; a gift that no woman
+can receive and be wholly unmoved by it; the affection she herself had
+allowed him to bestow, in full faith that it would not be thrown away;
+that stung Eleanor with grief and self-reproach; and made her at times
+question whether her duty did not lie where she had formally engaged it
+should. At such times she was very subdued in gentleness and in
+observance of Mr. Carlisle's pleasure; subdued to a meekness foreign to
+her natural mood, and which generally, to tell the truth, was
+accompanied by a very unwonted sedateness of spirits also; something
+very like the sedateness of despair.
+
+She walked now silently the first half of the way; managing her long
+habit in a way that she knew Mr. Carlisle knew, though he took no open
+notice of it. The day was quite still, the road footing good. A slight
+rime hung about the distance, veiled faintly the Rythdale woods,
+enshrouded the far-off village, as they now and then caught glimpses of
+it, in its tuft of surrounding trees. Yet near at hand, the air seemed
+clear and mellow; there was no November chill. It was a brown world,
+however, through which the two walked; life and freshness all gone from
+vegetation; the leaves in most cases fallen from the trees, and where
+they still hung looking as sear and withered as frost and decay could
+make them.
+
+"Do you abhor _all_ compliments?" said Mr. Carlisle, breaking a silence
+that for some time had been broken only by the quick ring of their
+footsteps upon the ground.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"That is frank; yet I am half afraid to present the one which is on my
+lips."
+
+"Perhaps it is not worth while," said Eleanor, with a gleam of a smile
+which was very alluring. "You are going to tell me, possibly, that I am
+a good walker."
+
+"I do not know why I should let you silence me. No, I was not going to
+tell you that you are a good walker; you know it already. The
+compliment of beauty, that you scorned, was also perhaps no news to
+you. What I admire in you now, is something you do not know you
+have--and I do not mean you shall, by my means."
+
+Eleanor's glance of amused curiosity, rewarded him.
+
+"Are you expecting now, that I shall ask for it?"
+
+"No; it would not be like you. You do not ask me for anything--that you
+can help, Eleanor. I shall have to make myself cunning in inventing
+situations of need that will drive you to it. It is pleasanter to me
+than you can imagine, to have your eyes seek mine with a request in
+them."
+
+Eleanor coloured.
+
+"There are the fieldfares!" she exclaimed presently.
+
+"What is there melancholy in that?" said Mr. Carlisle laughingly.
+
+"Nothing. Why?"
+
+"You made the announcement as if you found it so."
+
+"I was thinking of the time I saw the fieldfares last,--when they were
+gathering together preparing for their taking flight; and now here they
+are back again! It seems so little while--and yet it seems a long while
+too. The summer has gone."
+
+"I am glad it has!" said Mr. Carlisle. "And I am glad Autumn has had
+the discretion to follow it. I make my bow to the fieldfares."
+
+"You will not expect me to echo that," said Eleanor.
+
+"No. Not now. I will make you do it by and by."
+
+He thought a good deal of his power, Eleanor said to herself as she
+glanced at him; and sighed as she remembered that she did so too. She
+was afraid to say anything more. It had not been so pleasant a summer
+to her that she would have wished to live it over again; yet was she
+very sorry to know it gone, for more reasons than it would do to let
+Mr. Carlisle see.
+
+"You do not believe that?" he said, coming with his brilliant eyes to
+find her out where her thoughts had plunged her. Eleanor came forth of
+them immediately and answered.
+
+"No more, than that one of those fieldfares, if you should catch it and
+fasten a leash round its neck, would say it was well done that its time
+of free flying was over."
+
+"My bird shall soar higher from the perch where I will place her, than
+ever she ventured before."
+
+"Ay, and stoop to your lure, Mr. Carlisle!"
+
+He laughed at this flash, and took instant tribute of the lips whose
+sauciness tempted him.
+
+"Do you wonder," he said softly, "that I want to have my tassel-gentle
+on my hand?"
+
+Eleanor coloured again, and was wisely silent.
+
+"I am afraid you are not ambitious, Eleanor."
+
+"Is that such a favourite vice, that you wish I were?"
+
+"Vice! It is a virtue, say rather; but not for a woman," he added in a
+different tone. "No, I do not wish you any more of it, Nellie, than a
+little education will give."
+
+"You are mistaken, though, Macintosh. I am very ambitious," Eleanor
+said gravely.
+
+"Pray in what line? Of being able to govern Tippoo without my help?"
+
+"Is it Tippoo that I am to ride to-day?"
+
+"Yes. I will give you a lesson. What line does your ambition take,
+darling?"
+
+"I have a great ambition--higher and deeper than you can think--to be a
+great deal better than myself."
+
+She said it lowly and seriously, in a way that sufficiently spoke her
+earnestness. It was just as well to let Mr. Carlisle know now and then
+which way her thoughts travelled. She did not look up till the
+consciousness of his examining eyes upon her made her raise her own.
+His look was intent and silent, at first grave, and then changing into
+a very sunny smile with the words--
+
+"My little Saint Eleanor?"--
+
+They were inimitably spoken; it is difficult to say how. The
+graciousness, and affection, and only a very little tender raillery
+discernible with them, at once smote and won Eleanor. What could she do
+to make amends to this man for letting him love her, but to be his wife
+and give him all the good she could? She answered his smile, and if
+hers was shy and slight it was also so gentle that Mr. Carlisle was
+more than content.
+
+"If you have no other ambition than that," he said, "then the wise man
+is proved wrong who said that moderation is the sloth of the soul, as
+ambition is its activity."
+
+"Who said that?"
+
+"Rochefoucauld, I believe."
+
+"Like him--" said Eleanor.
+
+"How is that? wise?"
+
+"No indeed; false."
+
+"He was a philosopher, and you are not even a student in that school."
+
+"He was not a true man; and that I know by the lights he never knew."
+
+"He told the time of day by the world's clock, Eleanor. You go by a
+private sun-dial of your own."
+
+"The sun is right, Mr. Carlisle! He was a vile old maligner of human
+nature."
+
+"Where did you learn to know him so well?" said Mr. Carlisle, amused.
+
+"You may well ask. I used to study French sentences out of him; because
+they were in nice little detached bits; and when I came to understand
+him I judged him accordingly."
+
+"By the sun. Few men will stand that, Eleanor. Give an instance."
+
+"We are in the village."
+
+"I see it."
+
+"I told you I wanted to make a visit, Macintosh."
+
+"May I go too?"
+
+"Why certainly; but I am afraid you will not know what to do with
+yourself. It is at the house of Mrs. Lewis,--my old nurse."
+
+"Do you think I never go into cottages?" said he smiling.
+
+Eleanor did not know what to make of him; however, it was plain he
+would go with her into this one; so she took him in, and then had to
+tell who he was, and blushed for shame and vexation to see her old
+nurse's delighted and deep curtseys at the honour done her. She made
+her escape to see Jane; and leaving Mr. Carlisle to his own devices,
+gladly shut herself into the little stairway which led up from the
+kitchen to Jane's room. The door closed behind her, Eleanor let fall
+the spirit-mask she wore before Mr. Carlisle,--wore consciously for him
+and half unconsciously for herself,--and her feet went slowly and
+heavily up the stair. A short stairway it was, and she had short time
+to linger; she did not linger; she went into Jane's room. Eleanor had
+not been there since the night of her watch.
+
+It was like coming out of the woods upon an open champaign, as she
+stood by the side of the sick girl. Jane was lying bolstered up, as
+usual; disease shewed no stay of its ravages since Eleanor had been
+there last; all that was as it had been. The thin cheek with its
+feverish hue; the unnaturally bright eyes; the attitude of feebleness.
+But the mouth was quiet and at rest to-day; and that mysterious region
+of expression around the eyes had lost all its seams and lines of care
+and anxiety; and the eyes themselves looked at Eleanor with that calm
+full simplicity that one sees in an infant's eyes, before care or doubt
+has ever visited them. Eleanor was silent with surprise, and Jane spoke
+first.
+
+"I am glad to see you, Miss Eleanor."
+
+"You are better, Jane, to-day."
+
+"I think--I am almost well," said Jane, pausing for breath as she
+spoke, and smiling at the same time.
+
+"What has happened to you since I was here last? You do not look like
+the same."
+
+"Ma'am, I am not the same. The Lord's messenger has come--and I've
+heard the message--and O, Miss Eleanor, I'm happy!"
+
+"What do you mean, Jane?" said Eleanor; though it struck coldly through
+all her senses what it did mean.
+
+"Dear Miss Eleanor," said Jane, looking at her lovingly--"I wish you
+was as happy as I be!"
+
+"What makes you happy?"
+
+"O ma'am, because I love Jesus. I love Jesus!"
+
+"You must tell me more, Jane. I do not understand you. The other night,
+when I was here, you were not happy."
+
+"Miss Eleanor, I didn't know him then. Since then I've seen how good he
+is--and how beautiful--and what he has done for me;--and I'm happy!"
+
+"Can't you tell me more, Jane? I want to understand it."
+
+"Miss Eleanor, it's hard to tell. I'm thinking, one can't tell
+another--but the Lord must just shew himself."
+
+"What has he shewn to you?" said Eleanor gloomily. The girl lifted her
+eyes with a placid light in them, as she answered,
+
+"He has showed me how he loves me--and that he has forgiven me--O how
+good he is, Miss Eleanor!--and how he will take me home. And now I
+don't want for to stay--no more now."
+
+"You were afraid of dying, the other night, Jane."
+
+"That's gone,"--said the girl expressively.
+
+"But how did it go?"
+
+"I can't say, ma'am. I just saw how Jesus loves me--and I felt I loved
+him--and then how could I be feared, Miss Eleanor? when all's in his
+hand."
+
+Eleanor stood still, looking at the transformed face before her, and
+feeling ready to sink on the floor and cry out for very sorrow of
+heart. Had this poor creature put on the invisible panoply which made
+her dare to go among the angels, while Eleanor's own hand was
+empty--could not reach it--could not grasp it? She stood still with a
+cold brow and dark face.
+
+"Jane, I wish you could give me what you have got--so as not to lose it
+yourself."
+
+"Jesus will give it to you, Miss Eleanor," said the girl with a
+brightening eye and smile. "I know he will."
+
+"I do not know of him, Jane, as you do," Eleanor said gravely. "What
+did you do to gain this knowledge?"
+
+"I? I did nought, ma'am--what could I do? I just laid and cried in my
+bitterness of heart--like the night you was here, ma'am; till the day
+that Mr. Rhys came again and talked--and prayed--O he prayed!--and my
+trouble went away and the light came. O Miss Eleanor, if you would hear
+Mr. Rhys speak! I don't know how;--but if you'd hear him, you'd know
+all that man can tell."
+
+Eleanor stood silent. Jane looked at her with eyes of wistful regard,
+but panting already from the exertion of talking.
+
+"But how are you different to-day, Jane, from what you were the other
+night?--except in being happy."
+
+"Ma'am," said the girl speaking with difficulty, for she was
+excited,--"then I was blind. Now I see. I ain't different no ways--only
+I have seen what the Lord has done for me--and I know he loves me--and
+he's forgiven me my sins. He's forgiven me!--And now I go singing to
+myself, like, all the day and the night too, 'I love the Lord, and my
+Lord loves me.'"
+
+The water had slowly gathered in Jane's eyes, and the cheek flushed;
+but her sweet happy regard never varied except to brighten.
+
+"Jane, you must talk no more," said Eleanor. "What can I do for you?
+only tell me that."
+
+"Would Miss Eleanor read a bit?"
+
+What would become of Mr. Carlisle's patience? Eleanor desperately
+resolved to let it take care of itself, and sat down to read to Jane at
+the open page where the girl's look and finger had indicated that she
+wished her to begin. And the very first words were, "Let not your heart
+be troubled."
+
+Eleanor felt her voice choke; then clearing it with a determined effort
+she read on to the end of the chapter. But if she had been reading the
+passage in its original Greek, she herself would hardly have received
+less intelligence from it. She had a dim perception of the words of
+love and words of glory of which it is full; she saw that Mr. Rhys's
+"helmet" was at the beginning of it, and the "peace" he had preached
+of, at the end of it; yet those words which ever since the day they
+were spoken have been a bed of rest to every heart that has loved their
+Author, only straitened Eleanor's heart with a vision of rest afar off.
+
+"I must go now, dear Jane," she said as soon as the reading was ended.
+"What else would you like, that I can do for you?"
+
+"I'm thinking I want nothing, Miss Eleanor," said the girl calmly,
+without moving the eyes which had looked at Eleanor all through the
+reading. "But--"
+
+"But what? speak out."
+
+"Mother says you can do anything, ma'am."
+
+"Well, go on."
+
+"Dolly's in trouble, ma'am."
+
+"Dolly? why she was to have been married to that young Earle?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, but--mother'll tell you, Miss Eleanor--it tires me. He has
+been disappointed of his money, has James; and Dolly, she couldn't lay
+up none, 'cause of home;--and she's got to go back to service at Tenby;
+and they don't know when they'll come together now."
+
+A fit of coughing punished Jane for the exertion she had made, and put
+a stop to her communication. Eleanor staid by her till it was over,
+would not let her say another word, kissed her, and ran down to the
+lower room in a divided state of spirits. There she learnt from Mrs.
+Lewis the details of Jane's confused story. The young couple wanted
+means to furnish a house; the money hoarded for the purpose had been
+lent by James in some stress of his parents' affairs and could not now
+be got back again; and the secret hope of the family, Eleanor found,
+was that James might be advanced to the gamekeeper's place at Rythdale,
+which they took care to inform her was vacant; and which would put the
+young man in possession of better wages and enable him to marry at
+once. Eleanor just heard all this, and hurried out to the gate where
+Mr. Carlisle was waiting for her. Her interview with Jane had left her
+with a desperate feeling of being cut off from the peace and light her
+heart longed for; and yet she was glad to see somebody else happy. She
+stood by Mr. Carlisle's side in a sort of subdued mood. There also
+stood Miss Broadus.
+
+"Now Eleanor! here you are. Won't you help me? I want you two to come
+in and take luncheon with us. I shall never get over it if you do--I
+shall be so pleased. So will Juliana. Now do persuade this
+gentleman!--will you? We'll have luncheon in a little while--and then
+you can go on your ride. You'll never do it if you dc not to-day."
+
+"It is hardly time, Miss Broadus," said Mr. Carlisle "We must ride some
+miles before luncheon."
+
+"I think it must be very near time," said Miss Broadus "Do, Eleanor,
+look and tell us what it is. Now you are here, it would be such a good
+chance. Well, Eleanor? And the horses can wait."
+
+"It is half past twelve by me, Miss Broadus. I do not know how it is by
+the world's clock."
+
+"You can not take her word," said Mr. Carlisle, preparing to mount
+Eleanor. "She goes by an old-fashioned thing, that is always behind the
+time--or in advance of it."
+
+"Well, I declare!" said Miss Broadus. "That beautiful little watch Mr.
+Powle gave her! Then you will come in after your ride?"
+
+If they were near enough at luncheon time, Mr. Carlisle promised that
+should be done; and leaving Miss Broadus in startled admiration of
+their horses, the riders set forth. A new ride was promised Eleanor;
+they struck forward beyond Wiglands, leaving the road to Rythdale on
+the left hand. Eleanor was busily meditating on the question of making
+suit to Mr. Carlisle in James Earle's favour; but not as a question to
+be decided; she had resolved she would not do it, and was thinking
+rather how very unwilling she should be to do it; sensible at the same
+time that much power was in her hands to do good and give relief, of
+many kinds; but fixed in the mind that so long as she had not the
+absolute right and duty of Mr. Carlisle's wife, she would not assume
+it. Yet between pride and benevolence Eleanor's ride was likely to be
+scarce a pleasant one. It was extremely silent, for which Tippoo's
+behaviour on this occasion gave no excuse. He was as gentle as the day.
+
+"What did you find in that cottage to give your thoughts so profound a
+turn?" said Mr. Carlisle at last.
+
+"A sick girl."
+
+"Cottages do not seem to agree with you, Eleanor."
+
+"That would be unfortunate," said Eleanor rousing up, "for the people
+in them seem to want me very much."
+
+"Do not let that impose on you," said Mr. Carlisle smiling. "Speaking
+of cottages--two of my cottages at Rythmoor are empty still."
+
+"O are they!--" Eleanor exclaimed with sudden life.
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Is there anybody you mean to put in them, Mr. Carlisle?"
+
+"No. Is there anybody you mean to put in them?"
+
+"I know just who would like to have one."
+
+"Then I know just who shall have it--or I shall know, when you have
+told me."
+
+Did he smile to himself that his bait had taken? He did not smile
+outwardly. Riding close up to her, he listened with a bright face to
+the story which Eleanor gave with a brighter. She had a private smile
+at herself. Where were her scruples now? There was no help for it.
+
+"It is one of your--one of the under gardeners at Rythdale; his name is
+James Earle. I believe he is a good fellow."
+
+"We will suppose that. What has he done to enlist your sympathy?"
+
+"He wants to marry a sister of this girl I have been to see. They have
+been long betrothed; and James has been laying up money to set up
+housekeeping. They were to have been married this autumn,--now;--but
+James had lent all his earnings to get his old father out of some
+distress, and they are not forthcoming; and all Dolly's earnings go to
+support hers."
+
+"And what would you like to do for them, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor coloured now, but she could not go back. "If you think well of
+Earle, and would like to have him in one of the empty cottages at
+Rythmoor, I should be glad."
+
+"They shall go in, the day we are married; and I wish you would find
+somebody for the other. Now having made a pair of people happy and
+established a house, would you like a gallop?"
+
+Eleanor's cheeks were hot, and she would very much; but she answered,
+"One of Tippoo's gallops?"--
+
+"You do not know them yet. You have tried only a mad gallop. Tippoo!"
+said Mr. Carlisle stooping and striking his riding glove against the
+horse's shoulder,--"I am going a race with you, do you hear?"
+
+His own charger at the same time sprang forward, and Tippoo to match!
+But such a cradling flight through the air, Eleanor never knew until
+now. There seemed no exertion; there was no jar; a smooth, swift,
+arrowy passage over the ground, like what birds take under the clouds.
+This was the gentlest of gallops, certainly, and yet it was at a rare
+speed that cleared the miles very fast and left striving grooms in the
+distance. Eleanor paid no attention to anything but the delight of
+motion; she did not care where or how far she was carried on such
+magical hoofs; but indeed the ride was beyond her beat and she did not
+know the waymarks if she had observed them. A gradual slackening of
+this pace of delight brought her back to the earth and her senses again.
+
+"How was that?" said Mr. Carlisle. "It has done you no harm."
+
+"I do not know how it was," said Eleanor, caressing the head and neck
+of the magnificent animal she rode--"but I think this creature has come
+out of the Arabian Nights. Tippoo is certainly an enchanted prince."
+
+"I'll take care he is not disenchanted, then," said Mr. Carlisle. "That
+gallop did us some service. Do you know where we are?"
+
+"Not in the least."
+
+"You will know presently."
+
+And accordingly, a few minutes of fast riding brought them to a lodge
+and a gate.
+
+"Is this Rythdale?" said Eleanor, who had noticed the manner of the
+gate-opener.
+
+"Yes, and this entrance is near the house. You will see it in a moment
+or two."
+
+It appeared presently, stately and lovely, on the other side of an
+extensive lawn; a grove of spruce firs making a beautiful setting for
+it on one side. The riders passed round the lawn, through a part of the
+plantations, and came up to the house at the before-mentioned left
+wing. Mr. Carlisle threw himself off his horse and came to Eleanor.
+
+"What now, Macintosh?"
+
+"Luncheon."
+
+"O, I do not want any luncheon."
+
+"I do. And so do you, love. Come!"
+
+"Macintosh," said Eleanor, bending down with her hand resting on his
+shoulder to enforce her request, "I do not want to go in!"
+
+"I cannot take you any further without rest and refreshment; and we are
+too far from Miss Broadus's now. Come, Eleanor!"
+
+He took her down, and then observing the discomposed colour of
+Eleanor's cheek, he went on affectionately, as he was leading her
+in,--"What is there formidable in it, Nellie? Nothing but my mother and
+luncheon; and she will be much pleased to see you."
+
+Eleanor made no answer; she doubted it; at all events the pleasure
+would be all on one side. But the reception she got justified Mr.
+Carlisle. Lady Rythdale was pleased. She was even gracious. She sent
+Eleanor to her dressing-room to refresh herself, not to change her
+dress this time; and received her when she came into her presence again
+with a look that was even benign.
+
+Bound, bound,--Eleanor felt it in everything her eye lit upon; she had
+thought it all over in the dressing-room, while she was putting in
+order the masses of hair which had been somewhat shaken down by the
+gallop. She was irritated, and proud, and afraid of displeasing Mr.
+Carlisle; and above all this and keeping it down, was the sense that
+she was bound to him. He did love her, if he also loved to command her;
+and he would do the latter, and it was better not to hinder his doing
+the other. But higher than this consideration rose the feeling of
+_right_. She had given him leave to love her; and now it seemed that
+his love demanded of her all she had, if it was not all he wanted; duty
+and observance and her own sweet self, if not her heart's absorbing
+affection. And this would satisfy Mr. Carlisle, Eleanor knew; she could
+not ease her conscience with the thought that it would not. And here
+she was in his mother's dressing-room putting up her hair, and down
+stairs he and his mother were waiting for her; she was almost in the
+family already. Eleanor put several feelings in bonds, along with the
+abundant tresses of brown hair which made her hands full, and went down.
+
+She looked lovely as she came in; for the pride and irritation and
+struggling rebellion which had all been at work, were smothered or at
+least kept under by her subdued feeling, and her brow wore an air of
+almost shy modesty. She did not see the two faces which were turned
+towards her as soon as she appeared, though she saw Mr. Carlisle rise.
+She came forward and stood before Lady Rythdale.
+
+The feeling of shyness and of being bound were both rather increased by
+all she saw and felt around her. The place was a winter parlour or
+sitting-room, luxuriously hung and furnished with red, which made a
+rich glow in the air. At one side a glass door revealed a glow of
+another sort from the hues of tropical flowers gorgeously blooming in a
+small conservatory; on another side of the room, where Lady Rythdale
+sat and her son stood, a fire of noble logs softly burned in an ample
+chimney. All around the evidences of wealth and a certain sort of power
+were multiplied; not newly there but native; in a style of things very
+different from Eleanor's own simple household. She stood before the
+fire, feeling all this without looking up, her eye resting on the
+exquisite mat of Berlin wool on which Lady Rythdale's foot rested. That
+lady surveyed her.
+
+"So you have come," she said. "Macintosh said he would bring you."
+
+Eleanor answered for the moment with tact and temper almost equal to
+her lover's, "Madam--you know Mr. Carlisle."
+
+How satisfied they both looked, she did not see; but she felt it,
+through every nerve, as Mr. Carlisle took her hands and placed her in a
+great chair, that she had pleased him thoroughly. He remained standing
+beside her, leaning on her chair, watching her varying colour no doubt.
+A few commonplaces followed, and then the talk fell to the mother and
+son who had some affairs to speak about. Eleanor's eye went to the
+glass door beyond which the flowers beckoned her; she longed to go to
+them; but though feeling that bands were all round her which were
+drawing her and would draw her to be at home in that house, she would
+not of her own will take one step that way; she would assume nothing,
+not even the right of a stranger. So she only looked at the distant
+flowers, and thought, and ceased to hear the conversation she did not
+understand. But all this while Lady Rythdale was taking note of her. A
+pause came, and Eleanor became conscious that she was a subject of
+consideration.
+
+"You will have a very pretty wife, Macintosh," said the baroness
+bluntly and benignly.
+
+The rush of colour to her face Eleanor felt as if she could hardly
+bear. She had much ado not to put up her hands like a child.
+
+"You must have mercy on her, mamma," said Mr. Carlisle, walking off to
+a bookcase. "She has the uncommon grace of modesty."
+
+"It is no use," said Lady Rythdale. "She may as well get accustomed to
+it. Others will tell her, if you do not."
+
+There was silence. Eleanor felt displeased.
+
+"Is she as good as she is pretty?" enquired Lady Rythdale.
+
+"No, ma'am," said Eleanor in a low voice. The baroness laughed. Her son
+smiled. Eleanor was vexed at herself for speaking.
+
+"Mamma, is not Rochefoucauld here somewhere?"
+
+"Rochefoucauld? what do you want of him?"
+
+"I want to call this lady to account for some of her opinions. Here he
+is. Now Eleanor," said he tossing the book into her lap and sitting
+down beside her,--"justify yourself."
+
+Eleanor guessed he wanted to draw her out. She was not very ready. She
+turned over slowly the leaves of the book. Meanwhile Lady Rythdale
+again engaged her son in conversation which entirely overlooked her;
+and Eleanor thought her own thoughts; till Mr. Carlisle said with a
+little tone of triumph, "Well, Eleanor?--"
+
+"What is it?" said Lady Rythdale.
+
+"Human nature, ma'am; that is the question."
+
+"Only Rochefoucauld's exposition of it," said Eleanor.
+
+"Well, go on. Prove him false."
+
+"But when I have done it by the sun-dial, you will make me wrong by the
+clock."
+
+"Instance! instance!" said Mr. Carlisle laughing.
+
+"Take this. 'La magnanimite est assez bien definie par son nom meme;
+neanmoins on pourroit dire que c'est le bon sens de l'orgueil, et la
+voie la plus noble pour recevoir des louanges.' Could anything be
+further from the truth than that?"
+
+"What is your idea of magnanimity? You do not think 'the good sense of
+pride' expresses it?"
+
+"It is not a matter of calculation at all; and I do not think it is
+beholden to anything so low as pride for its origin."
+
+"I am afraid we should not agree in our estimation of pride," said Mr.
+Carlisle, amused; "you had better go on to something else. The want of
+ambition may indicate a deficiency in that quality--or an excess of it.
+Which, Eleanor?"
+
+"Rochefoucauld says, 'La moderation est comme la sobriete: on voudroit
+bien manger davantage, mais on craint de se faire mal.'"
+
+"What have you to say against that?"
+
+"Nothing. It speaks for itself. And these two sayings alone prove that
+he had no knowledge of what is really noble in men."
+
+"Very few have," said Mr. Carlisle dryly.
+
+"But you do not agree with him?"
+
+"Not in these two instances. I have a living confutation at my side."
+
+"Her accent is not perfect by any means," said Lady Rythdale.
+
+"You are right, madam," said Eleanor, with a moment's hesitation and a
+little colour. "I had good advantages at school, but I did not avail
+myself of them fully."
+
+"I know whose temper is perfect," said Mr. Carlisle, drawing the book
+from her hand and whispering, "Do you want to see the flowers?"
+
+He was not pleased, Eleanor saw; he carried her off to the conservatory
+and walked about with her there, watching her pleasure. She wished she
+could have been alone. The flowers were quite a different society from
+Lady Rythdale's, and drew off her thoughts into a different channel.
+The roses looked sweetness at her; the Dendrobium shone in purity;
+myrtles and ferns and some exquisite foreign plants that she knew not
+by name, were the very prime of elegant refinement and refreshing
+suggestion. Eleanor plucked a geranium leaf and bruised it and thoughts
+together under her finger. Mr. Carlisle was called in and for a moment
+she was left to herself. When he came back his first action was to
+gather a very superb rose and fasten it in her hair. Eleanor tried to
+arrest his hand, but he prevented her.
+
+"I do not like it, Macintosh. Lady Rythdale does not know me. Do not
+adorn me here!"
+
+"Your appearance here is my affair," said he coolly. "Eleanor, I have a
+request to make. My mother would like to hear you sing."
+
+"Sing! I am afraid I should not please Lady Rythdale."
+
+"Will you please me?"
+
+Eleanor quitted his hand and went to the door of communication with the
+red parlour, which was by two or three steps, on which she sat down.
+Her eyes were on the floor, where the object they encountered was Mr.
+Carlisle's spurs. That would not do; she buried them in the depths of a
+wonderful white lily, and so sang the old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.
+And so sweet and pure, so natural and wild, was her giving of the wild
+old song, as if it could have come out of the throat of the flower. The
+thrill of her voice was as a leaf trembles on its stem. No art there;
+it was unadulterated nature. A very delicious voice had been spoiled by
+no master; the soul of the singer rendered the soul of the song. The
+listeners did both of them, to do them justice, hold their breath till
+she had done. Then Mr. Carlisle brought her in, to luncheon, in
+triumph; rose and all.
+
+"You have a very remarkable voice, my dear!" said Lady Rythdale. "Do
+you always sing such melancholy things?"
+
+"You must take my mother's compliments, Nellie, as you would olives--it
+takes a little while to get accustomed to them."
+
+Eleanor thought so.
+
+"Do not you spoil her with sweet things," said the baroness. "Come
+here, child--let me look at you. You have certainly as pretty a head of
+hair as ever I saw. Did you put in that rose?"
+
+"No, ma'am," said Eleanor, blushing with somewhat besides pleasure.
+
+Much to her amazement, the next thing was Lady Rythdale's taking her in
+her arms and kissing her. Nor was Eleanor immediately released; not
+until she had been held and looked over and caressed to the content of
+the old baroness, and Eleanor's cheeks were in a state of furious
+protestation. She was dismissed at last with the assurance to Mr.
+Carlisle that she was "an innocent little thing."
+
+"But she is not one of those people who are good because they have not
+force to be anything else, Macintosh."
+
+"I hope not."
+
+After this, however, Eleanor was spared further discussion. Luncheon
+came in; and during the whole discussion of that she was well petted,
+both by the mother and son. She felt that she could never break the
+nets that enclosed her; this day thoroughly achieved that conclusion to
+Eleanor's mind. Yet with a proud sort of mental reservation, she
+shunned the delicacies that belonged to Rythdale House, and would have
+made her luncheon with the simplicity of an anchorite on honey and
+bread, as she might at home. She was very gently overruled, and made to
+do as she would not at home. Eleanor was not insensible to this sort of
+petting and care; the charm of it stole over her, even while it made
+her hopeless. And hopelessness said, she had better make the most of
+all the good that fell to her lot. To be seated in the heart of
+Rythdale House and in the heart of its master, involved a worldly lot
+as fair at least as imagination could picture. Eleanor was made to
+taste it to-day, all luncheon time, and when after luncheon Mr.
+Carlisle pleased himself with making his mother and her quarrel over
+Rochefoucauld; in a leisurely sort of enjoyment that spoke him in no
+haste to put an end to the day. At last, and not till the afternoon was
+waning, he ordered the horses. Eleanor was put on Black Maggie and
+taken home at a gentle pace.
+
+"I do not understand," said Eleanor as they passed through the ruins,
+"why the House is called 'the Priory.' The priory buildings are here."
+
+"There too," said Mr. Carlisle. "The oldest foundations are really up
+there; and part of the superstructure is still hidden within the modern
+walls. After they had established themselves up there, the monks became
+possessed of the richer sheltered lands of the valley and moved
+themselves and their headquarters accordingly."
+
+The gloom of the afternoon was already gathering over the old tower of
+the priory church. The influence of the place and time went to swell
+the under current of Eleanor's thoughts and bring it nearer to the
+surface. It would have driven her into silence, but that she did not
+choose that it should. She met Mr. Carlisle's conversation, all the
+way, with the sort of subdued gentleness that had been upon her and
+which the day's work had deepened. Nevertheless, when Eleanor went in
+at home, and the day's work lay behind her, and Rythdale's master was
+gone, and all the fascinations the day had presented to her presented
+themselves anew to her imagination, Eleanor thought with sinking of
+heart--that what Jane Lewis had was better than all. So she went to bed
+that night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+AT BROMPTON.
+
+
+  "Why, and I trust, and I may go too. May I not?
+  What, shall I be appointed hours: as though, belike,
+  I know not what to take and what to leave? Ha!"
+
+
+"Eleanor, what is the matter?" said Julia one day. For Eleanor was
+found in her room in tears.
+
+"Nothing--I am going to ruin only;--that is all."
+
+"Going to _what?_ Why Eleanor--what is the matter?"
+
+"Nothing--if not that."
+
+"Why Eleanor!" said the little one in growing astonishment, for
+Eleanor's distress was evidently great, and jumping at conclusions with
+a child's recklessness,--"Eleanor!--don't you want to be married?"
+
+"Hush! hush!" exclaimed Eleanor rousing herself up. "How dare you talk
+so, I did not say anything about being married."
+
+"No, but you don't seem glad," said Julia.
+
+"Glad! I don't know that I ever shall feel glad again--unless I get
+insensible--and that would be worse."
+
+"Oh Eleanor! what is it? do tell me!"
+
+"I have made a mistake, that is all, Julia," her sister said with
+forced calmness. "I want time to think and to get right, and to be
+good--then I could be in peace, I think; but I am in such a confusion
+of everything, I only know I am drifting on like a ship to the rocks. I
+can't catch my breath."
+
+"Don't you want to go to the Priory?" said the little one, in a low,
+awe-struck voice.
+
+"I want something else first," said Eleanor evasively. "I am not ready
+to go anywhere, or do anything, till I feel better."
+
+"I wish you could see Mr. Rhys," said Julia. "He would help you to feel
+better, I know."
+
+Eleanor was silent, shedding tears quietly.
+
+"Couldn't you come down and see him, Eleanor?"
+
+"Child, how absurdly you talk! Do not speak of Mr. Rhys to me or to any
+one else--unless you want him sent out of the village."
+
+"Why, who would send him?" said Julia. "But he is going without
+anybody's sending him. He is going as soon as he gets well, and he says
+that will be very soon." Julia spoke very sorrowfully. "He is well
+enough to preach again. He is going to preach at Brompton. I wish I
+could hear him."
+
+"When?"
+
+"Next Monday evening."
+
+"_Monday_ evening?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I shall want to purchase things at Brompton Monday," said Eleanor to
+herself, her heart leaping up light. "I shall take the carriage and go."
+
+"Where will he preach in Brompton, Julia? Is it anything of an
+extraordinary occasion?"
+
+"No. I don't know. O, he will be in the--I don't know! You know what
+Mr. Rhys is. He is something--he isn't like what we are."
+
+"Now if I go to the Methodist Chapel at Brompton," thought Eleanor, "it
+will raise a storm that will either break me on the rocks, or land me
+on shore. I will do it. This is my very last chance."
+
+She sat before the fire, pondering over her arrangements. Julia nestled
+up beside her, affectionate but mute, and laid her head caressingly
+against her sister's arm. Eleanor felt the action, though she took no
+notice of it. Both remained still for some little time.
+
+"What would you like, Julia?" her sister began slowly. "What shall I do
+to please you, before I leave home? What would you choose I should give
+you?"
+
+"Give _me?_ Are you going to give me anything?"
+
+"I would like to please you before I go away--if I knew how. Do you
+know how I can?"
+
+"O Eleanor! Mr. Rhys wants something very much--If I could give it to
+him!--"
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"He has nothing to write on--nothing but an old portfolio; and that
+don't keep his pens and ink; and for travelling, you know, when he goes
+away, if he had a writing case like yours--wouldn't it be nice? O
+Eleanor, I thought of that the other day, but I had no money. What do
+you think?"
+
+"Excellent," said Eleanor. "Keep your own counsel, Julia; and you and I
+will go some day soon, and see what we can find."
+
+"Where will you go? to Brompton?"
+
+"Of course. There is no other place to go to. But keep your own
+counsel, Julia."
+
+If Julia kept her own counsel, she did not so well know how to keep her
+sister's; for the very next day, when she was at Mrs. Williams's
+cottage, the sight of the old portfolio brought up her talk with
+Eleanor and all that had led to it; and Julia out and spoke.
+
+"Mr. Rhys, I don't believe that Eleanor wants to be married and go to
+Rythdale Priory."
+
+Mr. Rhys's first movement was to rise and see that the door of
+communication with the next room was securely shut; then as he sat down
+to his writing again he said gravely,
+
+"You ought to be very careful how you make such remarks, Julia. You
+might without knowing it, do great harm. You are probably very much
+mistaken."
+
+"I am careful, Mr. Rhys. I only said it to you."
+
+"You had better not say it to me. And I hope you will say it to nobody
+else."
+
+"But I want to speak to somebody," said Julia; "and she was crying in
+her room yesterday as hard as she could. I do not believe, she wants to
+go to Rythdale!"
+
+Julia spoke the last words with slow enunciation, like an oracle. Mr.
+Rhys looked up from his writing and smiled at her a little, though he
+answered very seriously.
+
+"You ought to remember, Julia, that there might be many things to
+trouble your sister on leaving home for the last time, without going to
+any such extravagant supposition as that she does not want to leave it.
+Miss Eleanor may have other cause for sorrow, quite unconnected with
+that."
+
+"I know she has, too," said Julia. "I think Eleanor wants to be a
+Christian."
+
+He looked up again with one of his grave keen glances.
+
+"What makes you think it, Julia?"
+
+"She said she wanted to be good, and that she was not ready for
+anything till she felt better; and I know _that_ was what she meant. Do
+you think Mr. Carlisle is good, Mr. Rhys?"
+
+"I have hardly an acquaintance with Mr. Carlisle. Pray for your sister,
+Julia, but do not talk about her; and now let me write."
+
+The days rolled on quietly at Ivy Lodge, until Monday came. Eleanor had
+kept herself in order and given general satisfaction. When Monday came
+she announced boldly that she was going to give the afternoon of that
+day to her little sister. It should be spent for Julia's pleasure, and
+so they two would take the carriage and go to Brompton and be alone. It
+was a purpose that could not very well be interfered with. Mr. Carlisle
+grumbled a little, not ill-humouredly, but withdrew opposition; and
+Mrs. Powle made none. However the day turned very disagreeable by
+afternoon, and she proposed a postponement.
+
+"It is my last chance," said Eleanor. "Julia shall have this afternoon,
+if I never do it again." So they went.
+
+The little one full of joy and anticipation; the elder grave,
+abstracted, unhappy. The day was gloomy and cloudy and windy. Eleanor
+looked out upon the driving grey clouds, and wondered if she was
+driving to her fate, at Brompton. She could not help wishing the sun
+would shine on her fate, whatever it was; but the chill gloom that
+enveloped the fields and the roads was all in keeping with the piece of
+her life she was traversing then. Too much, too much. She could not
+rouse herself from extreme depression; and Julia, felling it, could
+only remark over and over that it was "a nasty day."
+
+It was better when they got to the town. Brompton was a quaint old
+town, where comparatively little modernising had come, except in the
+contents of the shops, and the exteriors of a few buildings. The tower
+of a very beautiful old church lifted its head above the mass of
+house-roofs as they drew near the place; in the town the streets were
+irregular and narrow and of ancient fashion in great part. Here however
+the gloom of the day was much lost. What light there was, was broken
+and shadowed by many a jutting out stone in the old mason-work, many,
+many a recess and projecting house-front or roof or doorway; the broad
+grey uniformity of dulness that brooded over the open landscape, was
+not here to be felt. Quaint interest, quaint beauty, the savour of
+things old and quiet and stable, had a stimulating and a soothing
+effect too. Eleanor roused up to business, and business gave its usual
+meed of refreshment and strength. She and Julia had a good shopping
+time. It was a burden of love with the little one to see that
+everything about the proposed purchase was precisely and entirely what
+it should be; and Eleanor seconded her and gave her her heart's content
+of pleasure; going from shop to shop, patiently looking for all they
+wanted, till it was found. Julia's joy was complete, and shone in her
+face. The face of the other grew dark and anxious. They had got into
+the carriage to go to another shop for some trifle Eleanor wanted.
+
+"Julia, would you like to stay and hear Mr. Rhys speak to-night?"
+
+"O wouldn't I! But we can't, you know."
+
+"I am going to stay."
+
+"And going to hear him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"O Eleanor! Does mamma know?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But she will be frightened, if we are not come home."
+
+"Then you can take the carriage home and tell her; and send the little
+waggon or my pony for me."
+
+"Couldn't you send one of the men?"
+
+"Yes, and then I should have Mr. Carlisle come after me. No, if I send,
+you must go."
+
+"Wouldn't he like it?"
+
+"It is no matter whether he would like it or no. I am going to stay.
+You can do as you please."
+
+"I would like to stay!" said Julia eagerly. "O Eleanor, I want to stay!
+But mamma would be so frightened. Eleanor, do you think it is right?"
+
+"It is right for me," said Eleanor. "It is the only thing I can do. If
+it displeased all the world, I should stay. You may choose what you
+will do. If the horses go home, they cannot come back again; the waggon
+and old Roger, or my pony, would have to come for me--with Thomas."
+
+Julia debated, sighed, shewed great anxiety for Eleanor, great
+difficulty of deciding, but finally concluded even with tears that it
+would not be _right_ for her to stay. The carriage went home with her
+and her purchases; Thomas, the old coachman, having answered with
+surprised alacrity to the question, whether he knew where the Wesleyan
+chapel in Brompton was. He was to come back for Eleanor and be with the
+waggon there. Eleanor herself went to spend the intermediate time
+before the hour of service, and take tea, at the house of a little
+lawyer in the town whom her father employed, and whose wife she knew
+would be overjoyed at the honour thus done her. It was not perhaps the
+best choice of a resting-place that Eleanor could have made; for it was
+a sure and certain fountain head of gossip; but she was in no mood to
+care for that just now, and desired above all things, not to take
+shelter in any house where a message or an emissary from the Lodge or
+the Priory would be likely to find her; nor in one where her
+proceedings would be gravely looked into. At Mrs. Pinchbeck's
+hospitable tea-table she was very secure from both. There was nothing
+but sweetmeats there!
+
+Mrs. Pinchbeck was a lively lady, in a profusion of little fair curls
+all over her head and a piece of flannel round her throat. She was very
+voluble, though her voice was very hoarse. Indeed she left nothing
+untold that there was time to tell. She gave Eleanor an account of all
+Brompton's doings; of her own; of Mr. Pinchbeck's; and of the doings of
+young Master Pinchbeck, who was happily in bed, and who she declared,
+when _not_ in bed was too much for her. Meanwhile Mr. Pinchbeck, who
+was a black-haired, ordinarily somewhat grim looking man, now with his
+grimness all gilded in smiles, pressed the sweetmeats; and looked his
+beaming delight at the occasion. Eleanor felt miserably out of place;
+even Mrs. Pinchbeck's flannel round her throat helped her to question
+whether she were not altogether wrong and mistaken in her present
+undertaking. But though she felt miserable, and even trembled with a
+sort of speculative doubt that came over her, she did not in the least
+hesitate in her course. Eleanor was not made of that stuff. Certainly
+she was where she had no business to be, at Mrs. Pinchbeck's tea-table,
+and Mr. Pinchbeck had no business to be offering her sweetmeats; but it
+was a miserable necessity of the straits to which she found herself
+driven. She must go to the Wesleyan chapel that evening; she would,
+_coute que coute_. _There_ she dared public opinion; the opinion of the
+Priory and the Lodge. _Here_, she confessed said opinion was right.
+
+One good effect of the vocal entertainment to which she was subjected,
+was that Eleanor herself was not called upon for many words. She
+listened, and tasted sweetmeats; that was enough, and the Pinchbecks
+were satisfied. When the time of durance was over, for she was
+nervously impatient, and the hour of the chapel service was come,
+Eleanor had not a little difficulty to escape from the offers of
+attendance and of service which both her host and hostess pressed upon
+her. If her carriage was to meet her at a little distance, let Mr.
+Pinchbeck by all means see her into it; and if it was not yet come, at
+least let her wait where she was while Mr. P. went to make inquiries.
+Or stay all night! Mrs. Pinchbeck would be delighted. By steady
+determination Eleanor at last succeeded in getting out of the house and
+into the street alone. Her heart beat then, fast and hard; it had been
+giving premonitory starts all the evening. In a very sombre mood of
+mind, she made her way in the chill wind along the streets, feeling
+herself a wanderer, every way. The chapel she sought was not far off;
+lights were blazing there, though the streets were gloomy. Eleanor made
+a quiet entrance into the warm house, and sat down; feeling as if the
+crisis of her fate had come. She did not care now about hiding herself;
+she went straight up the centre aisle and took a seat about half way in
+the building, at the end of a pew already filled all but that one
+place. The house was going to be crowded and a great many people were
+already there, though it was still very early.
+
+The warmth after the cold streets, and the silence, and the solitude,
+after being exposed to Mrs. Pinchbeck's tongue and to her observation,
+made a lull in Eleanor's mind for a moment. Then, with the waywardness
+of action which thought and feeling often take in unwonted situations,
+she began to wonder whether it could be right to be there--not only for
+her, but for anybody. That large, light, plain apartment, looking not
+half so stately as the saloon of a country house; could that be a
+proper place for people to meet for divine service? It was better than
+a barn, still was that a fit _church?_ The windows blank and staring
+with white glass; the woodwork unadorned and merely painted; a little
+stir of feet coming in and garments rustling, the only sound. She
+missed the full swell of the organ, which itself might have seemed to
+clothe even bare boards. Nothing of all that; nothing of what she
+esteemed dignified, or noble, or sacred; a mere business-looking house,
+with that simple raised platform and little desk--was Eleanor right to
+be there? Was anybody else? Poor child, she felt wrong every way, there
+or not there; but these thoughts tormented her. They tormented her only
+till Mr. Rhys came in. When she saw him, as it had been that evening in
+the barn, they quieted instantly. To her mind he was a guaranty for the
+righteousness of all in which he was concerned; different as it might
+be from all to which she had been accustomed. Such a guaranty, that
+Eleanor's mind was almost ready to leap to the other conclusion, and
+account wrong whatever the difference put on another side from him. She
+watched him now, as he went with a quick step to the pulpit, or
+platform as she called it, and mounting it, kneeled down beside one of
+the chairs that stood there. Eleanor was accustomed to that action; she
+had seen clergymen a million of times come into the pulpit, and always
+kneel; but it was not like this. Always an ample cushion lay ready for
+the knees that sank upon it; the step was measured; the movement slow;
+every line was of grace and propriety; the full-robed form bowed
+reverently, and the face was buried in a white cloud of cambric. Here,
+a tall figure, attired only in his ordinary dress, went with quick,
+decided step up to the place; there dropped upon one knee, hiding his
+face with his hand; without seeming to care where, and certainly
+without remembering that there was nothing but an ingrain carpet
+between his knee and the floor. But Eleanor knew what this man was
+about; and an instant sense of sacredness and awe stole over her,
+beyond what any organ-peals or richness of Gothic work had ever
+brought. Then she rejoiced that she was where she was. To be there,
+could not be wrong.
+
+The house was full and still. The beginning of the service again was
+the singing; here richer and fuller voiced than it had been in the
+barn. Somebody else made the prayers; to her sorrow; but then Mr. Rhys
+rose, and her eye and ear were all for him. She threw back her veil
+now. She was quite willing that he should see her; quite willing that
+if he had any message of help or warning for her in the course of his
+sermon, he should deliver it. He saw her, she knew, immediately. She
+rather fancied that he saw everybody.
+
+It was to be a missionary sermon, Eleanor had understood; but she
+thought it was a very strange one. The text was, "Render to Caesar the
+things that are Caesar's; and to God the things that are God's."
+
+The question was, "What are the Lord's things?"
+
+Mr. Rhys seemed to be only talking to the people, as his bright eye
+went round the house and he went on to answer this question. Or rather
+to suggest answers.
+
+Jacob's offering of devotion and gratitude was a tenth part of his
+possessions. "And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me,
+and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat,
+and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father's house in
+peace; then shall the Lord be my God: and this stone, which I have set
+for a pillar, shall be God's house; and of all that thou shalt give me,
+I will surely give the tenth unto thee."
+
+Mr. Rhys announced this. He did not comment upon it at all. He went on
+to say, that the commandment given by Moses appointed the same offering.
+
+"And all the tithe of the land, whether of the seed of the land, or of
+the fruit of the tree, is the Lord's: it is holy unto the Lord. And if
+a man will at all redeem ought of his tithes, he shall add thereto the
+fifth part thereof. And concerning the tithe of the herd, or of the
+flock, even of whatsoever passeth under the rod, the tenth shall be
+holy unto the Lord. He shall not search whether it be good or bad,
+neither shall he change it; and if he change it at all, then both it
+and the change thereof shall be holy; it shall not be redeemed."
+
+So that it appeared, that the least the Lord would receive as a due
+offering to him from his people, was a fair and full tenth part of all
+they possessed. This was required, from those that were only nominally
+his people. How about those that render to him heart-service?
+
+David's declaration, when laying up provision for the building of the
+temple, was that _all_ was the Lord's. "Who am I, and what is my
+people, that we should be able to offer so willingly after this sort?
+for all things come of thee, and of thine own have we given thee... O
+Lord our God, all this store that we have prepared to build thee an
+house for thy holy name cometh of thine hand, and is all thine own."
+And God himself, in the fiftieth psalm, claims to be the one sole owner
+and proprietor, when he says, "Every beast of the forest is mine, and
+the cattle upon a thousand hills."
+
+But some people may think, that is a sort of natural and providential
+right, which the Creator exercises over the works of his hands. Come a
+little closer.
+
+"The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the Lord of
+Hosts."--So it was declared by his prophet Haggai. And by another of
+his servants, the Lord told the people that their own prospering in the
+various goods of this world, would be according to their faithfulness
+in serving him with them.
+
+"Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we
+robbed thee? In tithes and offerings. Ye are cursed with a curse; for
+ye have robbed me, even this whole nation.
+
+"Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in
+mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I
+will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing,
+that there shall not be room enough to receive it."
+
+So that it is not grace nor bounty the Lord receives at our hands in
+such offerings; it is simply _his own_.
+
+Then it must be considered that those were the times of the old
+dispensation; of an expensive system of sacrifices and temple worship;
+with a great body of the priesthood to be maintained and supplied in
+all their services and private household wants. We live in changed
+times, under a different rule. What do the Lord's servants owe him now?
+
+The speaker had gone on with the utmost quietness of manner from one of
+these instances to another; using hardly any gestures; uttering only
+with slow distinctness and deliberation his sentences one after the
+other; his face and eye meanwhile commanding the whole assembly. He
+went on now with the same quietness, perhaps with a little more
+deliberateness of accentuation, and an additional spark of fire now and
+then in his glance.
+
+There was a widow woman once, who threw into the Lord's treasury two
+mites, which make a farthing; but it was _all her living_. Again, we
+read that among the first Christians, "all that believed were together,
+and had all things common; and sold their possessions and goods, and
+parted them to all men, as every man had need." "The multitude of them
+that believed were of one heart, and of one soul; neither said any of
+them that ought of the things which he possessed was his own; but they
+had all things common."
+
+Were these people extravagant? They overwent the judgment of the
+present day. By what rule shall we try them?
+
+Christ's rule is, "Freely ye have received; freely give." What have we
+received?
+
+Friends, "you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he
+was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his
+poverty might be rich." And the judgment of the old Christian church
+accorded with this; for they said,--"The love of Christ constraineth
+us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all
+dead; and that he died for all, that they which live should not
+henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them, and
+rose again." Were they extravagant?
+
+But Christ has given us a closer rule to try the question by. He told
+his disciples, "This is my commandment, That ye love one another, _as I
+have loved you_." Does any one ask how that was? The Lord tells us in
+the next breath. It was no theoretical feeling. "_Greater love hath no
+man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends_." "A new
+commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved
+you, that ye also love one another."
+
+Pausing there in his course, with fire and tenderness breaking out in
+his face and manner, that gave him a kind of seraphic look, the speaker
+burst forth into a description of the love of Christ, that before long
+bowed the heads and hearts of his audience as one man. Sobs and
+whispers and smothered cries, murmured from all parts of the church;
+the whole assembly was broken down, while the preacher stood like some
+heavenly messenger and spoke his Master's name. When he ceased, the
+suppressed noise of sobs was alone to be heard all over the house. He
+paused a little, and began again very quietly, but with an added
+tenderness in his voice,
+
+"He that saith he abideth in him, ought himself also so to walk, even
+as he walked."--"Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid
+down his life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the
+brethren."
+
+He paused again; every one there knew that he was ready to act on the
+principle he enounced; that he was speaking only of what he had proved;
+and the heads of the assembly bent lower still.
+
+Does any one ask, What shall we do now? there is no temple to be
+maintained, nor course of sacrifices to be kept up, nor ceremonial
+worship, nor Levitical body of priests to be supported and fed. What
+shall we give our lives and our fortunes to now, if we give them?
+
+"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."
+Is the gospel dear to you? Is salvation worth having? Think of those
+who know nothing of it; and then think of Christ's command, "Feed my
+sheep." They are scattered upon all lands, the sheep that he died for;
+who shall gather them in? In China they worship a heap of ashes; in
+India they adore monsters; in Fiji they live to kill and eat one
+another; in Africa they sit in the darkness of centuries, till almost
+the spark of humanity is quenched out. "Whosoever shall call upon the
+name of the Lord shall be saved." But "how shall they call on him in
+whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom
+they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? and
+how shall they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How
+beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and
+bring glad tidings of good things!"
+
+"O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high
+mountain: O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy voice
+with strength; lift it up, be not afraid; say unto the cities of Judah,
+Behold your God!"
+
+"The Spirit and the bride say, come. And let him that heareth say,
+come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him
+take the water of life freely."----
+
+It was in the midst of the deepest stillness, and in low kept-under
+tones, that the last words were spoken. And when they ceased, a great
+hush still remained upon the assembly. It was broken by prayer; sweet,
+solemn, rapt, such as some there had never heard before; such as some
+there knew well. When Mr. Rhys had stopped, another began. The whole
+house was still with tears.
+
+There was one bowed heart there, which had divided subjects of
+consideration; there was one hidden face which had a double motive for
+being hid. Eleanor had been absorbed in the entrancing interest of the
+time, listening with moveless eyes, and borne away from all her own
+subjects of care and difficulty on the swelling tide of thought and
+emotion which heaved the whole assembly. Till her own head was bent
+beneath its power, and her tears sought to be covered from view. She
+did not move from that attitude; until, lifting her head near the close
+of the sermon, as soon as she could get it up in fact, that she might
+see as much as possible of those wonderful looks she might never see
+again; a slight chance turn of her head brought another idea into her
+mind. A little behind her in the aisle, standing but a pace or two off,
+was a figure that for one instant made all Eleanor's blood stand still.
+She could not see it distinctly; she did not see the face of the person
+at all; it was only the merest glimpse of some outlines, the least line
+of a coat and vision of an arm and hand resting on a pew door. But if
+that arm and hand did not belong to somebody she knew, in Eleanor's
+belief it belonged to nobody living. It was not the colour of cloth nor
+the cut of a dress; it was the indefinable character of that arm and
+man's glove, seen with but half an eye. But it made her sure that Mr.
+Carlisle, in living flesh and blood, stood there, in the Wesleyan
+chapel though it was. Eleanor cared curiously little about it, after
+the first start. She felt set free, in the deep high engagement of her
+thoughts at the time, and the roused and determined state of feeling
+they had produced. She did not fear Mr. Carlisle. She was quite willing
+he should have seen her there. It was what she wished, that he should
+know of her doing. And his neighbourhood in that place did not hinder
+her full attention and enjoyment of every word that was spoken. It did
+not check her tears, nor stifle the swelling of her heart under the
+preaching and under the prayers. Nevertheless Eleanor was conscious of
+it all the time; and became conscious too that the service would before
+very long come to a close; and then without doubt that quiet glove
+would have something to do with her. Eleanor did not reason nor stop to
+think about it. Her heart was full, full, under the appeals made and
+the working of conscience with them; conscience and tenderer feelings,
+which strove together and yet found no rest; and this action the sight
+of Mr. Carlisle rather intensified. Were her head but covered by that
+helmet of salvation, under which others lived and walked so royally
+secure,--and she could bid defiance to any disturbing force that could
+meet her, she thought, in this world.
+
+It was while Eleanor's head was yet bowed, and her heart busy with
+these struggling feelings, that she heard an invitation given to all
+people who were not at peace in their hearts and who desired that
+Christians should pray for them,--to come forward and so signify their
+wish. Eleanor did not understand what this could mean; and hearing a
+stir in the church, she looked up, if perhaps her eyes might give her
+information. To her surprise she saw that numbers of people were
+leaving their seats, and going forward to what she would have called
+the chancel rails, where they all knelt down. All these persons, then,
+were in like condition with her; unhappy in the consciousness of their
+wants, and not knowing how to supply them. So many! And so many willing
+openly to confess it. Eleanor's heart moved strangely towards them. And
+then darted into her head an impulse, quick as lightning and almost as
+startling, that she should join herself to them and go forward as they
+were doing. Was not her heart mourning for the very same want that they
+felt? She had reason enough. No one in that room sought the forgiveness
+of God and peace with him more earnestly than she, nor with a sorer
+heart; nor felt more ignorant how to gain it. Together with that
+another thought, both of them acting with the swiftness and power of a
+lightning flash, moved Eleanor. Would it not utterly disgust Mr.
+Carlisle, if she took this step? would he wish to have any more to do
+with her, after she should have gone forward publicly to ask for
+prayers in a Wesleyan chapel? It would prove to him at least how far
+apart they were in all their views and feelings. It would clear her way
+for her; and the next moment, doing it cunningly that she might not be
+intercepted, Eleanor Powle slipped out of her seat with a quick
+movement, just before some one else who was coming up the aisle, and so
+put that person for that one second of danger between her and the
+waiting figure whom she knew without looking at. That second was
+gained, and she went trembling with agitation, yet exultingly, up the
+aisle and knelt on the low bench where the others were.
+
+Mr. Carlisle and escape from him, had been Eleanor's one thought till
+she got there. But as her knees sank upon the cushion and her head
+bowed upon the rails, a flood of other feeling swept over her and Mr.
+Carlisle was forgotten. The sense of what she was committing herself
+to--of the open stand she was taking as a sinner, and one who desired
+to be a forgiven sinner,--overwhelmed her; and her heart's great cry
+for peace and purity broke forth to the exclusion of everything else.
+
+In the confusion of Eleanor's mind, she did not know in the least what
+was going on around her in the church. She did not hear if they were
+praying or singing. She tried to pray for herself; she knew not what
+others were doing; till she heard some low whispered words near her.
+That sound startled her into attention; for she knew the accent of one
+voice that spoke. The other, if one answered, she could not discern;
+but she found with a start of mingled fear and pleasure that Mr. Rhys
+was speaking separately with the persons kneeling around the rails. She
+had only time to clear her voice from tears, before that same low
+whisper came beside her.
+
+"What is your difficulty?"
+
+"Darkness--confusion--I do not see what way to go."
+
+"Go _no_ way," said the whisper impressively, "until you see clearly.
+Then do what is right. That is the first point. You know that Christ is
+the fountain of light?"
+
+"But I see none."
+
+"Seek him trustingly, and obediently; and then look for the light to
+come, as you would for the dawning after a dark night. It is sure, if
+you will trust the Lord. His going forth is prepared as the morning. It
+is sure to come, to all that seek him, trust him, and obey him. Seek
+him in prayer constantly, and in studying your Bible; and what you find
+to be your duty, do; and the Lord be with you!"
+
+He passed away from Eleanor; and presently the whole assembly struck up
+a hymn. It sounded like a sweet shout of melody at the time; but
+Eleanor could never recall a note of it afterwards. She knew the
+service was nearly ended, and that in a few minutes she must quit her
+kneeling, sheltered position, and go out into the world again. She bent
+her heart to catch all the sweetness of the place and the time; for
+strange and confused as she felt, there was nevertheless an atmosphere
+fragrant with peace about both. The hymn came to an end; the
+congregation were dismissed, and Eleanor perforce turned her face to go
+down the aisle again.
+
+Her veil was down and she did not look, but she knew without looking
+just when she reached the spot where Mr. Carlisle stood. He stood there
+yet; he had only stepped a little aside to let the stream of people go
+past him; and now as Eleanor came up he assumed his place by her side
+and put her hand upon his arm as quietly as if he had been waiting
+there for her by appointment all along. So he led her out to the
+carriage in waiting for her, helped her into it, and took his place
+beside her; in silence, but with the utmost gentleness of demeanour.
+The carriage door was closed, they drove off; Eleanor's evening was
+over, and she was alone with Mr. Carlisle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+AT SUPPER.
+
+
+  _Mar_.     "Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan."
+  _Sir And_. "O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog."
+  _Sir Tob_. "What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason,
+             dear knight?"
+  _Sir And_. "I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason
+             good enough."
+
+
+What was to come now; as in darkness and silence the carriage rolled
+over the road towards Wiglands? Eleanor did not greatly care. She felt
+set free; outwardly, by her own daring act of separation; inwardly and
+more effectually perhaps, by the influence of the evening upon her own
+mind. In her own settled and matured conclusions, she felt that Mr.
+Carlisle's power over her was gone. It was a little of an annoyance to
+have him sitting there; nevertheless Eleanor's mind did not trouble
+itself much with him. Leaning back in the carriage, she gave herself up
+to the impressions of the scene she had been through. Her companion was
+quiet and made no demands upon her attention. She recalled over and
+over the words, and looks, of the sermon;--the swell of the music--it
+had been like angel's melody; and the soft words which had been so
+energetic in their whispered strength as she knelt at the railing. She
+remembered with fresh wonder and admiration, with what effect the Bible
+words in the first part of the sermon had come upon the audience
+through that extreme quietness of voice and delivery; and then with
+what sudden fire and life, as if he had become another man, the speaker
+had burst out to speak of his Master; and how it had swayed and bent
+the assembly. It was an entirely new view of Mr. Rhys, and Eleanor
+could not forget it. In general, as she had always seen him, though
+perfectly at ease in his manners he was very simple and
+undemonstrative. She had not guessed there was such might in him. It
+awed her; it delighted her. To live such a life and to do such work as
+that man lived for,--that was living indeed! That was noble, high,
+pure; unlike and O how far above all the manner of lives Eleanor had
+ever seen before. And such, in so far as the little may resemble the
+great, such at least so far as in her sphere and abilities and sadly
+inferior moral qualities it might lie--such in aim and direction at
+least, her own life should be. What had she to do with Mr. Carlisle?
+
+Eleanor never spoke to him during the long drive, forgetting as far as
+she could, though a little uneasiness grew upon her by degrees, that he
+was even present. And he did not speak to her, nor remind her of his
+presence otherwise than by pulling up the glass on her side when the
+wind blew in too chill. It was _his_ carriage they were in, Eleanor
+then perceived; and she wanted to ask a question; but on the whole
+concluded it safe to be still; according to the proverb, _Let sleeping
+dogs lie_. One other time he drew her shawl round her which she had let
+slip off.
+
+Mr. Carlisle was possessed of large self-control and had great
+perfection of tact; and he never shewed either more consummately than
+this night. What he underwent while standing in the aisle of the
+Chapel, was known to himself; he made it known to nobody else. He was
+certainly silent during the drive; that shewed him displeased; but
+every movement was calm as ordinary; his care of Eleanor was the same,
+in its mixture of gentle observance and authority. He had laid down
+neither. Eleanor could have wished he had been unable to keep one or
+the other. Would he keep her too, and everything else that he chose?
+Nothing is more subduing in its effect upon others, than evident power
+of self-command. Eleanor could not help feeling it, as she stepped out
+of the carriage at home, and was led into the house.
+
+"Will you give me a few minutes, when you have changed your dress?" her
+conductor asked.
+
+It must come, thought Eleanor, and as well now as ever; and she
+assented. Mr. Carlisle led her in. Nobody was in waiting but Mrs.
+Powle; and she waited with devouring anxiety. The Squire and Julia she
+had carefully disposed of in good time.
+
+"Eleanor is tired, Mrs. Powle, and so am I," said Mr. Carlisle. "Will
+you let us have some supper here, by this fire--and I think Eleanor had
+better have a cup of tea; as I cannot find out the wine that she
+likes." And as Eleanor moved away, he added,--"And let me beg you not
+to keep yourself from your rest any longer--I will take care of my
+charge; at least I will try."
+
+Devoutly hoping that he might succeed to his wishes, and not daring to
+shew the anxiety he did not move to gratify, Mrs. Powle took the hint
+of his gentle dismission; ordered the supper and withdrew. Meanwhile
+Eleanor went to her room, relieved at the quiet entrance that had been
+secured her, where she had looked for a storm; and a little puzzled
+what to make of Mr. Carlisle. A little afraid too, if the truth must be
+known; but she fell back upon Mr. Rhys's words of counsel--"Go no way,
+till you see clearly; and then do what is right." She took off her
+bonnet and smoothed her hair; and was about to go down, when she was
+checked by the remembrance of Mr. Carlisle's words, "when you have
+changed your dress." She told herself it was absurd; why should she
+change her dress for that half hour that she would be up; why should
+she mind that word of intimation; she called herself a fool for it;
+nevertheless, while saying these things Eleanor did the very thing she
+scouted at. She put off her riding dress, which the streets of Brompton
+and the Chapel aisles had seen that day, and changed it for a light
+grey drapery that fell about her in very graceful folds. She looked
+very lovely when she reentered the drawing-room; the medium tint set
+off her own rich colours, and the laces at throat and wrist were just
+simple enough to aid the whole effect. Mr. Carlisle was a judge of
+dress; he was standing before the fire and surveyed her as she came in;
+and as Eleanor's foot faltered half way in the room, he came forward,
+took both her hands and led her to the fire, where he set her in a
+great chair by the supper-table; and then before he let her go, did
+what he had not meant to do; gave a very frank kiss to the lips that
+were so rich and pure and so near him. Eleanor's heart had sunk a
+little at perceiving that her mother was not in the room; and this
+action was far from reassuring. She would rather Mr. Carlisle had been
+angry. He was far more difficult to meet in this mood.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Carlisle brought her chair into more convenient
+neighbourhood to the table, and set a plate before her on which he went
+on to place whatever he thought fit. "I know what you are wanting," he
+said;--"but you shall not have a cup of tea unless I see you eat." And
+Eleanor eat, feeling the need of it, and the necessity of doing
+something likewise.
+
+Mr. Carlisle poured himself out a glass of wine and slowly drank it,
+watching her. Midway set it down; and himself made and poured out and
+sugared and creamed a cup of tea which he set beside Eleanor. It was
+done in the nicest way possible, with a manner that any woman would
+like to have wait on her. Eleanor tasted, and could not hold her tongue
+any more.
+
+"I did not know this was one of your accomplishments,"--she said
+without raising her eyes.
+
+"For you"--said Mr. Carlisle. "I believe it will never be exercised for
+anybody else."
+
+He slowly finished his wine while he watched her. He eat nothing
+himself, though Eleanor asked him, till she turned from her plate, and
+did what she had not done till then but could no longer withhold; let
+her eyes meet his.
+
+"Now," said he throwing himself into an opposite chair,--"I will take a
+cup of tea, if you will make it for me."
+
+Eleanor blushed--what made her?--as she set about performing this
+office. The tea was cold; she had to make fresh, and wait till it was
+ready; and she stood by the table watching and preparing it, while Mr.
+Carlisle sat in his chair observing her. Eleanor's cheeks flushed more
+and more. There was something about this little piece of domesticity,
+and her becoming the servitor in her turn, that brought up things she
+did not wish to think of. But her neighbour liked what she did not
+like, for he sat as quiet as a mouse until Eleanor's trembling hand
+offered him the cup. She had to take a step or two for it, but he never
+stirred to abridge them. Eleanor sat down again, and Mr. Carlisle
+sipped his tea with an appearance of gratification.
+
+"That is a young man of uncommon abilities"--he remarked
+composedly,--"whom we heard this evening. Do you know who he is,
+Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor felt as if the sky was falling. "It is Mr. Rhys--Alfred's old
+tutor--" she answered, in a voice which she felt was dry and
+embarrassed to the quick ears that heard her. "You have seen him."
+
+"I thought I had, somewhere. But that man has power. It is a pity he
+could not be induced to come into the Church--he would draw better
+houses than Dr. Cairnes. Do you think we could win him over, Eleanor?"
+
+"I believe--I have heard"--said Eleanor, "that he is going away from
+England. He is going a missionary to some very far away region." She
+was quite willing Mr. Carlisle should understand this.
+
+"Just as well," he answered. "If he would not come into his right
+place, such a man would only work to draw other persons out of theirs.
+There is a sort of popular power of speech which wins with the common
+and uneducated mind. I saw it won upon you, Nellie; how was that?"
+
+The light tone, in which a smile seemed but half concealed,
+disconcerted Eleanor. She was not ashamed, she thought she was not, but
+she did not know how to answer.
+
+"You are a little _tete-montee_," he said. "If I had been a little
+nearer to you to-night, I would have saved you from taking one step;
+but I did not fancy that you could be so suddenly wrought upon. Pray
+how happened you to be in that place to-night?'
+
+"I told you," said Eleanor after some hesitation, "that I had an
+unsatisfied wish of heart which made me uneasy--and you would not
+believe me."
+
+"If you knew how this man could speak, I do not wonder at your wanting
+to hear him. Did you ever hear him before?"
+
+"Yes," said Eleanor, feeling that she was getting in a wrong position
+before her questioner. "I have heard him once--I wanted to hear him
+again."
+
+"Why did you not tell me your wish, that you might gratify it safely,
+Eleanor?"
+
+"I supposed--if I did--I should lose my chance of gratifying it at all."
+
+"You are a real _tete-montee_," he said, standing now before her and
+taking hold lightly and caressingly of Eleanor's chin as he spoke. "It
+was well nobody saw you to-night but me. Does my little wife think she
+can safely gratify many of her wishes without her husband's knowledge?"
+
+Eleanor coloured brightly and drew herself back. "That is the very
+thing," she said; "now you are coming to the point. I told you I had
+wishes with which yours would not agree, and it was better for you to
+know it before it was too late."
+
+"Too late for what?"
+
+"To remedy a great evil."
+
+"There is generally a remedy for everything," said Mr. Carlisle coolly;
+"and this sort of imaginative fervour which is upon you is sure to find
+a cold bath of its own in good time. My purpose is simply in future,
+whenever you wish to hear another specimen of the kind of oratory we
+have listened to this evening, to be with you that I may protect you."
+
+"Protect me from what?"
+
+"From going too far, further than you know, in your present _exaltee_
+state. The Lady of Rythdale must not do anything unworthy of herself,
+or of me."
+
+"What do you mean, Mr. Carlisle?" Eleanor exclaimed with burning
+cheeks. But he stood before her quite cool, his arms folded, looking
+down at her.
+
+"Do you wish me to speak?"
+
+"Certainly! I do."
+
+"I will tell you then. It would not accord with my wishes to have my
+wife grant whispered consultations in public to any man; especially a
+young man and one of insinuating talents, which this one well may be. I
+could have shot that man, as he was talking to you to-night, Eleanor."
+
+Eleanor put up her hands to her face to hide its colour for a moment.
+Shame and anger and confusion struggled together. _Had_ she done
+anything unworthy of her? Others did the same, but they belonged to a
+different class of persons; had she been where Eleanor Powle, or even
+Eleanor Carlisle, would be out of place? And then there was the
+contrasted consciousness, how very pleasant and precious that whispered
+"consultation" had been to her. Mr. Carlisle stooped and took away her
+hands from her face, holding them in his own.
+
+"Eleanor--had that young man anything to do with those unmanageable
+wishes you expressed to me?"
+
+"So far as his words and example set me upon thinking," said Eleanor.
+"But there was nothing in what was said to-night that all the world
+might not hear." She rose, for it was an uncomfortable position in
+which her hands were held.
+
+"All the world did not hear it, you will remember. Eleanor, you are
+honest, and I am jealous--will you tell me that you have no regard for
+this young man more than my wife ought to have?"
+
+"Mr. Carlisle, I have never asked myself the question!" exclaimed
+Eleanor with indignant eyes. "If you doubt me, you cannot wish to have
+anything more to do with me."
+
+"Call me Macintosh," said he drawing her within his arm.
+
+Eleanor would not. She would have freed herself, but she could not
+without exerting too much force. She stood silent.
+
+"Will you tell me," he said in a gentle changed tone, "what words did
+pass between you and that young man,--that you said all the world might
+hear?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated. Her head was almost on Mr. Carlisle's shoulder; his
+lips were almost at her downcast brow; the brilliant hazel eyes were
+looking with their powerful light into her face. And she was his
+affianced wife. Was Eleanor free? Had this man, who loved her, no
+rights? Along with all other feelings, a keen sense of self-reproach
+stole in again.
+
+"Macintosh," she said droopingly, "it was entirely about religious
+matters--that you would laugh at, but would not understand."
+
+"Indulge me--and try me--" he said pressing his lips first on Eleanor's
+cheek and then on her mouth. She answered in the same tone as before,
+drooping in his arms as a weary child.
+
+"He asked me--as I suppose he asked others--what the difficulties in my
+mind were,--religious difficulties; and I told him my mind was in
+confusion and I did not see clearly before me. He advised me to do
+nothing in the dark, but when I saw duty clear, then to do it. That was
+what passed."
+
+"What did all these difficulties and rules of action refer to?"
+
+"Everything, I suppose," said Eleanor drooping more and more inwardly.
+
+"And you do not see, my love, what all this tended to?"
+
+"I do not see what you mean."
+
+"This is artful proselytism, Eleanor. In your brave honesty, in your
+beautiful enthusiasm, you did not know that the purpose of all this has
+been, to make a Methodist of Eleanor Powle, and as a necessary
+preliminary or condition, to break off her promised marriage with me.
+If that fellow had succeeded, he should have been made to feel my
+indignation--as it is, I shall let him go."
+
+"You are entirely mistaken,--" began Eleanor.
+
+"Am I? Have you not been led to doubt whether you could live a right
+life, and live it with me?"
+
+"But would you be willing in everything to let me do as I think right?"
+
+"Would I let you? You shall do what you will, my darling, except go to
+whispering conventicles. Assuredly I will not let you do that. But when
+you tell me seriously that you think a thing is wrong, I will never put
+my will in the way of your conscience. Did you think me a Mahometan?
+Hey?"
+
+"No--but--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+Eleanor only sighed.
+
+"I think I have something to forgive to-night, Eleanor,--but it is easy
+to forgive you." And wrapping both arms round her now, he pressed on
+brow and lip and cheek kisses that were abundantly reconciled.
+
+"My presence just saved you to night. Eleanor--will you promise not to
+be naughty any more?--Eleanor?--"
+
+"I will try," burst out Eleanor,--"O I will try to do what is right! I
+will try to do what is right!"
+
+And in bitter uncertainty what that might be, she gave way under the
+strain of so many feelings, and the sense of being conquered which
+oppressed her, and burst into tears. Still held fast, the only
+hiding-place for her eyes was Mr. Carlisle's breast, and they flowed
+there bitterly though restrained as much as possible. He hardly wished
+to restrain them; he would have been willing to stand all night with
+that soft brown head resting like a child's on him. Nevertheless he
+called her to order with words and kisses.
+
+"Do you know, it is late," he said,--"and you are tired. I must send
+you off. Eleanor! look up. Look up and kiss me."
+
+Eleanor overcame the passion of tears as soon as possible, yet not till
+a few minutes had passed; and looked up; at least raised her head from
+its resting-place. Mr. Carlisle whispered, "Kiss me!"
+
+How could Eleanor refuse? what could she do? though it was sealing
+allegiance over again. She was utterly humbled and conquered. But there
+was a touch of pride to be satisfied first. Laying one hand on Mr.
+Carlisle's shoulder, so as to push herself a little back where she
+could look him in the face, with eyes glittering yet, she confronted
+him; and asked, "Do you doubt me now?"
+
+Holding her in both arms, at just that distance, he looked down at her,
+a smile as calm as brilliant playing all over his face, which spoke
+perfect content as well as secure possession. But the trust in his eyes
+was as clear.
+
+"No more than I doubt myself," he answered.
+
+Pride was laid asleep; and yielding to what seemed her fate, Eleanor
+gave the required token of fealty--or subjugation--for so it seemed to
+her. Standing quite still, with bent head and moveless attitude, the
+slightest smile in the world upon the lips, Mr. Carlisle's whole air
+said silently that it was not enough. Eleanor yielded again, and once
+more touched her lips to those of her master. He let her go then; lit
+her candle and attended her to the foot of the staircase and dismissed
+her with all care.
+
+"I wonder if he is going to stay here himself to-night, and meet me in
+the morning," thought Eleanor as she went up the stairs. "It does not
+matter--I will go to sleep and forget everything, for a while."
+
+Would she? There was no sleep for Eleanor that night, and she knew it
+as soon as she reached her room. She set down her candle and then
+herself in blank despair.
+
+What had she done? Nothing at all, The stand she had meant to take at
+the beginning of the evening, she had been unable even to set foot
+upon. The bold step by which she had thought to set herself free from
+Mr. Carlisle, had only laid her more completely at his feet. Eleanor
+got up and walked the room in agony.
+
+What had she done? She was this man's promised wife; she had made her
+own bonds; it was her own doing; he had a right to her, he had claims
+upon her, he had given his affection to her. Had _she_ any rights now,
+inconsistent with his? Must she not fulfil this marriage? And yet,
+could she do so, feeling as she did? would _that_ be right? For no
+sooner was Eleanor alone than the subdued cry of her heart broke out
+again, that it could not be. And that cry grew desperate. Yet this
+evening's opportunity had all come to nothing. Worse than nothing, for
+it had laid an additional difficulty in her way. By her window, looking
+out into the dark night, Eleanor stopped and looked at this difficulty.
+She drew from its lurking-place in the darkness of her heart the
+question Mr. Carlisle had suggested, and confronted it steadily.
+
+_Had_ "that young man," the preacher of this evening, Eleanor's really
+best friend, had he anything to do with her "unmanageable wishes?"
+_Had_ she any regard for him that influenced her mind in this
+struggle--or that raised the struggle? With fiercely throbbing heart
+Eleanor looked this question for the first time in the face. "No!" she
+said to herself,--"no! I have not. I have no such regard for him. How
+debasing to have such a doubt raised! But I _might_ have--I think that
+is true--if circumstances put me in the way of it. And I think, seeing
+him and knowing his superior beauty of character--how superior!--has
+wakened me up to the consciousness of what I do like, and what I like
+best; and made me conscious too that I do not love Mr. Carlisle as well
+as I ought, to be his wife--not as he loves me. _That_ I see now,--too
+late. Oh, mother, mother! why were you in such a hurry to seal this
+marriage--when I told you, I told you, I was not ready. But then I did
+not know any more than that. And now I cannot marry him--and yet I
+shall--and I do not know but I ought. And yet I cannot."
+
+Eleanor walked her floor or stood by her window that live-long night.
+It was a night of great agony and distracted searching for relief.
+Where should relief come from? To tell Mr. Carlisle frankly that she
+did not bear the right kind of love towards him, she knew would be the
+vainest of expedients. "He can make me do anything--he would say he can
+make me love him; and so, perhaps, he could--I believe he would--if I
+had not seen this other man." And then Eleanor drew the contrast
+between one person and the other; the high, pure, spiritual nobleness
+of the one, and the social and personal graces and intellectual power
+of the other, all used for selfish ends. It was a very unprofitable
+speculation for Eleanor; it left her further than ever from the
+conclusion, and distressed her bitterly. From her mother she knew sadly
+there was no help to be had. No consideration, of duty or pleasure,
+would outweigh with her the loss of a splendid alliance and the scandal
+of breaking off the preparations for it. The Sphynx would not look out
+more calmly over the desert waste of all things, than Mrs. Powle's fair
+face would overview a moral desolation more hopeless and more
+cheerless, if but the pyramid of her ambition were firmly planted
+there. And Eleanor's worst trouble after all was her doubt about duty.
+If Mr. Carlisle had not loved her--but he did love her truly and
+tenderly, and she, however misled, had given him permission. Could she
+now withdraw it? Could she do anything but, at whatever risk, go on and
+meet the obligations she had brought upon herself? Nature cried out
+strongly that it must not be; but conscience and remorse, aided by
+circumstances, withstood nature, and said it must be no other way.
+Eleanor must marry Mr. Carlisle and be as good to him as she could. And
+Eleanor's whole soul began to rise up stronger and stronger in protest
+against it, and cry that she never would marry him.
+
+The weary long night seemed but as one thought of pain; and when the
+morning broke, Eleanor felt that she had grown old.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+IN DOUBT.
+
+
+  "We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
+  And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday."
+
+
+Eleanor was too sick to go down even to a late breakfast; and a raging
+headache kept off any inquiries or remonstrances that Mrs. Powle might
+have made to her if she had been well. Later in the day her little
+sister Julia came dancing in.
+
+"Aren't you going to get up, Eleanor? What's the matter? I am going to
+open your window. You are all shut up here."
+
+Back went the curtain and up went the window; a breath of fresh mild
+air came sweetly in, and Julia danced back to the bedside. There
+suddenly sobered herself.
+
+"Eleanor, aren't you better? Can't you get up? It is so nice to-day."
+
+Julia's fresh, innocent, gay manner, the very light play of her waving
+hair, not lighter than the childlike heart, were almost too much for
+her sister. They made Eleanor's heart ache.
+
+"Where is everybody?"
+
+"Nowhere," said Julia. "I am all the house. Mr. Carlisle went home
+after breakfast; and mamma and Alfred are gone in the carriage to
+Brompton; and papa is out somewhere. Are you better, Nellie?"
+
+"I shall never be better!" said Eleanor. She turned and hid her face.
+
+"Oh why, Eleanor? What makes you say that? What is the matter? I knew
+yesterday you were not happy."
+
+"I am never going to be happy. I hope you will."
+
+"I am happy," said Julia. "And you will be. I told Mr. Rhys you were
+not happy,--and he said you would be by and by."
+
+"Julia!" said Eleanor raising herself on her elbow and with a colour
+spreading all over her face,--"don't talk to Mr. Rhys about me or my
+concerns! What makes you do such a thing?"
+
+"Why I haven't anybody else to talk to," said Julia. "Give me your
+foot, and I'll put on your stocking. Come! you are going to get up. And
+besides, he thinks a great deal of you, and we pray for you every day."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"He does, and I. Come!--give me your foot."
+
+"_He, and you!_" said Eleanor.
+
+"Yes," said Julia looking up. "We pray for you every day. What's the
+matter, Eleanor?"
+
+Her hand was laid sorrowfully and tenderly on the shoulder of the
+sister whose face was again hid from her. But at the touch Eleanor
+raised her head.
+
+"You seem a different child, Julia, from what you used to be."
+
+"What's the matter, Nellie?"--very tenderly.
+
+"I wish I was different too," said Eleanor, springing out of bed; "and
+I want time to go away by myself and think it out and battle it out,
+until I know just what is right and am ready to do it; and instead of
+that, mamma and Mr. Carlisle have arranged--"
+
+"Stop and sit down," said Julia taking hold of her; "you look white and
+black and all colours. Wait and rest, Eleanor."
+
+But Eleanor would not till she had tried the refreshment of cold water,
+and had put her beautiful hair in order; then she sat down in her
+dressing-gown. Julia had watched and now stood anxiously beside her.
+
+"Oh, what _is_ the matter, Eleanor?"
+
+"I don't know, Julia. I do not know what is right."
+
+"Have you asked God to make you know?"
+
+"No," said Eleanor, drooping.
+
+"That's what Mr. Rhys always does, so he is never troubled. I will tell
+you what he says--he says, 'What time I am afraid, I will trust in
+thee.' Then he feels safe, you know."
+
+"It is a pity you cannot go to the South Seas with Mr. Rhys. You talk
+of nothing but him."
+
+"I would like to go with him," said Julia simply. "But I have learned
+how to feel safe too, for I trust in Jesus too; and I know he will
+teach me right. So he will teach you, Eleanor."
+
+Eleanor bowed her head on her hands, and wept and wept; but while she
+wept, resolutions were taking form in her mind. Mr. Rhys's words came
+back to her--"Go no way, till you see clear." The renewed thought of
+that helmet of salvation, and of that heavenly guidance, that she
+needed and longed for; so supremely, so much above everything else;
+gradually gained her strength to resolve that she would have them at
+all hazards. She must have time to seek them and to be sure of her
+duty; and then, she would do it. She determined she would not see Mr.
+Carlisle; he would conquer her; she would manage the matter with her
+mother. Eleanor thought it all over, the opposition and the
+difficulties, and resolved with the strength of desperation. She had
+grown old during this night. She had a long interval of quiet before
+her mother came.
+
+"Well, Eleanor! in your dressing-gown yet, and only your hair done!
+When do you expect to be down stairs? Somebody will be here presently
+and expect to see you."
+
+"Somebody will be disappointed. My head is splitting, mamma."
+
+"I should think it would! after yesterday's gambade, What did Mr.
+Carlisle say to you, I should like to know? I thought you would have
+offended him past forgiveness. I was relieved beyond all expression
+this morning, at breakfast, when I saw all was right again. But he told
+me not to scold you, and I will not talk about it."
+
+"Mamma, if you will take off your bonnet and sit down--I will talk to
+you about something else."
+
+Mrs. Powle sat down, took her bonnet in her lap, and pushed her fair
+curls into place. They were rarely out of place; it was more a form
+than anything else. Yet Mrs. Powle looked anxious; and her anxiety
+found natural expression as she said,
+
+"I wish the twenty-first was to-morrow!"
+
+"That is the thing I wish to speak about. Mamma, that day, the day for
+my marriage, has been appointed too early--I feel hurried, and not
+ready. I want to study my own mind and know exactly what I am doing. I
+am going to ask you to have it put off."
+
+"Put it off!--" cried Mrs. Powle. Language contained no other words of
+equal importance to be spoken in the same breath with those three.
+
+"Yes. I want it put off."
+
+"Till when, if you please. It might as well be doomsday at once."
+
+"Till doomsday, if necessary; but I want it put off. I do not stipulate
+for so long a time as that," said Eleanor putting her hand to her head.
+
+"What day would you name, in lieu of the twenty-first? I should like to
+know how far your arrangements extend."
+
+"I want time to collect my thoughts and be ready for so great a change.
+I want time to study, and think,--and pray. I shall ask for at least
+three months."
+
+"Three months! Till April! And pray, what has ailed your ladyship not
+to study and think and pray if you like, all these months that have
+passed?"
+
+"I have no chance. My time is all taken up. I can do nothing, but go
+round in a whirl--till my head is spinning."
+
+"And what will you do in these three months to come? I should like to
+know all you propose."
+
+"I propose to go away from home--somewhere that I can be quiet and
+alone. Then, if there is no reason against it, I promise to come back
+and fulfil my engagement with Mr. Carlisle."
+
+"Eleanor, you are a fool!" burst out her mother. "You are a fool, or
+worse. How dare you talk such stuff to me? I can hardly believe you
+serious, only for your face. Do you suppose I will think for one moment
+of such a thing as putting off the day?--and if I would, have you any
+idea that Mr. Carlisle would give _his_ assent to it?!"
+
+"If you do not, both you and he, I shall break off the marriage
+altogether."
+
+"I dare you to do it!" said Mrs. Powle. "With the wedding-dresses made,
+and almost the wedding-cake--every preparation--the whole world to be
+scandalized and talking at any delay--your family disgraced, and
+yourself ruined for ever;--and Mr. Carlisle--Eleanor, I think you are
+crazy! only you sit there with such a wicked face!--"
+
+"It is in danger of being wicked," said Eleanor, drawing both her hands
+over it;--"for I warn you, mother, I am determined. I have been hurried
+on. I will be hurried no further. I will take poison, before I will be
+married on the twenty-first! As well lose my soul one way as another.
+You and Mr. Carlisle must give me time--or I will break the match
+altogether. I will bear the consequences."
+
+"Have you spoken to him of this precious arrangement?"
+
+"No," said Eleanor, her manner failing a little.--"You must do it."
+
+"I thought so!" said Mrs. Powle. "He knows how to manage you, my young
+lady! which I never did yet. I will just bring him up here to you--and
+you will be like a whipped child in three minutes. O you know it. I see
+it in your face. Eleanor, I am ashamed of you!"
+
+"I will not see him up here, mamma."
+
+"You will, if you cannot help it. Eleanor I wouldn't try him too far.
+He is very fond of you--but he will be your husband in a few days; and
+he is not the sort of man I should like to have displeased with me, if
+I were you."
+
+"He never will, mamma, unless he waits three months for it."
+
+"Now I will tell you one thing," said Mrs. Powle rising in great
+anger--"I can put down my foot too. I am tired of this sort of thing,
+and I cannot manage you, and I will give you over to one who can.
+To-day is Tuesday--the twenty-first is exactly one fortnight off. Well
+my young lady, _I_ will change the day. Next Monday I will give you to
+Mr. Carlisle, and he will be your master; and I fancy he is not at all
+afraid to assume the responsibility. He may take you to as quiet a
+place as he likes; and you may think at your leisure, and more properly
+than in the way you propose. So, Eleanor, you shall be married o'
+Monday."
+
+Mrs. Powle flourished out with her bonnet in her hand. Eleanor's first
+movement was to go after her and turn the key in the door securely;
+then she threw up the window and flung herself on her face on the bed.
+Her mother was quite capable of doing as she had said, for her fair
+features covered a not very tender heart. Mr. Carlisle would second
+her, no doubt, all the more eagerly for the last night's adventures.
+Could Eleanor make head against those two? And between Tuesday and
+Monday was very little time to mature plans or organize resistance. Her
+head felt like splitting now indeed, for very confusion.
+
+"Eleanor," said Julia's voice gravely and anxiously, "you will take
+cold--mayn't I shut the window?"
+
+"There's no danger. I am in a fever."
+
+"Is your head no better?"
+
+"I hardly think I have a head. There is nothing there but pain and
+snapping."
+
+"Poor Eleanor!" said her little sister, standing by the bedside like a
+powerless guardian angel. "Mr. Carlisle isn't good, if he wouldn't do
+what you want him."
+
+"Do not open the door, Julia, if anybody knocks!"
+
+"No. But wouldn't he, Eleanor, if you were to ask him?"
+
+Eleanor made no answer. She knew, it needed but a glance at last
+night's experience to remind her, that she could not make head against
+Mr. Carlisle. If he came to talk to her about her proposed scheme, all
+was lost. Suddenly Eleanor threw herself off the bed, and began to
+dress with precipitation.
+
+"Why, are you better, Eleanor?" Julia asked in surprise.
+
+"No--but I must go down stairs. Bring me my blue dress, Julia;--and go
+and get me some geranium leaves--some strong-scented ones. Here--go
+down the back way."
+
+No matter for head-splitting. Eleanor dressed in haste, but with
+delicate care; in a dress that Mr. Carlisle liked. Its colour suited
+her, and its simple make shewed her beauty; better than a more
+furbelowed one. The aromatic geranium leaves were for her head--but
+with them Julia had brought some of the brilliant red flowers; and
+fastened on her breast where Eleanor could feel their sweetness, they
+at the same time made a bright touch of adornment to her figure. She
+was obliged to sit down then and rest; but as soon as she could she
+went to the drawing-room.
+
+There were as usual several people there besides the family; Dr.
+Cairnes and Miss Broadus and her sister making part. Entering with a
+slow quiet movement, most unlike the real hurry of her spirits, Eleanor
+had time to observe how different persons were placed and to choose her
+own plan of action. It was to slip silently into a large chair which
+stood empty at Mr. Carlisle's side, and which favoured her by
+presenting itself as the nearest attackable point of the circle. It was
+done with such graceful noiselessness that many did not at the moment
+notice her; but two persons were quick of vision where she was
+concerned. Mr. Carlisle bent over her with delight, and though Mrs.
+Powle's fair curls were not disturbed by any sudden motion of her head,
+her grey eyes dilated with wonder and curiosity as she listened to a
+story of Miss Broadus which was fitted to excite neither. Eleanor was
+beyond her, but she concluded that Mr. Carlisle held the key of this
+extraordinary docility.
+
+Eleanor sat very quiet in her chair, looking lovely, and by degrees
+using up her geranium leaves; with which she went through a variety of
+manipulations. They were picked to pieces and rubbed to pieces and
+their aromatic essence crushed out of them with every kind of
+formality. Mr. Carlisle finding that she had a headache did not trouble
+her to talk, and relieved her from attention; any further than his arm
+or hand mounting guard on her chair constantly gave. For it gathered
+the broken geranium leaves out of her way and picked them up from her
+feet. At last his hand came after hers and made it a prisoner.
+
+"You have a mood of destructiveness upon you," said he. "See there--you
+have done to death all the green of your bouquet."
+
+"The geranium leaves are good to my head," said Eleanor. "I want some
+more. Will you go with me to get them?"
+
+It gave her heart a shiver, the hold in which her hand lay. Though
+taken in play, the hold was so very cool and firm. Her hand lay there
+still, for Mr. Carlisle sat a moment after she spoke, looking at her.
+
+"I will go with you--wherever you please," he said; and putting
+Eleanor's hand on his arm they walked off towards the conservatory.
+This was at some distance, and opened out of the breakfast room. It was
+no great matter of a conservatory, only pretty and sweet. Eleanor began
+slowly to pull geranium leaves.
+
+"You are suffering, Eleanor,"--said Mr. Carlisle.
+
+"I do not think of it--you need not. Macintosh, I want to ask a favour
+of you."
+
+She turned to him, without raising her eyes, but made the appeal of her
+whole pretty presence. He drew his arm round her and suspended the
+business of geranium leaves.
+
+"What is it, my darling?"
+
+"You know," said Eleanor, "that when the twenty-first of December was
+fixed upon--for what you wished--it was a more hurried day than I would
+have chosen, if the choice had been left to me. I wanted more time--but
+you and my mother said that day, and I agreed to it. Now, my mother has
+taken a notion to make it still earlier--she wants to cut off a whole
+week from me--she wants to make it next Monday. Don't join with her!
+Let me have all the time that was promised me!"
+
+Eleanor could not raise her eyes; she enforced her appeal by laying her
+hand on Mr. Carlisle's arm. He drew her close up to him, held her fast,
+stooped his head to hers.
+
+"What for, Eleanor? Laces and plums can be ready as well Monday as
+Monday s'ennight."
+
+"For myself, Macintosh."
+
+"Don't you think of me?"
+
+"No!" said Eleanor, "I do not. It is quite enough that you should have
+your wish after Monday s'ennight--I ought to have it before."
+
+He laughed and kissed her. He always liked any shew of spirit in
+Eleanor.
+
+"My darling, what difference does a week make?"
+
+"Just the difference of a week; and more than that in my mind. I want
+it. Grant me this favour, Mackintosh! I ask it of you."
+
+Mr. Carlisle seemed to find it amazingly pleasant to have Eleanor
+sueing to him for favours; for he answered her as much with caresses as
+with words; both very satisfied.
+
+"You try me beyond my strength, Eleanor. Your mother offers to give you
+to me Monday--Do you think I care so little about this possession that
+I will not take it a week earlier than I had hoped to have it?"
+
+"But the week is mine--it is due to me, Macintosh. No one has a right
+to take it from me. You may have the power; and I ask you not to use
+it."
+
+"Eleanor, you break my heart. My love, do you know that I have business
+calling for me in London?--it is calling for me now, urgently. I must
+carry you up to London at once; and this week that you plead for, I do
+not know how to give. If I can go the fifteenth instead of the
+twenty-second, I must. Do you see, Nellie?" he asked very tenderly.
+
+Eleanor hardly saw anything; the world and all in it seemed to be in a
+swimming state before her eyes. Only Mr. Carlisle's "can's" and
+"must's" obeyed him, she felt sure, as well as everything else. She
+felt stunned. Holding her on one arm, Mr. Carlisle began to pluck
+flowers and myrtle sprays and to adorn her hair with them. It was a
+labour of love; he liked the business and played with it. The beautiful
+brown masses of hair invited and rewarded attention.
+
+"Then my mother has spoken to you?" she said at length.
+
+"Yes,"--he said, arranging a spray of heath with white blossoms. "Do
+you blame me?" Eleanor sought to withdraw herself from his arm, but he
+detained her.
+
+"Where are you going?"
+
+"Up stairs--to my room."
+
+"Do you forgive me, Eleanor?" he said, looking down at her.
+
+"No,--I think I do not."
+
+He laughed a little, kissing her downcast face.
+
+"I will make you my wife, Monday, Eleanor; and after that I will make
+you forgive me; and then--my wife shall ask me nothing that she shall
+not have."
+
+Keeping her on his arm, he led her slowly from the conservatory,
+through the rooms, and up the staircase, to the door of her own
+apartment.
+
+Eleanor tore out the flowers as soon as she was alone, locked her door,
+meaning at least not to see her mother that night; took off her dress
+and lay down. Refuge failed her. She was in despair. What could she
+arrange between Tuesday night and Monday?--short of taking poison, or
+absconding privately from the house, and so disgracing both herself and
+her family. Yet Eleanor was in such desperation of feeling that both
+those expedients occurred to her in the course of the night, although
+only to be rejected. Worn-out nature must have some rest however; and
+towards morning she slept.
+
+It was late when she opened her eyes. They fell first upon Julia,
+standing at her bedside.
+
+"Are you awake, Eleanor?"
+
+"Yes. I wish I could sleep on."
+
+"There's news."
+
+"News! What sort of news?" said Eleanor, feeling that none concerned
+her.
+
+"It's bad news--and yet--for you--it is good news."
+
+"What is it, child? Speak."
+
+"Lady Rythdale--she is dead."
+
+Eleanor raised herself on her elbow and stared at Julia. "How do you
+know? how do you know?" she said.
+
+"A messenger came to tell us--she died last night. The man came a good
+while ago, but--"
+
+She never finished her sentence; for Eleanor threw herself out of bed,
+exclaiming, "I am saved! I am saved!"--and went down on her knees by
+the bedside. It was hardly to pray, for Eleanor scarce knew how to
+pray; yet that position seemed an embodiment of thanks she could not
+speak. She kept it a good while, still as death. Julia stood
+motionless, looking on.
+
+"Don't think me wicked," said Eleanor getting up at last. "I am not
+glad of anything but my own deliverance. Oh, Julia!"
+
+"Poor Eleanor!" said her little sister wonderingly. "Then you don't
+want to be married and go to Rythdale?"
+
+"Not Monday!" said Eleanor. "And now I shall not. It is not possible
+that a wedding and a funeral should be in one house on the same day. I
+know which they would put off if they could, but they have got to put
+off the other. O Julia, it is the saving of me!"
+
+She caught the little one in her arms and sat with her so, their two
+heads nestling together, Eleanor's bowed upon her sister's neck.
+
+"But Eleanor, will you not marry Mr. Carlisle after all?"
+
+"I cannot,--for a good while, child."
+
+"But then?"
+
+"I shall _never_ be married in a hurry. I have got breathing time--time
+to think. And I'll use it."
+
+"And, O Eleanor! won't you do something else?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Won't you be a servant of the Lord?"
+
+"I will--if I can find out how," Eleanor answered low.
+
+It poured with rain. Eleanor liked it that day, though generally she
+was no lover of weather that kept her within. A spell of soothing had
+descended upon her. Life was no longer the rough thing it had seemed to
+her yesterday. A constant drop of thankfulness at her heart kept all
+her words and manner sweet with its secret perfume. Eleanor's temper
+was always as sound as a nut; but there was now a peculiar grace of
+gentleness and softness in all she did. She was able to go faultlessly
+through all the scenes of that day and the following days; through her
+mother's open discomfiture and half expressed disappointment, and Mr.
+Carlisle's suppressed impatience. His manner was perfect too; his
+impatience was by no word or look made known; grave, quiet,
+self-contained, he only allowed his affectionateness towards Eleanor to
+have full play, and the expression of that was changed. He did not
+appeal to her for sympathy which perhaps he had a secret knowledge she
+could not give; but with lofty good breeding and his invariable tact he
+took it for granted. Eleanor's part was an easy one through those days
+which passed before Mr. Carlisle's going up to London. He went
+immediately after the funeral.
+
+It was understood, however, between him and Mrs. Powle, that the
+marriage should be delayed no longer than till some time in the spring.
+Then, Mr. Carlisle declared, he should carry into effect his original
+plan of going abroad, and take Eleanor with him. Eleanor heard them
+talk, and kept silence; letting them arrange it their own way.
+
+"For a little while, Eleanor!" were the parting words which Mr.
+Carlisle's lips left upon hers. And Eleanor turned then to look at what
+was before her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+AT THE RECTORY.
+
+
+  "The earth has lost its power to drag me downward;
+  Its spell is gone;
+  My course is now right upward, and right onward,
+  To yonder throne."
+
+
+She had three months of quiet time. Not more; and they would quickly
+speed away. What she had to do, she could not do too soon. Eleanor knew
+it. The soothed feeling of the first few days gave place to a restless
+mood almost as soon as Mr. Carlisle was gone. Three years seemed more
+like what she wanted than three months. She felt ignorant, dark, and
+unhappy; how was she to clear up this moral mist and see how the plan
+of life lay, without any hand to lead her or help her? There was only
+one she knew in the world that could; and from any application to him,
+or even any chance contact with him, Eleanor consciously shrank. _That_
+would never do; that must never be heard of her. With all this, she
+began to dread the disturbing and confusing effects of Mr. Carlisle's
+visits to the country. He would come; he had said so; and Mrs. Powle
+kept reminding her of it upon every occasion.
+
+Eleanor had been forbidden to ride alone. She did not dare; she took to
+long lonely walks. It was only out of doors that she felt quite free;
+in her own room at home, though never so private, her mother would at
+any time come with distracting subjects of conversation. Eleanor fled
+to the moor and to the wilds; walked, and rested on the stones, and
+thought; till she found thinking degenerate into musing; then she
+started up and went on. She tired herself. She did not find rest.
+
+One day she took her course purposely to the ruined priory. It was a
+long walk; but Eleanor courted long walks. And when she got there,
+musing, it must be confessed, had a good time. She stepped slowly down
+the grass-grown nave of the old church, recalling with much bitterness
+the day of her betrothal there; blaming herself, and blaming her mother
+more. Yet at any rate that day she had set seal to her own fate; would
+she be able, and had she a right,--that was the worst question,--to
+break it now? She wandered on, out of the church, away from the
+beautiful old ivied tower, which seemed to look down on her with grave
+reproach from the staidness of years and wisdom; wound about over and
+among the piles of shapeless ruin and the bits of lichened and
+moss-grown walls, yet standing here and there; not saying to herself
+exactly where she was going, but trying if she could find out the way;
+till she saw a thicket of thorn and holly bushes that she remembered.
+Yes, the latches too, and the young growth of beech trees. Eleanor
+plunged through this thicket, as well as she could; it was not easy;
+and there before her was the clear spot of grass, the angle of the
+thick old wall, and the deep window that she wanted to see again. All
+still and lonely and wild. Eleanor went across and took a seat in the
+window as she had done once before, to rest and think.
+
+And then what she thought of, was not the old monks, nor the exquisite
+fair view out of the window that had belonged to them; though it was a
+soft December day, and the light was as winning fair on house and hill
+and tree-top as if it had been a different season of the year. No cloud
+in the sky, and no dark shadows upon the earth. But Eleanor's thoughts
+went back to the thunderstorm, and her need then first felt of an
+inward sunshine that would last in cloudy times. She recalled the talk
+about the Christian's helmet; with a weary, sorrowful, keen renewal of
+regret at her own want of it. The words Mr. Rhys had spoken about it at
+that time she could not very well remember; but well she remembered the
+impression of them, and the noble, clear calmness of his face and
+manner. Very unlike all other calmness and nobleness that she had seen.
+The nobleness of one whose head was covered by that royal basnet; the
+fearlessness of one whose brows were consciously shaded by it. The
+simplicity that had nothing to feign or conceal; the poise of manner
+that came from an established heart and conscience. Eleanor presently
+caught herself up. What was she thinking about Mr. Rhys for? True, the
+thought of him was very near the thought of his teaching; nevertheless
+the one thing concerned her, the other did not. Did it not? Eleanor
+sighed, and wished she could have a little of his wise guidance; for
+notwithstanding all she had heard him say, she felt in the dark.
+
+In the midst of all this, Eleanor heard somebody humming a scrap of a
+tune on the other side of the holly bushes. Another instant told her it
+was a tune she had heard never but once before, and that once in Mr.
+Brooks's barn. There was besides a little rustling of the thorn bushes.
+Eleanor could think of but one person coming to that spot of the ruins;
+and in sudden terror she sprang from the window and rushed round the
+other corner of the wall. The tune ceased; Eleanor heard no more; but
+she dared not falter or look back. She was in a thicket on this side
+too, and in a mass of decayed ruins and rubbish which almost stopped
+her way. By determination and perseverance, with some knocks and
+scratches, she at last got free and stopped to breathe and think. Why
+was she so frightened? Mr. Carlisle. But what should she do now?
+Suppose she set off to walk home; she might be joined by the person she
+wished to shun; it was impossible to foresee that he would sit an hour
+meditating in the old window. Over against Eleanor, a little distance
+off, only plantations of shrubbery and soft turf between, was the
+Rector's house. Best go there and take refuge, and then be guided by
+circumstances. She went accordingly, feeling sorrowful that she should
+have to run away from the very person whose counsel of all others she
+most needed.
+
+The door was opened to Eleanor by the Rector himself.
+
+"Ha! my dear Miss Powle," said the good doctor,--"this is an honour to
+me. I don't know what you will do now, for my sister is away at
+Brompton--will you come in and see an old bachelor like myself?"
+
+"If you will let me, sir."
+
+"I shall be delighted, my dear Miss Eleanor! You were always welcome,
+ever since you were so high; and now that you are going to occupy so
+important a position here, I do not know a lady in the neighbourhood
+that deserves so much consideration as yourself. Come in--come in! How
+did you get here?"
+
+"Taking a long walk, sir. Perhaps you will give me some refreshments."
+
+"I shall be delighted. Come in here, and we will have luncheon together
+in my study--which was never so honoured before; but I think it is the
+pleasantest place in the house. The other rooms my sister fills with
+gimcracks, till I cannot turn round there without fear of breaking
+something, Now my old folios and octavos have tried a fall many a
+time--and many a one has tried a fall with them--ha! ha!--and no harm
+to anybody. Sit down there now, Miss Eleanor, and rest. That's what I
+call a pretty window. You see I am in no danger of forgetting my friend
+Mr. Carlisle here."
+
+Eleanor looked out of the window very steadily; yet she was not
+refreshing her remembrance of Mr. Carlisle neither. There were glimpses
+of a tall, alert figure, passing leisurely in and out among the trees
+and the ruins; finally coming out into full view and walking with brisk
+step over the greensward till he was out of sight. Eleanor knew it very
+well, the figure and the quick step; the energy and life in every
+movement. She heard no more of Dr. Cairnes for some time; though
+doubtless he was talking, for he had ordered luncheon and now it was
+served, and he was pressing her to partake of it. Dr. Cairnes' cheese
+was excellent; his hung beef was of prime quality; and the ale was of a
+superior brand, and the wine which he poured out for Eleanor was, he
+assured her, as its sparkling drops fell into the glass, of a purity
+and flavour "that even his friend Mr. Carlisle would not refuse to
+close his lips upon." Eleanor felt faint and weary, and she knew Mr.
+Carlisle's critical accuracy; but she recollected at the same time Mr.
+Rhys's cool abstinence, and she put the glass of wine away.
+
+"_Not?_" said the doctor. "You would prefer a cup of chocolate. Bad
+taste, Miss Eleanor--wine is better for you, too. Ladies will sup
+chocolate, I believe; I wonder what they find in it. The thing is, my
+sister being away to-day, I don't know--"
+
+Eleanor begged he would not mind that, nor her; however the chocolate
+was ordered and in due time brought.
+
+"Now that will make you dull," said the doctor,--"sleepy. It does not
+have, even on you, the reviving, brilliant effect of _this_ beverage."
+And he put the bright glass of wine to his lips. It was not the first
+filled.
+
+"Before I get dull, dear doctor, I want to talk to you."
+
+"Aye?" said the doctor, looking at her over the wine. "You do? What
+about? Say on, Miss Eleanor. I am yours doubly now, by the past and the
+future. You may command me."
+
+"It is about the present, I wish to talk," said Eleanor.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"My mind is not at rest," said Eleanor, laying her hands in her lap,
+and looking off again towards the ruins with their green and grey
+silent reminders,--"about religious subjects."
+
+"Ah?" said Dr. Cairnes. "How is that, Miss Eleanor? Be a little more
+explicit with me, will you not."
+
+"I will. Dr. Cairnes, I am young now, but by and by decay must come to
+me, as it has come to that old pile yonder--as it comes to everything.
+I want security for my head and heart when earthly security fails."
+
+Eleanor spoke slowly, looking out as she spoke all the while.
+
+"Security!" said the doctor. "But my dear Miss Eleanor, you know the
+articles of our holy religion?"
+
+"Yes,--" she said without stirring her position.
+
+"Security is given by them, most amply and abundantly, to every sincere
+applicant. Your life has been a sheltered one, Miss Eleanor, and a kind
+one; you can have no very grievous sins to charge yourself with."
+
+"I would like to get rid of such as I have," answered Eleanor without
+moving.
+
+"You were baptized in infancy?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You have never been confirmed?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Every baptized child of the Church, Miss Eleanor, owes it to God, to
+herself, and the Church, upon arriving at a proper age, to come forward
+and openly take upon herself--or himself--but I am talking of you,--the
+vows made for her in her infancy, at her baptism, by her sponsors. Upon
+doing this, she is received into full membership with the Church and
+entitled to all its privileges; and undoubtedly security is one of
+them. That is what you want to do, Miss Eleanor; and I am truly
+rejoiced that your mind is setting itself to the contemplation of its
+duties--and responsibilities. In the station you are preparing to
+occupy, the head of all this neighbourhood--Wiglands and Rythdale
+both--it is most important, most important, that your example should be
+altogether blameless and your influence thrown altogether on the right
+side. That influence, my dear Miss Eleanor, is very great."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, my one single present desire, is to do right and feel
+safe, myself."
+
+"Precisely. And to do right, is the way to feel safe. I will give you a
+little work, preparatory to the ordinance of confirmation, Miss
+Eleanor, which I entreat you to study and prayerfully follow. That will
+relieve all your difficulties, I have no fear. There it is, Miss
+Eleanor."
+
+"Will this rite--will this ordinance," said Eleanor closing her fingers
+on the book and for the first time looking the doctor straight in the
+face,--"will it give me that helmet of salvation, of which I have
+heard?"
+
+"Hey? what is that?" said the doctor.
+
+"I have heard--and read--of the Christian 'helmet of salvation.' I have
+seen that a person whose brows are covered by it, goes along fearless,
+hopeful, and happy, dreading nothing in this life or the next.--Will
+being confirmed, put this helmet upon my head?--make me fearless and
+happy too?"
+
+"My dear Miss Eleanor, I cannot express how you astonish me. I always
+have thought you were one of the strongest-hearted persons I knew; and
+in your circumstances I am sure it was natural--But to your question.
+The benefit of confirmation, my dear young lady, as well as of every
+other ordinance of the Church, depends of course on the manner and
+spirit with which we engage in it. There is confirming and
+strengthening grace in it undoubtedly for all who come to the ordinance
+in humble obedience, with prayer and faith, and who truly take upon
+them their vows."
+
+"But, Dr. Cairnes, I might die before I could be confirmed; and I want
+rest and security now. I do not have it, day nor night. I have not,
+ever since the time when I was so ill last summer. I want it _now_."
+
+"My dear Miss Eleanor, the only way to obtain security and rest, is in
+doing one's duty. Do your duty now, and it will come. Your conscience
+has taken up the matter, and will have satisfaction. Give it
+satisfaction, and rest will come."
+
+"How can I give it satisfaction?" said Eleanor sitting up and looking
+at the doctor. "I feel myself guilty--I know myself exposed to ruin, to
+death that means death; what can I give to my conscience, to make it be
+still?"
+
+"The Church offers absolution for their sins to all that are truly
+sorry for them," said the doctor. "Are you penitent on account of your
+sins, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"Penitent?--I don't know," said Eleanor drooping a little from her
+upright position. "I feel them, and know them, and wish them away; but
+if I were penitent, they would be gone, wouldn't they? and they are not
+gone."
+
+"I see how it is," said the doctor. "You have too much leisure to
+think, and your thoughts are turning in upon themselves and becoming
+morbid. I think this is undue sensitiveness, my dear Miss Eleanor. The
+sins we wish away, will never be made a subject of judgment against us.
+I shall tell my friend Mr. Carlisle that his presence is wanted here,
+for something more important than the interests of the county. I shall
+tell him he must not let you think too much. I think he and I together
+can put you right. In the mean while, you read my little book."
+
+"Dr. Cairnes, what I have said to you is said in strict confidence. I
+do not wish it spoken of, even to my mother."
+
+"Of course, of course!" said the doctor. "_That_ is all understood. The
+Church never reveals her children's secrets. But I shall only give him
+a little gentle hint, which will be quite sufficient, I have no doubt;
+and I shall have just the co-operation that I desire."
+
+"How excellent your cheese is, Dr. Cairnes."
+
+"Ah! you like it," said the doctor. "I am proud. I always purchase my
+cheese myself--that is one thing I do not leave to my sister. But this
+one I think is particularly fine. You won't take a half glass of ale
+with it?--no,--I know Mr. Carlisle does not like ale. But it would be a
+good sequent of your ride, nevertheless."
+
+"I did not ride, sir. I walked."
+
+"Walked from Ivy Lodge! All this way to see me, Miss Eleanor?"
+
+"No sir--only for a walk, and to see the ruins. Then I was driven to
+take shelter here."
+
+"I am very glad of it! I am very glad of it!" said the doctor. "I have
+not enjoyed my luncheon so much in a year's time; and you delight me
+too, my dear Miss Eleanor, by your present dispositions. But walk all
+the way here! I shall certainly write to Mr. Carlisle."
+
+Eleanor's cheeks flushed, and she rose. "Not only all the way here, but
+all the way back again," said she; "so it is time I bade you good bye."
+
+The doctor was very anxious to carry her home in the chaise; Eleanor
+was more determined that he should not; and determination as usual
+carried the day. The doctor shook his head as he watched her off.
+
+"Are you going to shew this spirit to Mr. Carlisle?" he said.
+
+Which remark gave Eleanor an impetus that carried her a third of her
+way home. During the remaining two thirds she did a good deal of
+thinking; and arrived at the Lodge with her mind made up. There was no
+chance of peace and a good time for her, without going away from home.
+Dr. Cairnes' officiousness would be sure to do something to arouse Mr.
+Carlisle's watchfulness; and then--"the game will be up," said Eleanor
+to herself. "Between his being here and the incessant expectation of
+him, there will be no rest for me. I must get away." She laid her plans.
+
+After dinner she slipped away and sought her father in his study. It
+was called his study, though very little of that character truly
+belonged to it. More truly it balanced between the two purposes of a
+smoking-room and an office; for county business was undoubtedly done
+there; and it was the nook of retirement where the Squire indulged
+himself in his favoured luxury, the sweet weed. The Squire took it
+pure, in a pipe; no cigars for him; and filling his pipe Eleanor found
+him. She lit the pipe for him, and contrary to custom sat down. The
+Squire puffed away.
+
+"I thought you didn't care for this sort of thing, Eleanor," he
+remarked. "Are you learning not to mind it already? It is just as well!
+Perhaps your husband will want you to sit with him when he smokes."
+
+"I would not do that for any man in the world, papa, except you!"
+
+"Ho! Ho!" said the Squire. "Good wives, my dear, do not mind trifles.
+They had better not, at any rate."
+
+"Papa," said Eleanor, whose cheeks were flaming, "do you not think,
+since a girl must give up her liberty so completely in marrying, that
+she ought to be allowed a good little taste of it beforehand?"
+
+"St. George and the Dragon! I do," said the Squire. "Your mother says
+it tends to lawlessness--and I say, I don't care. That is not my
+concern. If a man cannot rule his wife, he had better not have
+one--that is my opinion; and in your case, my dear, there is no fear.
+Mr. Carlisle is quite equal to his duties, or I am mistaken in him."
+
+Eleanor felt nearly wild under her father's speeches; nevertheless she
+sat perfectly quiet, only fiery about her cheeks.
+
+"Then, papa, to come to the point, don't you think in the little time
+that remains to me for my own, I might be allowed to do what I please
+with myself?"
+
+"I should say it was a plain case," said the Squire. "Take your
+pleasure, Nellie; I won't tether you. What do you want to do, child? I
+take it, you belong to me till you belong to somebody else."
+
+"Papa, I want to run away, and make a visit to my aunt Caxton. I shall
+never have another chance in the world--and I want to go off and be by
+myself and feel free once more, and have a good time."
+
+"Poor little duck!" said her father. "You are a sensible girl, Nellie.
+Go off; nobody shall hinder you."
+
+"Papa, unless you back me, mamma and Mr. Carlisle will not hear of it."
+
+"I'd go before he comes down then," said the Squire, knocking the ashes
+out of his pipe energetically. "St. George! I believe that man half
+thinks, sometimes, that I am one of his tenantry? The lords of Rythdale
+always did lord it over everything that came in their way. Now is your
+only chance, Eleanor; run away, if you're a mind to; Mr. Carlisle is
+master in his own house, no doubt, but he is not master in mine; and I
+say, you may go. Do him no harm to be kept on short commons for a
+little while."
+
+With a joyful heart Eleanor went back to the drawing-room, and sat
+patiently still at some fancy work till Mrs. Powle waked up from a nap.
+
+"Mamma, Dr. Cairnes wants me to be confirmed."
+
+"Confirmed!"--Mrs. Powle echoed the word, sitting bolt upright in her
+chair and opening her sleepy eyes wide at her daughter.
+
+"Yes. He says I ought to be confirmed. He has given me a book upon
+confirmation to study."
+
+"I wonder what you will do next!" said Mrs. Powle, sinking back. "Well,
+go on, if you like. Certainly, if you are to be confirmed, it ought to
+be done before your marriage. I wish anything _would_ confirm you in
+sober ways."
+
+"Mamma, I want to give this subject serious study, if I enter into it;
+and I cannot do it properly at home. I want to go away for a visit."
+
+"Well?" said Mrs. Powle, thinking of some cousins in London.
+
+"I want to be alone and quiet and have absolute peace for awhile; and
+this death of Lady Rythdale makes it possible. I want to go and make a
+visit to my aunt Caxton."
+
+"Caxton!"--Mrs. Powle almost screamed. "Caxton! _There!_ In the
+mountains of Wales! Eleanor, you are perfectly absurd. It is no use to
+talk to you."
+
+"Mamma, papa sees no objection."
+
+"_He_ does not! So you have been speaking to him! Make your own
+fortunes, Eleanor! I see you ruined already. With what favour do you
+suppose Mr. Carlisle will look upon such a project? Pray have you asked
+yourself?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am; and I am not going to consult him in the matter."
+
+The tea-equipage and the Squire came in together and stopped the
+conversation. Eleanor took care not to renew it, knowing that her point
+was gained. She took her father's hint, however, and made her
+preparations short and sudden. She sent that night a word, telling of
+her wish, to Mrs. Caxton; and waited but till the answer arrived,
+waited on thorns, to set off. The Squire looked rather moody the next
+day after his promise to Eleanor; but he would not withdraw it; and no
+other hindrance came. Eleanor departed safely, under the protection of
+old Thomas, the coachman, long a faithful servitor in the family. The
+journey was only part of the distance by railway; the rest was by
+posting; and a night had to be spent on the road.
+
+Towards evening of the second day, Eleanor began to find herself in
+what seemed an enchanted region. High mountains, with picturesque bold
+outlines, rose against the sky; and every step was bringing her deeper
+and deeper among them, in a rich green meadow valley. The scenery grew
+only wilder, richer, and lovelier, until the sun sank behind the high
+western line; and still its loveliness was not lost; while grey shades
+and duskiness gathered over the mountain sides and gradually melted the
+meadows and their scattered wood growth into one hue. Then only the
+wild mountain outline cut against the sky, and sometimes the rushing of
+a little river, told Eleanor of the varied beauty the evening hid.
+
+Little else she could see when the chaise stopped and she got out.
+Dimly a long, low building stretched before her at the side of the
+road; the rippling of water sounded softly at a little distance; the
+fresh mountain air blew in her face; then the house-door opened.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+IN THE HILLS.
+
+
+  "Face to face with the true mountains
+  I stood silently and still,
+  Drawing strength from fancy's dauntings,
+  From the air about the hill,
+  And from Nature's open mercies, and most debonair good will."
+
+
+The house-door opened first to shew a girl in short petticoats and blue
+jacket holding up a light. Eleanor made towards it, across a narrow
+strip of courtyard. She saw only the girl, and did not feel certain
+whether she had come to the right house. For neither Mrs. Caxton nor
+her home had ever been seen by any of Mr. Powle's children; though she
+was his own sister. But Mrs. Caxton had married quite out of _Mrs_.
+Powle's world; and though now a widow, she lived still the mistress of
+a great cheese farm; quite out of Mrs. Powle's world still. The latter
+had therefore never encouraged intercourse. Mrs. Caxton was an
+excellent woman, no doubt, and extremely respectable; still, Ivy Lodge
+and the cheese farm were further apart in feeling than in geographical
+miles; and though Mrs. Caxton often invited her brother's children to
+come and pick butter-cups in her meadows, Mrs. Powle always proved that
+to gather primroses in Rythdale was a higher employment, and much
+better for the children's manners, if not for their health. The Squire
+at this late day had been unaffectedly glad of Eleanor's proposal;
+avowing himself not ashamed of his sister or his children either. For
+Eleanor herself, she had no great expectation, except of rural
+retirement in a place where Mr. Carlisle would not follow her. That was
+enough. She had heard besides that the country was beautiful, and her
+aunt well off.
+
+As she stepped up now doubtfully to the girl with the light, looking to
+see whether she were right or wrong, the girl moved a little aside so
+as to light the entrance, and Eleanor passed on, discerning another
+figure behind. A good wholesome voice exclaimed, "You are welcome, my
+dear! It is Eleanor?" and the next instant Mr Powle's daughter found
+herself taken into one of those warm, gentle, genial embraces, that
+tell unmistakeably what sort of a heart moves the enfolding arms. It
+was rest and strength at once; and the lips that kissed her--there is a
+great deal of character in a kiss--were at once sweet and firm.
+
+"You have been all day travelling, my dear. You must be in want of
+rest."
+
+There was that sort of clear strength in the voice, to which one gives,
+even in the dark, one's confidence. Eleanor's foot fell more firmly on
+the tiled floor, as she followed her aunt along a passage or two; a
+little uncertainty in her heart was quieted; she was ready prepared to
+expect anything pleasant; and as they turned in at a low door, the
+expectation was met.
+
+The door admitted them to a low-ceiled room, also with a tiled floor,
+large and light. A good wood fire burned in the quaint chimney-piece;
+before it a table stood prepared for supper. A bit of carpet was laid
+down under the table and made a spot of extra comfort in the middle of
+the floor. Dark plain wainscotting, heavy furniture of simplest
+fashion, little windows well curtained; all nothing to speak of; all
+joined inexplicably to produce the impression of order, stability and
+repose, which seized upon Eleanor almost before she had time to observe
+details. But the mute things in a house have an odd way of telegraphing
+to a stranger what sort of a spirit dwells in the midst of them. It is
+always so; and Mrs. Caxton's room assured Eleanor that her first
+notions of its mistress were not ill-founded. She had opportunity to
+test and strengthen them now, in the full blaze of lamp and firelight;
+as her aunt stood before her taking off her bonnet and wrappers and
+handing them over to another attendant with a candle and a blue jacket.
+
+In the low room Mrs. Caxton looked even taller than belonged to her;
+and she was tall, and of noble full proportions that set off her
+height. Eleanor thought she had never seen a woman of more dignified
+presence; the head was set well back on the shoulders, the carriage
+straight, and the whole moral and physical bearing placid and quiet. Of
+course the actual movement was easy and fine; for that is with every
+one a compound of the physical and moral. Scarcely Elizabeth Fry had
+finer port or figure. The face was good, and strong; the eyes full of
+intelligence under the thick dark brows; all the lines of the face kind
+and commanding. A cap of very plain construction covered the abundant
+hair, which was only a little grey. Nothing else about Mrs. Caxton
+shewed age. Her dress was simple to quaintness; but, relieved by her
+magnificent figure, that effect was forgotten, or only remembered as
+enhancing the other. Eleanor sat down in a great leather chair, where
+she had been put, and looked on in a sort of charmed state; while her
+aunt moved about the table, gave quiet orders, made quiet arrangements,
+and finally took Eleanor's hand and seated her at the tea-table.
+
+"Not poppies, nor mandragora" could have had such a power of soothing
+over Eleanor's spirits. She sat at the table like a fairy princess
+under a friendly incantation; and the spell was not broken by any word
+or look on the part of her hostess. No questions of curiosity; no
+endeavours to find out more of Eleanor than she chose to shew; no
+surprise expressed at her mid-winter coming; nor so much pleasure as
+would have the effect of surprise. So naturally and cordially and with
+as much simplicity her visit was taken, as if it had been a yearly
+accustomed thing, and one of Mr. Powle's children had not now seen her
+aunt for the first time. Indeed so rare was the good sense and kindness
+of this reception, that Eleanor caught herself wondering whether her
+aunt could already know more of her than she seemed to know; and not
+caring if she did! Yet it was impossible, for her mother would not tell
+her story, and her father could not; and Eleanor came round to admiring
+with fresh admiration this noble-looking, new-found relation, whose
+manner towards herself inspired her with such confidence and exercised
+already such a powerful attraction. And _this_ was the mistress of a
+cheese-farm! Eleanor could not help being moved with a little curiosity
+on her part. This lady had no children; no near relations; for she was
+ignored by her brother's family. She lived alone; was she not lonely?
+Would she not wear misanthropical or weary traces of such a life? None;
+none were to be seen. Clear placidness dwelt on the brow, that looked
+as if nothing ever ruffled it; the eye was full of business and
+command; and the mouth,--its corners told of a fountain of sweetness
+somewhere in the region of the heart. Eleanor looked, and went back to
+her cup of tea and her supper with a renewed sense of comfort.
+
+The supper was excellent too. It would have belied Mrs. Caxton's look
+of executive capacity if it had not been. No fault was to be discerned
+anywhere. The tea-service was extremely plain and inexpensive; such as
+Mrs. Powle could not have used; that was certain. But then the bread,
+and the mutton chops, and the butter, and even the tea, were such as
+Mrs. Powle's china was never privileged to bear. And though Mrs. Caxton
+left in the background every topic of doubtful agreeableness, the talk
+flowed steadily with abundance of material and animation, during the
+whole supper-time. Mrs. Caxton was the chief talker. She had plenty to
+tell Eleanor of the country and people in the neighbourhood; of things
+to be seen and things to be done; so that supper moved slowly, and was
+a refreshment of mind as well as of body.
+
+"You are very weary, my dear," said Mrs. Caxton, after the table was
+cleared away, and the talk had continued through all that time. And
+Eleanor confessed it. In the calm which was settling down upon her, the
+strain of hours and days gone by began to be felt.
+
+"You shall go to your room presently," said Mrs. Caxton; "and you shall
+not get up to breakfast with me. That would be too early for you."
+
+Eleanor was going to enter a protest, when her aunt turned and gave an
+order in Welsh to the blue jacket then in the room. And then Eleanor
+had a surprise. Mrs. Caxton took a seat at a little distance, before a
+stand with a book; and the door opening again, in poured a stream of
+blue jackets, three or four, followed by three men and a boy. All
+ranged themselves on seats round the room, and Mrs. Caxton opened her
+book and read a chapter in the Bible. Eleanor listened, in mute wonder
+where this would end. It ended in all kneeling down and Mrs. Caxton
+offering a prayer. An extempore prayer, which for simplicity, strength,
+and feeling, answered all Eleanor's sense of what a prayer ought to be;
+though how a woman could speak it before others and before _men_,
+filled her with astonishment. But it filled her with humility too,
+before it was done; and Eleanor rose to her feet with an intense
+feeling of the difference between her aunt's character and her own;
+only equalled by her deep gladness at finding herself under the roof
+where she was.
+
+Her aunt then took a candle and lighted her through the tiled passages,
+up some low wooden stairs, uncarpeted; along more passages; finally
+into a large low matted chamber, with a row of little lattice windows.
+Comfort and simplicity were in all its arrangements; a little fire
+burning for her; Eleanor's trunks in a closet. When Mrs. Caxton had
+shewed her all that was necessary, she set down her candle on the low
+mantelshelf, and took Eleanor in her arms. Again those peculiar, gentle
+firm kisses fell upon her lips. But instead of "good night," Mrs.
+Caxton's words were,
+
+"Do you pray for yourself, Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor dropped her head like a child on the breast before her. "Aunt
+Caxton, I do not know how!"
+
+"Then the Lord Jesus has not a servant in Eleanor Powle?"
+
+Eleanor was silent, thoughts struggling.
+
+"You have not learned to love him, Eleanor?"
+
+"I have only learned to wish to do it, aunt Caxton! I do wish that. It
+was partly that I might seek it, that I wanted to come here."
+
+Then Eleanor heard a deep-spoken, "Praise the Lord!" that seemed to
+come out from the very heart on which she was leaning. "If you have a
+mind to seek him, my dear, he is willing that you should find. 'The
+Lord is good to the soul that seeketh him.'"
+
+She kissed Eleanor on the two temples, released her and went down
+stairs. And Eleanor sat down before her fire, feeling as if she were in
+a paradise.
+
+It was all the more so, from the unlikeness of everything that met her
+eye, to all she had known before. The chimney-piece at which she was
+looking as she sat there--it was odd and quaint as possible, to a
+person accustomed only to the modern fashions of the elegant world; the
+fire-tongs and shovel would have been surely consigned to the kitchen
+department at Ivy Lodge. Yet the little blazing fire, framed in by its
+rows of coloured tiles, looked as cheerfully into Eleanor's face as any
+blaze that had ever greeted it. All was of a piece with the fireplace.
+Simple to quaintness, utterly plain and costless, yet with none of the
+essentials of comfort forgotten or neglected; from the odd little
+lattice windows to the tiled floor, everything said she was at a great
+distance from her former life, and Mr. Carlisle. The room looked as if
+it had been made for Eleanor to settle her two life-questions in it.
+Accordingly she took them up without delay; but Eleanor's mind that
+night was like a kaleidoscope. Images of different people and things
+started up, with wearying perversity of change and combination; and the
+question, whether she would be a servant of God like her aunt Caxton,
+was inextricably twisted up with the other question; whether she could
+escape being the baroness of Rythdale and the wife of Mr. Carlisle. And
+Eleanor did nothing but tire herself with thinking that night; until
+the fire was burnt out and she went to bed. Nevertheless she fell
+asleep with a sense of relief more blissful than she had known for
+months. She had put a little distance at least between her and her
+enemies.
+
+Eleanor had meant to be early next day, but rest had taken too good
+hold of her; it was long past early when she opened her eyes. The rays
+of the morning sun were peeping in through the lattices. Eleanor sprang
+up and threw open, or rather threw back, one of the windows, for the
+lattice slid in grooves instead of hanging on hinges. She would never
+have found out how to open them, but that one lattice stood slightly
+pushed back already. When it was quite out of her way, Eleanor's breath
+almost stopped. A view so wild, so picturesque, so rare in its outlines
+of beauty, she thought she had never seen. Before her, at some
+distance, beyond a piece of broken ground, rose a bare-looking height
+of considerable elevation, crowned by an old tower massively
+constructed, broken, and ivy-grown. The little track of a footpath was
+visible that wound round the hill; probably going up to the tower.
+Further beyond, with evidently a deep valley or gorge between, a line
+of much higher hills swept off to the left; bare also, and moulded to
+suit a painter of weird scenes, yet most lovely, and all seen now in
+the fair morning beams which coloured and lighted them and the old
+tower together. Nothing else. The road indeed by which she had come
+passed close before Eleanor's window; but trees embowered it, though
+they had been kept down so as not to hinder this distant view. Eleanor
+sat a long while spell-bound before the window.
+
+A noise disturbed her. It was one of the blue jackets bringing a tray
+with breakfast. Eleanor eagerly asked if Mrs. Caxton had taken
+breakfast; but all she got in return was a series of unintelligible
+sounds; however as the girl pointed to the sun, she concluded that the
+family breakfast hour was past. Everything strange again! At Ivy Lodge
+the breakfast hour lasted till the lagging members of the family had
+all come down; and here there was no family! How could happiness belong
+to anybody in such circumstances? The prospect within doors, Eleanor
+suddenly remembered, was yet more interesting than the view without.
+She eat her breakfast and dressed and went down.
+
+But to find the room where she had been the evening before, was more
+than her powers were equal to. Going from one passage to another,
+turning and turning back, afraid to open doors to ask somebody; Eleanor
+was quite bewildered, when she happily was met by her aunt. The morning
+kiss and greeting renewed in her heart all the peace of last night.
+
+"I cannot find my way about in your house, aunt Caxton. It seems a
+labyrinth."
+
+"It will not seem so long. Let me shew you the way out of it."
+
+Through one or two more turnings Mrs. Caxton led her niece, and opening
+a door took her out at the other side, the back of the house, where
+Eleanor's eyes had not been. Here there was a sort of covered gallery,
+extending to some length under what was either an upper piazza or the
+projection of the second story floor. The ground was paved with tiles
+as usual, and wooden settles stood along the wall, and plain stone
+pillars supported the roof. But as Eleanor's eyes went out further she
+caught her aunt's hand in ecstasy.
+
+From almost the edge of the covered gallery, a little terraced garden
+sloped down to the edge of a small river. The house stood on a bank
+above the river, at a commanding height; and on the river's further
+shore a rich sweep of meadow and pasture land stretched to the right
+and left and filled the whole breadth of the valley; on the other side
+of which, right up from the green fields, rose another line of hills.
+These were soft, swelling, round-topped hills, very different in their
+outlines from those in another quarter which Eleanor had been enjoying
+from her window. It was winter now, and the garden had lost its glory;
+yet Eleanor could see, for her eye was trained in such matters, that
+good and excellent care was at home in it; and some delicate things
+were there for which a slight protection had been thought needful. The
+river was lost to view immediately at the right; it wound down from the
+other hand through the rich meadows under a thick embowering bosky
+growth of trees; and just below the house it was spanned by a rude
+stone bridge, from which a hedged lane led off on the other side. All
+along the fences or hedges which enclosed the fields grew also
+beautiful old trees; the whole landscape was decked with wood growth,
+though the hills had little or none. All the more the sweet contrast;
+the rare harmony; the beautiful mingling of soft cultivation with what
+was wild and picturesque and barren. And the river gurgled on, with a
+fresh sound that told of its activity; and a very large herd of cows
+spotted the green turf in some of the meadows on the other side of the
+stream.
+
+"I never saw any place so lovely," exclaimed Eleanor; "never!"
+
+"This is my favourite walking place in winter," said Mrs. Caxton; "when
+I want to walk under shelter, or not to go far from home."
+
+"How charming that garden must be when the spring comes!"
+
+"Are you fond of gardening?" said Mrs. Caxton.
+
+A talk upon the subject followed, in which Eleanor perceived with some
+increase of respect that her aunt was no ignoramus; nay, that she was
+familiar with delicacies both in the practice and the subjects of
+horticulture that were not well known to Eleanor, in spite of her
+advantages of the Lodge and Rythdale conservatories and gardens both
+together. In the course of this talk, Eleanor noticed anew all the
+indications that had pleased her last night; the calm good sense and
+self-possession; the quiet dignity; the decision; the kindness. And
+perhaps Mrs. Caxton too made her observations. But this was the
+mistress of the cheese-farm!
+
+A pause fell in their talk at length; probably both had matter for
+reflection.
+
+"Have you settled that question, Eleanor?" said her aunt meaningly.
+
+"That question?--O no, aunt Caxton! It is all confusion; and it is all
+confused with another question."
+
+There was more than talk in this evidently, for Eleanor's face had all
+darkened. Mrs. Caxton answered calmly,
+
+"My dear, the first thing I would do, would be to separate them."
+
+"Aunty, they are like two wrestlers; I cannot seem to separate them. If
+I think of the one, I get hold of he other; and if I take up the other,
+I am obliged to think of the one; and my mind is the fighting ground."
+
+"Then the two questions are in reality one?"
+
+"No, aunt Caxton--they are not. Only they both press for attention at
+once."
+
+"Which is the most important?"
+
+"This one--about which you asked me," Eleanor said, drooping her head a
+little.
+
+"Then decide that to-day, Eleanor."
+
+"Aunty, I have decided it--in one way. I am determined what I will
+be--if I can. Only I do not see how. And before I do see
+how,--perhaps--the other question may have decided itself; and
+then--Aunty, I cannot tell you about it to-day. Let me wait a few days;
+till I know you better and you have time to know me."
+
+"Then, as it is desirable you should lose no time, I shall keep you
+with me, Eleanor. Would you like to-morrow to go through the dairies
+and see the operation of cheese-making? Did you ever see it?"
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I know no more about cheese than that I have eaten it
+sometimes. I would like to go to-morrow, or to-day; whenever you
+please."
+
+"The work is nearly over for to-day."
+
+"Do they make cheese in your dairy every day, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"Two every day."
+
+"But you must have a great number of cows, ma'am?"
+
+"There they are," said her aunt, looking towards the opposite meadows.
+"We milk between forty and fifty at present; there are about thirty
+dry."
+
+"Seventy or eighty cows!" exclaimed Eleanor. "Why aunt Caxton, you must
+want the whole valley for their pasturing."
+
+"I want no more than I have," said Mrs. Caxton quietly. "You see, those
+meadows on the other side of the river look rich. It is a very good
+cheese farm."
+
+"How far does it extend, aunty?"
+
+"All along, the meadowland, as far as you see."
+
+"I do not believe there is a pleasanter or prettier home in all the
+kingdom!" Eleanor exclaimed. "How charming, aunt Caxton, all this must
+be in summer, when your garden is in bloom."
+
+"There is a way of carrying summer along with us through all the year,
+Eleanor; do you know that?"
+
+"Do you wear the 'helmet' too?" thought Eleanor. "I have no doubt but
+you do, over that calm brow!" But she only looked wistfully at her
+aunt, and Mrs. Caxton changed the conversation. She sat down with
+Eleanor on a settle, for the day was mild and the place sheltered; and
+talked with her of home and her family. She shewed an affectionate
+interest in all the details concerning her brother's household and
+life, but Eleanor admired with still increasing and profound respect,
+the delicacy which stopped every inquiry at the point where delicacy
+might wish to withhold the answer. The uprightest self-respect went
+hand in hand with the gentlest regard and respect for others. To this
+reserve Eleanor was more communicative than she could have been to
+another manner; and on some points her hesitancy told as much, perhaps,
+as her disclosures on other points; so that Mrs. Caxton was left with
+some general idea, if not more, of the home Eleanor had lived her life
+in and the various people who had made it what it was. On all things
+that touched Rythdale Eleanor was silent; and so was Mrs. Caxton.
+
+The conversation flowed on to other topics; and the whole day was a
+gentle entertainment to Eleanor. The perpetual good sense, information,
+and shrewdness of her hostess was matter of constant surprise and
+interest. Eleanor had never talked with anybody who talked so well; and
+she felt obliged unconsciously all the time to produce the best of
+herself. That is not a disagreeable exercise; and on the whole the day
+reeled off on silver wheels. It concluded as the former day had done;
+and in the warm prayer uttered by her aunt, Eleanor could not help
+feeling there was a pulse of the heart for _her;_ for her darkness and
+necessities. It sent her to her room touched, and humbled, and
+reminded; but Eleanor's musings this night were no more fruitful of
+results than those of last night had been. They resolved themselves
+into a long waking dream. Mr. Carlisle exercised too much mastery over
+her imagination, for any other concern to have fair chance till his
+question was disposed of. Would he come to look for her there? It was
+just like him; but she had a little hope that her mother's pride would
+prevent his being furnished with the necessary information. That
+Eleanor should be sought and found by him on a cheese farm, the
+mistress of the farm her own near relation, would not probably meet
+Mrs. Powle's notions of what it was expedient to do or suffer. A
+slender thread of a hope; but that was all. Supposing he came? Eleanor
+felt she had no time to lose. She could only deal with Mr. Carlisle at
+a distance. In his presence, she knew now, she was helpless. But a
+vague sense of wrong combated all her thoughts of what she wished to
+do; with a confused and conflicting question of what was right. She
+wearied herself to tears with her dreaming, and went to bed to
+aggravate her troubles in actual dreams; in which the impossible came
+in to help the disagreeable.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+AT THE FARM.
+
+
+  "What if she be fastened to this fool lord,
+  Dare I bid her abide by her word?"
+
+
+The next morning nevertheless was bright, and Eleanor was early down
+stairs. And now she found that the day was begun at the farmhouse in
+the same way in which it was ended. A reverent, sweet, happy committing
+of all her affairs and her friends to God, in the presence and the
+company of her household, was Mrs. Caxton's entrance, for her and them,
+upon the work of the day. Breakfast was short and very early, which it
+had to be if Eleanor wanted to see the operations of the dairy; and
+then Mrs. Caxton and she went thither; and then first Eleanor began to
+have a proper conception of the magnitude and complication of the
+business her aunt presided over.
+
+The dairies were of great extent, stretching along the ground floor of
+the house, behind and beyond the covered gallery where she and her aunt
+had held their first long conversation the day before. Tiled floors, as
+neat as wax; oaken shelves, tubs, vats, baskets, cheese-hoops, presses;
+all as neat and sweet as it was possible for anything to be, looked
+like a confusion of affairs to Eleanor's eye. However, the real
+business done that morning was sufficiently simple; and she found it
+interesting enough to follow patiently every part of the process
+through to the end. Several blue jackets were in attendance; some
+Welsh, some English; each as diligent at her work as if she only had
+the whole to do. And among them Eleanor noticed how admirably her aunt
+played the mistress and acted the executive head. Quietly, simply, as
+her words were spoken, they were nevertheless words that never failed
+to be instantly obeyed; and the service that was rendered her was given
+with what seemed the alacrity of affection, as well as the zeal of
+duty. Eleanor stood by, watching, amused, intent; yet taking in a
+silent lesson of character all the while, that touched her heart and
+made her draw a deep breath now and then. The last thing visited was
+the cheese house, the room where the cheeses were stored for ripening,
+quite away from all the dairies. Here there was a forest of cheeses;
+standing on end and lying on shelves, in various stages of maturity.
+
+"Two a day!" said Eleanor looking at them. "That makes a wonderful many
+in the course of the year."
+
+"Except Sundays," said Mrs. Caxton. "No cheese is made on Sunday in my
+dairy, nor any dairywork done, except milking the cows and setting the
+milk."
+
+"I meant except Sundays, of course."
+
+"It is not 'of course' here," said Mrs. Caxton. "The common practice in
+large dairy-farms is to do the same work on the seventh day that is
+done all the six."
+
+"But that is wrong, aunty, it seems to me."
+
+"Wrong? Of course it is wrong; but the defence is, that it is
+necessary. If Sunday's milk is not made at once into cheese, it must
+wait till Monday; and not only double work must be done then, for
+Monday will have its own milk, but double sets of everything will be
+needed; tubs and presses and all. So people think they cannot afford
+it."
+
+"Well, how can they, aunt Caxton? There seems reason in that."
+
+"Reason for what?"
+
+"Why, I mean, it seems they have some reason for working on the
+Sabbath--not to lose all that milk. It is one seventh of all they have."
+
+Mrs. Caxton replied in a very quiet manner,--"'Thou shalt remember the
+Lord thy God; for it is he that giveth thee power to get wealth.'"
+
+"But aunt Caxton," said Eleanor a little doubtfully,--"he gives it in
+the use of means?"
+
+"Do you think he blesses the use of means he has forbidden?"
+
+Eleanor was silent a moment.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, people do get rich so, do they not?"
+
+"'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich,'" said Mrs. Caxton,
+contentedly,--"'and he addeth no sorrow with it.' That is the sort of
+riches I like best."
+
+Eleanor did not answer; a kind of moisture came up in her eyes, for she
+felt poor in those riches.
+
+"It is mere want of faith, Eleanor, that pleads such a reason," Mrs.
+Caxton went on. "It is taking the power to get wealth into our own
+hands. If it is in God's hands, it is just as easy certainly for him to
+give it to us in the obedient use of means as in the disobedient use of
+them; and much more likely that he will. Many a man has become poor by
+his disobedience, for one that has been allowed to prosper awhile in
+spite of it. If the statistics were made up, men would see. Meanwhile,
+never anybody trusted the Lord and was confounded."
+
+"Then what do you do with the seventh day's milk, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"I make butter of it. But I would pour it away down the river, Eleanor,
+before I would make it an excuse for disobeying God."
+
+This was said without any heat, but as the quietest of conclusions.
+Eleanor stood silent, wondering at her aunt's cheeses and notions
+together. She was in a new world, surely. Yet a secret feeling of
+respect was every moment mounting higher.
+
+"The principle is universally true, Eleanor, that the safe way in
+everything is the way of obedience. Consequences are not in our hands.
+It is only unbelief that would make consequences a reason for going out
+of the way. 'Trust in the Lord, and keep his way; so shall he exalt
+thee to inherit the land.' I have had nothing but prosperity, Eleanor,
+ever since I began the course which my neighbours and servants thought
+would destroy me."
+
+"I wanted to ask you that, aunt Caxton;--how it had been."
+
+"But my dear," said Mrs. Caxton, the smile with which she had turned to
+Eleanor fading into placid gravity again,--"if it had been otherwise,
+it would have made no difference. I would rather be poor, with my
+Lord's blessing, than have all the principality without it."
+
+Eleanor went away thinking. All this applied to the decision of her own
+affairs; and perhaps Mrs. Caxton had intended it should. But yet, how
+should she decide? To do the thing that was right,--Eleanor wished
+that,--and did not know what it was. Her wishes said one thing, and
+prayed for freedom. A vague, trammelling sense of engagements entered
+into and expectations formed and pledges given, at times confused all
+her ideas; and made her think it might be her duty to go home and
+finish wittingly what she had begun in ignorance what she was doing. It
+would be now to sacrifice herself. Was she called upon to do that? What
+was right?
+
+Mrs. Caxton never alluded any further to Eleanor's private affairs; and
+Eleanor never forgetting them, kept them in the darkness of her own
+thoughts and did not bring them up to the light and her aunt's eye.
+Only for this drawback, the days would have passed delightfully. The
+next day was Sunday.
+
+"We have a long drive to church, Eleanor," said her aunt. "How will you
+go?"
+
+"With you, aunty."
+
+"I don't know about that; my car has no place for you. Are you a
+horsewoman?"
+
+"O aunty, nothing would be so delightful! if you have anything I can
+ride. Nothing would be so delightful. I half live in the saddle at
+home."
+
+"You do? Then you shall go errands for me. I will furnish you with a
+Welsh pony."
+
+And this very day Eleanor mounted him to ride to church. Her aunt was
+in a light car that held but herself and the driver. Another vehicle, a
+sort of dog cart, followed with some of the servants. The day was mild
+and pleasant, though not brilliant with sunbeams. It made no matter.
+Eleanor could not comprehend how more loveliness could have been
+crowded into the enjoyment of two hours. On her pony she had full
+freedom for the use of her eyes; the road was excellent, and winding in
+and out through all the crookedness of the valley they threaded, she
+took it at all points of view. Nothing could be more varied. The valley
+itself, rich and wooded, with the little river running its course,
+marked by a thick embowering of trees; the hills that enclosed the
+valley taking every form of beauty, sometimes wild and sometimes tame,
+heathery and barren, rough and rocky, and again rounded and soft. Along
+these hills came into view numberless dwellings, of various styles and
+sizes; with once in a while a bold castle breaking forth in proud
+beauty, or a dismantled ruin telling of pride and beauty that had been.
+Eleanor had no one to talk to, and she did not want to talk. On
+horseback, and on a Welsh pony, no Black Maggie or Tippoo, and in these
+wonderful new strange scenes, she felt free; free from Mr. Carlisle and
+his image for the moment; and though knowing that her bondage would
+return, she enjoyed her freedom all the more. The little pony was
+satisfactory; and as there was no need of taking a gallop to-day,
+Eleanor had nothing to desire.
+
+The ride ended at the loveliest of all picturesque villages; so Eleanor
+thought; nestled in what seemed the termination of the valley. A little
+village, with the square tower of the church rising up above the trees;
+all the houses stood among trees; and the river was crossed by a bridge
+just above, and tore down a precipice just below; so near that its roar
+was the constant lullaby of the inhabitants. It was the only sound
+to-day, rising in Sabbath stillness over the hills. After all this
+ride, the service in the little church did not disappoint expectation;
+it was sound, warm and good; and Eleanor mounted her pony and rode home
+again, almost wishing she could take service with her aunt as a
+dairymaid forever. All the day was sweet to Eleanor. But at the end of
+it a thought darted into her mind, with the keenness of an arrow. Mr.
+Carlisle in a few days more might have learned of her run-away freak
+and of her hiding-place and have time to come after her. There was a
+barb to the thought; for Eleanor could not get rid of it.
+
+She begged the pony the next day, and the next, and went very long
+rambling rides; in the luxury of being alone. They would have been most
+delightful, but for the idea that haunted her, and which made her
+actually afraid to enter the house on her return home. This state of
+things was not to be borne much longer.
+
+"You have let the pony tire you, Eleanor," Mrs. Caxton remarked. It was
+the evening of the second day, and the two ladies were sitting in the
+light of the wood fire.
+
+"Ma'am, he could not do that. I live half my life on horseback at home."
+
+"Then how am I to understand the long-drawn breaths which I hear from
+you every now and then?"
+
+Mrs. Caxton was twisting up paper lighters. She was rarely without
+something in her fingers. Eleanor was doing nothing. At her aunt's
+question she half laughed, and seized one of the strips of paper to
+work upon. Her laugh changed into a sigh.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, do you always find it easy to know what is the right
+thing to do--in all circumstances?"
+
+"I have always infallible counsel that I can take."
+
+"You mean the Bible? But the Bible does not tell one everything."
+
+"I mean prayer."
+
+"Prayer!--But my dear aunt Caxton!--"
+
+"What is it, my dear?"
+
+"I mean, that one wants an answer to one's perplexing questions."
+
+"Mine never fail of an answer," said Mrs. Caxton. "If it is to be found
+in the Bible, I find it; if not, I go to the Lord, and get it from him."
+
+"How, my dear aunt Caxton? How can you have an answer----in that way?"
+
+"I ask to be directed--and I always am, Eleanor; always right. What do
+you think prayer is good for?"
+
+"But aunt Caxton!--I never heard of such a thing in my life! Please
+forgive me."
+
+"'If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men
+liberally, and upbraideth not; _and it shall be given him_.' Did you
+never hear that, Eleanor?"
+
+"Aunty--excuse me,--it is something I know nothing about."
+
+"You never had an answer to your own prayers?"
+
+"No, ma'am," said Eleanor drooping.
+
+"My dear, there may be two reasons for that. Whoever wishes direction
+from the Lord, must be absolutely willing to follow it, whatever it
+be--we may not ask counsel of him as we do of our fellow-creatures,
+bent upon following our own all the while. The Lord knows our hearts,
+and withholds his answer when we ask so."
+
+"How do you know what the answer is, aunty?"
+
+"It may be given in various ways. Sometimes circumstances point it out;
+sometimes attention is directed to a word in the Bible; sometimes,
+'thine ears shall hear a voice behind thee, saying, This is the way,
+walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the
+left.'"
+
+Eleanor did not answer; she thought her aunt was slightly fanatical.
+
+"There is another reason for not getting an answer, Eleanor. It is, not
+believing that an answer will be given."
+
+"Aunty, how can one help that?"
+
+"By simply looking at what God has promised, and trusting it. 'But let
+a man ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a
+wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man
+think that he shall receive anything of the Lord.'"
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I am exactly like such a wave of the sea. And in danger
+of being broken to pieces like one."
+
+"Many a one has been," said Mrs Caxton. But it was tenderly said, not
+coldly; and the impulse to go on was irresistible. Eleanor changed her
+seat for one nearer.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I want somebody's help dreadfully."
+
+"I see you do."
+
+"Do you see it, ma'am?"
+
+"I think I have seen it ever since you have been here."
+
+"But at the same time, aunty, I do not know how to ask it."
+
+"Those are sometimes the neediest eases. But I hope you will find a
+way, my dear."
+
+Eleanor sat silent nevertheless, for some minutes; and then she spoke
+in a lowered and changed tone.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, you know the engagements I am under?"
+
+"Yes. I have heard."
+
+"What should a woman do--what is it her duty to do--who finds herself
+in every way bound to fulfil such engagements, except--"
+
+"Except what?"
+
+"Except her own heart, ma'am," Eleanor said low and ashamed.
+
+"My dear, you do not mean that your heart was not in these engagements
+when you made them?"
+
+"I did not know where it was, aunty. It had nothing to do with them."
+
+"Where is it now?"
+
+"It is not in them, ma'am."
+
+"Eleanor, let us speak plainly. Do you mean that you do not love this
+gentleman whom you have promised to marry?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated, covered her face, and hesitated; at last spoke.
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I thought I did;--but I know now I do not; not as I think
+I ought;--I do not as he loves me." Eleanor spoke with burning cheeks,
+which her aunt could see even in the firelight and though Eleanor's
+hand endeavoured to shield them.
+
+"What made you enter into these engagements, my dear?"
+
+"The will and power of two other people, aunt Caxton--and, I am afraid,
+now, a little ambition of my own was at work in it. And I liked him
+too. It was not a person that I did not like. But I did not know what I
+was doing. I liked him, aunt Caxton."
+
+"And now it is a question with you whether you will fulfil these
+engagements?"
+
+"Yes ma'am,--because I do not wish to fulfil them. I do not know
+whether I ought, or ought not."
+
+Mrs. Caxton was silent in her turn.
+
+"Eleanor,--do you like some one else better?"
+
+"Nobody else likes me better, aunt Caxton--there is nothing of that
+kind--"
+
+"Still my question is not answered, Eleanor. Have _you_ more liking for
+any other person?"
+
+"Aunt Caxton--I do not know--I have seen--I do not know how to answer
+you!" Eleanor said in bitter confusion; then hiding her face she went
+on--"Just so much as this is true, aunt Caxton,--I have seen, what
+makes me know that I do not love Mr. Carlisle; not as he loves me."
+
+Mrs. Caxton stooped forward, took Eleanor's hands down from her face
+and kissed her. It was a sad, drooping, pained face, hot with shame.
+
+"My child," she said, "your honesty has saved you. I could not have
+advised you, Eleanor, if you had not been frank with me. Poor child!"
+
+Eleanor came down on the floor and hid her face in Mrs. Caxton's lap.
+Her aunt kept one hand softly resting on her hair while she spoke. She
+was silent first, and then she spoke very tenderly.
+
+"You did not know, at the time you engaged yourself to this gentleman,
+that you were doing him wrong?"
+
+"No, ma'am--I thought rather of wrong to myself."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"They were in such a hurry, ma'am."
+
+"Since then, you have seen what you like better."
+
+"Yes, ma'am,"--said Eleanor doubtfully,--"or what I know I _could_ like
+better, if there was occasion. That is all."
+
+"Now the question is, in these circumstances, what is your duty to Mr.
+Carlisle."
+
+Eleanor lifted her head to look into her aunt's face for the decision
+to come.
+
+"The rule of judgment is not far off, Eleanor; it is the golden rule.
+'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.'
+My dear, take the case of the person you could like best in the
+world;--would you have such a person marry you if his heart belonged to
+somebody else?"
+
+"Not for the whole world!" said Eleanor raising her head which had
+fallen again. "But aunt Caxton, that is not my case. My heart is not
+anybody's."
+
+"Put it differently then. Would you marry such a man, if you knew that
+his mere liking for another was stronger than his love for you?"
+
+"I think--I would rather die!" said Eleanor slowly.
+
+"Then I think your question is answered."
+
+"But aunt Caxton, it is not answered. Mr. Carlisle would not feel so. I
+know, he would have me marry him, if he knew that my heart was a
+thousand times another person's--which it is not."
+
+"Don't alter the case," said Mrs. Caxton, "except to make it stronger.
+If he were the right sort of man, he would not have you do so. There is
+no rule that we should make other people's wishes our standard of
+right."
+
+"But aunt Caxton, I have done Mr. Carlisle grievous wrong. O, I feel
+that!--"
+
+"Yes. What then?"
+
+"Am I not bound to make him all the amends in my power?"
+
+"Short of doing further wrong. Keep right and wrong always clear,
+Eleanor. They never mean the same thing."
+
+"Aunty, what you must think of me!"
+
+"I think of you just now as saved from shipwreck. Many a girl has
+drifted on in the course you were going, without courage to get out of
+the current, until she has destroyed herself; and perhaps somebody
+else."
+
+"I do not think I had much courage, aunt Caxton," said Eleanor blushing.
+
+"What had you, then?"
+
+"It was mainly my horror of marrying that man, after I found I did not
+love him. And yet, aunt Caxton, I do like him; and I am very, very,
+very sorry! It has almost seemed to me sometimes that I ought to marry
+him and give him what I can; and yet, if I were ready, I would rather
+die."
+
+"Is your doubt settled?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am,"--said Eleanor sadly.
+
+"My dear, you have done wrong,--I judge, somewhat ignorantly,--but
+mischief can never be mended by mischief. To marry one man, preferring
+another, is the height of disloyalty to both him and yourself; unless
+you can lay the whole truth before him; and then, as I think, in most
+cases it would be the height of folly."
+
+"I will write to Mr. Carlisle to-morrow."
+
+"And then, Eleanor, what was the other question you came here to
+settle?"
+
+"It is quite a different question, aunty, and yet it was all twisted up
+with the other."
+
+"You can tell it me; it will hardly involve greater confidence," said
+Mrs. Caxton, bending over and kissing Eleanor's brow which rested upon
+her knee. "Eleanor, I am very thankful you came to Plassy."
+
+The girl rose up and kneeling beside her hid her face in Mrs. Caxton's
+bosom. "Aunt Caxton, I am so glad! I have wanted just this help so
+long! and this refuge. Put your arms both round me, and hold me tight."
+
+Mrs. Caxton said nothing for a little while. She waited for Eleanor to
+take her own time and speak. Very still the two were. There were some
+straining sobs that came from the one and went to the heart of the
+other; heavy and hard; but with no sound till they were quieted.
+
+"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor at last, "the other question was that one
+of a refuge."
+
+"A heavenly one?"
+
+"Yes. I had heard of a 'helmet of salvation'--I wanted it;--but I do
+not know how to get it."
+
+"Do you know what it is?"
+
+"Not very clearly. But I have seen it, aunt Caxton;--I know it makes
+people safe and happy. I want it for myself."
+
+"Safe from what?"
+
+"From--all that I feared when I was dangerously ill last summer."
+
+"What did you fear, Eleanor?"
+
+"All the future, aunt Caxton. I was not ready, I knew, to go out of
+this world. I am no better now."
+
+They had not changed their relative positions. Eleanor's face still lay
+on her aunt's bosom; Mrs. Caxton's arms still enfolded her.
+
+"Bless the Lord! there is such a helmet," she said; "but we cannot
+manufacture it, Eleanor, nor even buy it. If you have it at all, you
+must take it as a free gift."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"If you are willing to be a soldier of Christ, he will give you his
+armour."
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I do not understand."
+
+"It is only to take the promises of God, my dear, if you will take them
+obediently. Jesus has declared that 'whosoever believeth on him, hath
+everlasting life.'"
+
+"But I cannot exactly understand what believing in him means. I am very
+stupid." Eleanor raised her head and looked now in her aunt's face.
+
+"Do you understand his work for us?"
+
+"I do not know, ma'am."
+
+"My dear, it is the work of love that was not willing to let us be
+miserable. While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. He gave
+himself a ransom for all. He suffered for sins, the just for the
+unjust, that he might bring us to God."
+
+"Yes, I believe I understand that," said Eleanor wearily.
+
+"The only question is, whether we will let him bring us. The question
+is, whether we are willing to accept this substitution of the innocent
+One for our guilty selves, and be his obedient children. If we are--if
+we rely on him and his blood only, and are willing to give up ourselves
+to him, then the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin. No
+matter though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. There is
+no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after
+the flesh but after the Spirit."
+
+"But I do not walk so," said Eleanor.
+
+"Do you want to walk so?"
+
+"O yes, ma'am! yes!" said Eleanor clasping her hands. "I desire it
+above all possible things. I want to be such a one."
+
+"If you truly desire it, my dear, it is certain that you may have what
+you want; for the Lord's will is not different. He died for this very
+thing, that he might be just, and the justifier of him that believeth
+in Jesus. There is an open door before you; all things are ready; you
+have only to plead the promises and enter in. The Lord himself says,
+Come."
+
+"Aunt Caxton, I understand, I think; but I do not feel; not anything
+but fear,--and desire."
+
+"This is the mere statement of truth, my dear; it is like the altar
+with the wood laid in readiness and the sacrifice--all cold; and till
+fire falls down from heaven, no incense will arise from earth. But if
+any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men
+liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him."
+
+"I am a poor creature, aunt Caxton!" said Eleanor, hiding her face
+again. And again Mrs. Caxton's arm came tenderly round her. And again
+Eleanor's tears flowed, this time in a flood.
+
+"Certainly you are a poor creature, Eleanor. I am glad you are finding
+it out. But will you flee to the stronghold, you poor little prisoner
+of hope?"
+
+"I think I am rather the prisoner of fear, aunty."
+
+"Hope is a better gaoler, my deal."
+
+"But that is the very thing that I want."
+
+"The Lord give it you!"
+
+They sat a good while in stillness after that, each thinking her own
+thoughts; or perhaps those of the elder lady took the form of prayers.
+At last Eleanor raised her head and kissed her aunt's lips earnestly.
+
+"How good of you to let me come to Plassy!" she said.
+
+"I shall keep you here now. You will not wish to be at home again for
+some time."
+
+"No, ma'am. No indeed I shall not."
+
+"What are you going to do about Mr. Carlisle?"
+
+"I shall write to-morrow. Or to-night."
+
+"And tell him?--"
+
+"The plain truth, aunt Caxton. I mean, the truth of the fact, of
+course. It is very hard!"--said Eleanor sorrowfully.
+
+"It is doubtless hard; but it is the least of all the choice of evils
+you have left yourself. Write to-night,--and here, if you will. If you
+can without being disturbed by me."
+
+"The sight of you will only help me, aunt Caxton. But I did not know
+the harm I was doing when I entered into all this."
+
+"I believe it. Go and write your letter."
+
+Eleanor brought her paper-case and sat down at the table. Mrs. Caxton
+ordered other lights and was mutely busy at her own table. Not a word
+was spoken for a good while. It was with a strange mixture of pain and
+bursting gladness that Eleanor wrote the letter which she hoped would
+set her free. But the gladness was enough to make her sure it ought to
+be written; and the pain enough to make it a bitter piece of work. The
+letter was finished, folded, sealed; and with a sigh Eleanor closed her
+paper-case.
+
+"What sort of a clergyman have you at home?" Mrs. Caxton asked. She had
+not spoken till then.
+
+"He is a kind old man--he is a good man," Eleanor said, picking for
+words; "I like him. He is not a very interesting preacher."
+
+"Did you ever hold any talk with him on your thoughts of hope, and
+fear?"
+
+"I could not, ma'am. I have tried; but I could not bring him to the
+point. He referred me to confirmation and to doing my duty; he did not
+help me."
+
+"It is not a happy circumstance, that his public teaching should raise
+questions which his private teaching cannot answer."
+
+"O it did not!" said Eleanor. "Dr. Cairnes never raised a question in
+anybody's mind, I am sure; never in mine."
+
+"The light that sprung up in your mind then, came you do not know
+whence?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, I do," said Eleanor with a little difficulty. "It came
+from the words and teaching of a living example. But in me it seems to
+be only darkness."
+
+Mrs. Caxton said no more, and Eleanor added no more. The servants came
+in to family prayer; and then they took their candies and bade each
+other an affectionate good night. And Eleanor slept that night without
+dreaming.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+AT GLANOG.
+
+
+  "For something that abode endued
+  With temple-like repose, an air
+  Of life's kind purposes pursued
+  With order'd freedom sweet and fair,
+  A tent pitched in a world not right
+  It seem'd, whose inmates, every one,
+  On tranquil faces, bore the light
+  Of duties beautifully done."
+
+
+How did the days pass after that? In restless anxiety, with Eleanor; in
+miserable uncertainty and remorse and sorrow. She counted the hours
+till her despatch could be in Mr. Carlisle's hands; then she figured to
+herself the pain it would cause him; then she doubted fearfully what
+the immediate effect would be. It might be, to bring him down to Plassy
+with the utmost speed of post-horses; and again Eleanor reckoned the
+stages and estimated the speed at which Mr. Carlisle's postillions
+could be made to travel, and the time when it would be possible for
+this storm to burst upon Plassy. That day Eleanor begged the pony and
+went out. She wandered for hours, among unnumbered, and almost
+unheeded, beauties of mountain and vale; came home at a late hour, and
+crept in by a back entrance. No stranger had come; the storm had not
+burst yet; and Mrs. Caxton was moved to pity all the supper time and
+hours of the evening, at the state of fear and constraint in which
+Eleanor evidently dwelt.
+
+"My dear, did you like this man?" she said when they were bidding each
+other good night.
+
+"Mr. Carlisle?--yes, very well; if only he had not wanted me to marry
+him."
+
+"But you fear him, Eleanor."
+
+"Because, aunt Caxton, he always had a way of making me do just what he
+wished."
+
+"Are you so easily governed, Eleanor, by one whom you do not love? I
+should not have thought it."
+
+"I do not know how it was, aunty. I had begun wrong, in the first
+place; I was in a false position;--and lately Mr. Carlisle has taken it
+into his head, very unnecessarily, to be jealous; and I could not move
+a step without subjecting myself to a false imputation."
+
+"Good night, my dear," said her aunt. "If he comes, I will take all
+imputations on myself."
+
+But Mr. Carlisle did not come. Day passed after day; and the intense
+fear Eleanor had at first felt changed to a somewhat quieter
+anticipation; though she never came home from a ride without a good
+deal of circumspection about getting into the house. At last, one day
+when she was sitting with her aunt the messenger came from the post,
+and one of those letters was handed to Eleanor that she knew so well;
+with the proud seal and its crest. Particularly full and well made she
+thought this seal was; though that was not so very uncommon, and
+perhaps she was fanciful; but it was a magnificent seal, and the lines
+of the outer handwriting were very bold and firm. Eleanor's cheeks lost
+some colour as she opened the envelope, which she did without breaking
+the bright black wax. Her own letter was all the enclosure.
+
+The root of wrong even unconsciously planted, will bear its own proper
+and bitter fruits; and Eleanor tasted them that day, and the next and
+the next. She was free; she was secure from even an attempt to draw her
+back into the bonds she had broken; when Mr. Carlisle's pride had taken
+up the question there was no danger of his ever relenting or faltering;
+and pride had thrown back her letter of withdrawal in her face. She was
+free; but she knew she had given pain, and that more feeling was stung
+in Mr. Carlisle's heart than his pride.
+
+"He will get over it, my dear," said her aunt coolly. But Eleanor shed
+many tears for a day or two, over the wrong she had done. Letters from
+Ivy Lodge did not help her.
+
+"Home is very disagreeable now," wrote her little sister Julia; "mamma
+is crying half the day, and the other half she does not feel
+comfortable--" (a gentle statement of the case.) "And papa is very much
+vexed, and keeps out of doors the whole time and Alfred with him; and
+Mr. Rhys is gone away, and I have got nobody. I shouldn't know what to
+do, if Mr. Rhys had not taught me; but now I can pray. Dear Eleanor, do
+you pray? I wish you were coming home again, but mamma says you are not
+coming in a great while; and Mr. Rhys is never coming back. He said so."
+
+Mrs. Powle's letter was in strict accordance with Julia's description
+of matters; desperately angry and mortified. The only comfort was, that
+in her mortification she desired Eleanor to keep away from home and out
+of her sight; so Eleanor with a certain rest of heart in spite of all,
+prepared herself for a long quiet sojourn with her aunt at the
+cheese-farm of Plassy. Mrs. Caxton composedly assured her that all this
+vexation would blow over; and Eleanor's own mind was soon fain to lay
+off its care and content itself in a nest of peace. Mrs. Caxton's house
+was that, to anybody worthy of enjoying it; and to Eleanor it had all
+the joy not only of fitness but of novelty. But for a lingering care on
+the subject of the other question that had occupied her, Eleanor would
+in a little while have been happier than at any former time in her
+life. How was it with that question, which had pressed so painfully
+hard during weeks and months past? now that leisure and opportunity
+were full and broad to take it up and attend to it. So they were; but
+with the removal of difficulty came in some degree the relaxing of
+effort; opportunity bred ease. It was so simple a thing to be good at
+Plassy, that Eleanor's cry for it became less bitter. Mrs. Caxton's
+presence, words, and prayers, kept the thought constant alive; yet with
+more of soothing and hopeful than of exciting influence; and while
+Eleanor constantly wished she were happy like her, she nevertheless did
+not fail to be happy in her own way.
+
+The aunt and niece were excellently suited to each other, and took
+abundant delight in each other's company. Eleanor found that what had
+been defective in her own education was in the way to be supplied and
+made up to her singularly; here, of all places, on a cheese-farm! So it
+was. To her accomplishments and materials of knowledge, she now found
+suddenly superadded, the necessity and the practice of thinking. In
+Mrs. Caxton's house it was impossible to help it. Judgment, conscience,
+reason, and good sense, were constantly brought into play; upon things
+already known and things until then not familiar. In the reading of
+books, of which they did a good deal; in the daily discussion of the
+newspaper; in the business of every hour, in the intercourse with every
+neighbour, Eleanor found herself always stimulated and obliged to look
+at things from a new point of view; to consider them with new lights;
+to try them by a new standard. As a living creature, made and put here
+to live for something, she felt herself now; as in a world where
+everybody had like trusts to fulfil and was living mindful or forgetful
+of his trust. How mindful Mrs. Caxton was of hers, Eleanor began every
+day with increasing admiration to see more and more. To her servants,
+to her neighbours, with her money and her time and her sympathies, for
+little present interests and for world-wide and everlasting ones, Mrs.
+Caxton was ever ready, active, watchful; hands full and head full and
+heart full. That motive power of her one mind and will, Eleanor
+gradually found, was the centre and spring of a vast machinery of good,
+working so quietly and so beneficently as proved it had been in
+operation a long, long time. It was a daily deep lesson to Eleanor,
+going deeper and deeper every day. The roots were striking down that
+would shoot up and bear fruit by and by.
+
+Eleanor was a sweet companion to her aunt all those months. In her
+fresh, young, rich nature, Mrs. Caxton had presently seen the signs of
+strength, without which no character would have suited her; while
+Eleanor's temper was of the finest; and her mind went to work
+vigorously upon whatever was presented for its action. Mrs. Caxton
+wisely took care to give it an abundance of work; and furthermore
+employed Eleanor in busy offices of kindness and help to others; as an
+assistant in some of her own plans and habits of good. Many a ride
+Eleanor took on the Welsh pony, to see how some sick person was getting
+on, or to carry supplies to another, or to give instruction to another,
+or to oversee and direct the progress of matters on which yet another
+was engaged. This was not new work to her; yet now it was done in the
+presence at least, if not under the pressure, of a higher motive than
+she had been accustomed to bring to it. It took in some degree another
+character. Eleanor was never able to forget now that these people to
+whom she was ministering had more of the immortal in them than of even
+the earthly; she was never able to forget it of herself. And busy and
+happy as the winter was, there often came over her those weary longings
+for something which she had not yet; the something which made her
+aunt's course daily so clear and calm and bright. What sort of
+happiness would be Eleanor's when she got back to Ivy Lodge? She asked
+herself that question sometimes. Her present happiness was superficial.
+
+The spring meanwhile drew near, and signs of it began to be seen and
+felt, and heard. And one evening Mrs. Caxton got out the plan of her
+garden, and began to consider in detail its arrangements, with a view
+to coming operations. It was pleasant to see Mrs. Caxton at this work,
+and to hear her; she was in her element. Eleanor was much surprised to
+find not only that her aunt was her own head gardener, but that she had
+an exquisite knowledge of the business.
+
+"This _sulphurea_ I think is dead," remarked Mrs. Caxton. "I must have
+another. Eleanor--what is the matter?"
+
+"Ma'am?"
+
+"You are drawing a very long breath, my dear. Where did it come from?"
+
+The reserve which Eleanor had all her life practised before other
+people, had almost from the first given way before her aunt.
+
+"From a thought of home, aunt Caxton. I shall not be so happy when I
+get back there."
+
+"The happiness that will not bear transportation, Eleanor, is a very
+poor article. But they will not want you at home."
+
+"I am afraid of it."
+
+"Without reason. You will not go home this spring, my dear; trust me.
+You are mine for a good long time yet."
+
+Mrs. Caxton was wiser than Eleanor; as was soon proved. Mrs. Powle
+wrote, desiring her daughter, whatever she did, not to come home then;
+nor soon. People would think she was come home for her wedding; and
+questions innumerable would be asked, the mortification of which would
+be unbearable. Whereas, if Eleanor kept away, the dismal certainty
+would by degrees become public, that there was to be no match at all
+between Rythdale and the Lodge. "Stay away till it all blown over,
+Eleanor," wrote her mother; "it is the least you can do for your
+family." And the squire even sent a word of a letter, more kind, but to
+the same effect. He wanted his bright daughter at home, he said; he
+missed her; but in the circumstances, perhaps it would be best, if her
+aunt would be so good as to keep her.
+
+Eleanor carried these letters to Mrs. Caxton, with a tear in her eye,
+and an humbled, pained face.
+
+"I told you so," said her aunt. "How could people expect that Mr.
+Carlisle's marriage would take place three months after the death of
+his mother? that is what I do not understand."
+
+"They arranged it so, and it was given out, I suppose. Everything gets
+known. He was going abroad in the spring, or immediately after; and
+meant not to go without me."
+
+"Now you are my child, my dear, and shall help me with my roses," said
+her aunt kissing her, and taking Eleanor in her arms. "Eleanor, is that
+second question settled yet?"
+
+"No, aunt Caxton."
+
+"You have not chosen yet which master you will serve,--the world or the
+Lord?"
+
+"O yes, ma'am--I have decided that. I know which I want to be."
+
+"But not which you will be."
+
+"I mean that, ma'am."
+
+"You are not a servant of the Lord now, Eleanor?"
+
+"No, aunt Caxton--I don't see how. I am dark."
+
+"Christ says, 'He that is not with me is against me.' A question that
+is undecided, decides itself. Eleanor, decide this question to-night."
+
+"To-night, ma'am?"
+
+"Yes. I am going to send you to church."
+
+"To church! There is no service to-night, aunt Caxton."
+
+"Not at the church where you have been--in the village. There is a
+little church in the valley beyond Mrs. Pynce's cottage. You are going
+there."
+
+"I do not remember any. Why, aunt Caxton, the valley is too narrow
+there for anything but the road and the brook; the mountains leave no
+room--hardly room for her house."
+
+"You have never been any further. Do you not remember a sharp turn just
+beyond that place?"
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"You will see the chapel when you get round the turn."
+
+The place Mrs. Caxton alluded to, was a wild, secluded, most beautiful
+valley, the bottom of which as Eleanor said was almost filled up with
+the road, and the brook which rushed along its course to meet the
+river; itself almost as large as another river. Where the people could
+be found to go to a church in such a region, she could not imagine.
+Heather clothed the hills; fairy cascades leaped down the rocks at
+every turning, lovely as a dream; the whole scene was wild and lonely.
+Hardly any human habitations or signs of human action broke the wild
+reign of nature all the valley through. Eleanor was sure of a charming
+ride at least, whether there was to be a congregation in the church at
+the end of it or no; and she prepared herself accordingly. Mrs. Caxton
+was detained at home; the car did not go; three or four of the
+household, men and women, went on ponies as Eleanor did.
+
+They set off very early, while the light was fair and beautiful yet,
+for the ride was of some length. It was not on the way to the village;
+it turned off from the fine high road to a less practised and more
+uneven track. It was good for horses; and riding in front, a little
+ahead of her companions, Eleanor had the luxury of being alone. Why had
+Mrs. Caxton bade her "settle that question" to-night? How could she;
+when her mind was in so much darkness and confusion on the subject? Yet
+Eleanor hardly knew specifically what the hindrance was; only it was
+certain that while she wished and intended to be a Christian, she was
+no nearer the point, so far as she could see, than she had been months
+ago. Nay, Eleanor confessed to herself that in the sweet quiet and
+peace of her aunt's house, and in her own release from pressing
+trouble, she had rather let all troublesome thoughts slip away from
+her; so that, though not forgotten, the subject had been less painfully
+on her mind than through the weeks that went before her coming to
+Plassy. She had wished for leisure and quiet to attend to it and put
+that pain to rest for ever; and in leisure and quiet she had suffered
+pain to go to sleep in a natural way and left all the business of
+dealing with it to be deferred till the time of its waking. How was all
+this? Eleanor walked her pony slowly along, and thought. _Then_ she had
+been freshly under the influence of Mr. Rhys and his preaching; the
+very remembrance of which, now and here, stirred her like an alarum
+bell. Ay, and more than that; it wakened the keen longing for that
+beauty and strength of life which had so shewn her her own poverty.
+Humbled and sad, Eleanor walked her pony on and on, while each little
+crystal torrent that came with its sweet clear rush and sparkle down
+the rocks, tinkled its own little silver bell note in her ears; a note
+of purity and action. Eleanor had never heard it from them before; now
+somehow each rushing streamlet, with its bright leap over obstacles and
+its joyous dash onward in its course, sounded the same note. Nothing
+could be more lovely than these cascades; every one different from the
+others, as if to shew how many forms of beauty water could take.
+Eleanor noticed and heard them every one and the call of every one, and
+rode on in a pensive mood till Mrs. Pynce's cottage was passed and the
+turn in the valley just beyond opened up a new scene for her.
+
+How lovely! how various! The straitened dell spread out gradually from
+this point into a comparatively broad valley, bordered with higher
+hills as it widened in the distance. The light still shewed its
+entrancing beauty; wooded, and spotted with houses and habitations of
+all kinds; from the very humble to the very lordly, and from the
+business factories of to-day, back to the ruined strongholds of the
+time when war was business. Wide and delicious the view was, as much as
+it was unexpected; and spring's softened colouring was all over it.
+Eleanor made a pause of a few seconds as soon as all this burst upon
+her; her next thought was to look for the church. And it was plain to
+see; a small dark edifice, in excellent keeping with its situation;
+because of its colour and its simple structure, which half merged it
+among the rocks and the hills.
+
+"That is the church, John?" Eleanor said to Mrs. Caxton's factotum.
+
+"That is it, ma'am. There's been no minister there for a good piece of
+the year back."
+
+"And what place is this?"
+
+"There's no _place_, to call it, ma'am. It's the valley of Glanog."
+
+Eleanor jumped off her pony and went into the church. She had walked
+her pony too much; it was late; the service had begun; and Eleanor was
+taken with a sudden tremor at hearing the voice that was reading the
+hymn. She had no need to look to see whose it was. She walked up the
+aisle, seeking a vacant place to sit down, and exceedingly desirous to
+find it, for she was conscious that she was right under the preacher's
+eye and observation; but as one never does well what one does in
+confusion, she overlooked one or two chances that offered, and did not
+get a seat till she was far forward, in the place of fullest view for
+both seeing and being seen. And there she sat down, asking herself what
+should make her tremble so. Why had her aunt Caxton sent her that
+evening, alone, to hear Mr. Rhys preach? And why not? what was there
+about it? She was very glad, she knew, to hear him; but there would be
+no more apathy or languor in her mind now on the subject of that
+question her aunt had desired her to settle. No more. The very sound of
+that speaker's voice woke her conscience to a sharp sense of what she
+had been about all these months since she had heard it last. She bent
+her head in her hand for a little while, in a rushing of thoughts--or
+ideas--that prevented her senses from acting; then the words the people
+were singing around her made their entrance into her ear; an entrance
+opened by the sweet melody. The words were given very plain.
+
+
+  "No room for mirth or trifling here,
+  For worldly hope, or worldly fear,
+  If life so soon is gone;
+  If now the Judge is at the door,
+  And all mankind must stand before
+  Th' inexorable throne!
+
+  "No matter which my thoughts employ,
+  A moment's misery or joy;
+  But O! when both shall end,
+  Where shall I find my destined place?
+  Shall I my everlasting days
+  With fiends or angels spend?"
+
+
+Eleanor sat cowering before that thought. "Now are we going to have a
+terrible sermon?" was her inward question. She would not look up. The
+preliminary services were all over, she found, and the preacher rose
+and gave out his text.
+
+"A glorious high throne from the beginning, is the place of our
+sanctuary."
+
+Eleanor could not keep her eyes lowered another second. The well-known
+deliberate utterance, and a little unconscious indefinable ring of the
+tones in which the words were spoken, brought her eyes to the speaker's
+face; and they were never turned away again. "Do we need a
+sanctuary?"--was the first question the preacher started; and very
+quietly he went on to discuss that. Very quietly; his manner and his
+voice were neither in the slightest degree excited; how it was, Eleanor
+did not know, that as he went on a tide of feeling swept over the
+assembly. She could see it in the evidences of tears, and she heard it
+in a deep sough of the breath that went all over the house. The
+preacher was reaching each one's secret consciousness, and stirring
+into life that deep hidden want of every heart which every heart knew
+differently. Some from sorrow; some from sin; some from weariness; some
+from loneliness; some from the battle of life; some from the struggle
+with their own hearts; all, from the wrath to come. Nay, Eleanor's own
+heart was throbbing with the sense that he had reached it and touched
+it, and knew its condition. How was it, that with those quiet words he
+had bowed every spirit before him, her own among the number? It is
+true, that in the very containedness of his tones and words there was
+an evidence of suppressed power; it flashed out once in a while; and
+wrought possibly with the more effect from the feeling that it was
+contained and kept down. However it were, the minds of the assembly
+were already at a high state of tension, when he passed to the other
+part of his subject--the consideration of the sanctuary. It was no
+discourse of regular heads and divisions; it is impossible to report,
+except as to its effects. The preacher's head and heart were both full,
+and words had no stint. But in this latter part of his subject, the
+power which had been so contained was let loose, though still kept
+within bounds. The eye fired now, and the voice quivered with its
+charge, as he endeavoured to set before the minds of the people the
+glorious vision which filled his own; to make known to others the
+"riches of glory" in which his own soul rested and rejoiced. So
+evidently, that his hearers half caught at what he would shew them, by
+the catching of sympathy; and from different parts of the house now
+there went up a suppressed cry, of want, or of exultation, as the case
+might be, which it was very thrilling to hear. It was the sense of want
+and pain in Eleanor's mind; not spoken indeed except by her
+countenance; but that toned strongly with the notes of feeling that
+were uttered around her. As from the bottom of a dark abyss into which
+he had fallen, a person might look up to the bright sky, of which he
+could see but a little, which yet would give him token of all the
+firmamental light and beauty up there which he had not. From her
+darkness Eleanor saw it; saw it in the preacher's face and words; yes,
+and heard it in many a deep-breathed utterance of gladness or
+thanksgiving at her side. She had never felt so dark in her life as
+when she left the church. She rushed away as soon as the service was
+over, lest any one should speak to her; however she had to wait some
+time outside the door before John came out. The people all tarried
+strangely.
+
+"Beg pardon, ma'am," said John, "but we was waiting a bit to see the
+minister."
+
+Eleanor rode home fast, through fair moonlight without and great
+obscurity within her own spirit. She avoided her aunt; she did not want
+to speak of the meeting; she succeeded in having no talk about it that
+I night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+AT MRS. POWLIS'S.
+
+
+  "I glanced within a rock's cleft breast,
+  A lonely, safely-sheltered nest.
+  There as successive seasons go,
+  And tides alternate ebb and flow,
+  Full many a wing is trained for flight
+  In heaven's blue field--in heaven's broad light."
+
+
+The next morning at breakfast Eleanor and her aunt were alone as usual.
+There was no avoiding anything.
+
+"Did you have a pleasant evening?" Mrs. Caxton asked.
+
+"I had a very pleasant ride, aunt Caxton."
+
+"How was the sermon?"
+
+"It was--I suppose it was very good; but it was very peculiar."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"I don't know, ma'am;--it excited the people very much. They could not
+keep still."
+
+"Do you like preaching better that does not excite people?"
+
+Eleanor hesitated. "No, ma'am; but I do not like them to make a noise."
+
+"What sort of a noise?"
+
+Eleanor paused again, and to her astonishment found her own lip
+quivering and her eyes watering as she answered,--"It was a noise of
+weeping and of shouting--not loud shouting; but that is what it was."
+
+"I have often known such effects under faithful presenting of the
+truth," said Mrs. Caxton composedly. "When people's feelings are much
+moved, it is very natural to give them expression."
+
+"For uncultivated people, particularly."
+
+"I don't know about the cultivation," said Mrs. Caxton. "Robert Hall's
+sermons used to leave two thirds of his hearers on their feet. I have
+seen a man in middle life, a judge in the courts, one of the heads of
+the community in which he lived, so excited that he could not undo the
+fastenings of his pew door; and he put his foot on the seat and sprang
+over into the aisle."
+
+"Do you like such things, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"I prefer another mode of getting out of church, my dear."
+
+"But shouting, or crying out, is what people of refinement would not
+do, even if they could not open their pew doors."
+
+Eleanor was a little sorry the moment she had uttered this speech; her
+spirits were in a whirl of disorder and uncomfortableness, and she had
+spoken hastily. Mrs. Caxton answered with great composure.
+
+"What do you call those words that you are accustomed to hear, the
+'Gloria in Excelsis'?--'Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace,
+good will towards men. We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee,
+we glorify thee, we give thanks to thee for thy great glory, O Lord
+God, heavenly King.'"
+
+"What do you call it, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"If it is not a shout of joy, I can make nothing of it. Or the one
+hundred and fiftieth psalm--'O praise God in his holiness; praise him
+in the firmament of his power. Praise him in his noble acts; praise him
+according to his excellent greatness. Praise him in the sound of the
+trumpet; praise him upon the lute and harp. Praise him in the cymbals
+and dances; praise him upon the strings and pipe. Praise him upon the
+well tuned cymbals; praise him upon the loud cymbals. Let everything
+that hath breath praise the Lord.'--What is that but a shout of praise?"
+
+"It never sounded like a shout," said Eleanor.
+
+"It did once, I think," said Mrs. Caxton.
+
+"When was that, ma'am?"
+
+"When Ezra sang it, with the priests and the people to help him, after
+they were returned from captivity. Then the people shouted with a loud
+shout, and the noise was heard afar off. All the people shouted with a
+great shout, when they praised the Lord."
+
+
+"But aunt Caxton," said Eleanor, who felt herself taken down a little,
+as a secure talker is apt to be by a manner very composed in his
+opponent--"it is surely the habit of refined persons in these times not
+to get excited--or not to express their feelings very publicly?"
+
+"A very good habit," said Mrs. Caxton. "Nevertheless I have seen a
+man--a gentleman--and a man in very high standing, in a public
+assembly, go white with anger and become absolutely speechless, with
+the strength of passion, at some offence he had taken."
+
+"O such passions, of course, will display themselves sometimes," said
+Eleanor. "Bad passions often will. They escape control."
+
+"I have seen a lady--a lovely and refined lady--faint away at the
+sudden tidings that a child's life was secure,--whom she had almost
+given up for lost."
+
+"But, dear aunt Caxton! you do not call that a parallel case?"
+
+"A parallel case with what?"
+
+"Anybody might be excited at such a thing. You would wonder if they
+were not."
+
+"I do not see the justness of your reasoning, Eleanor. A man may turn
+white with passion, and it is natural; woman may faint with joy at
+receiving back her child from death; and you are not surprised. But the
+joy of suddenly seeing eternal life one's own--the joy of knowing that
+God has forgiven our sins--you think may be borne calmly. I have known
+people faint under that joy as well."
+
+"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor, her voice growing hoarse, "I do not see
+how anybody can have it. How can they know their sins are forgiven?"
+
+"You may find it in your Bible, Eleanor; did you never see it there?
+'The Spirit witnesseth with our spirit, that we are the children of
+God.'"
+
+"But Paul was inspired?"
+
+"Yes, thank God!--to declare that dividend of present joy to all
+shareholders in the stock of eternal life. But doubtless, only faith
+can take it out."
+
+Eleanor sat silent, chewing bitter thoughts. "O this is what these
+people have!"--she said to herself;--"this is the helmet of salvation!
+And I am as far from it as ever!" The conversation ended there. Eleanor
+was miserable all day. She did not explain herself; Mrs. Caxton only
+saw her preoccupied, moody, and silent.
+
+"There is preaching again at Glanog to-night," she said a few days
+afterwards; "I am not yet quite well enough to go. Do you choose to go,
+Eleanor?"
+
+Eleanor looked down and answered yes.
+
+She went; and again, and again, and again. Sundays or week days,
+Eleanor missed no chance of riding her pony to the little valley
+church. Mrs. Caxton generally went with her, after the first week; but
+going in her car she was no hindrance to the thoughtfulness and
+solitude of the rides on horseback; and Eleanor sometimes wept all the
+way home, and oftener came with a confused pain in her heart, dull or
+acute as the case might be. She saw truth that seemed beautiful and
+glorious to her; she saw it in the faces and lives as well as in the
+words of others; she longed to share their immunity and the peace she
+perceived them possessed of; but how to lay hold of it she could not
+find. She seemed to herself too evil ever to become good; she tried,
+but her heart seemed as hard as a stone. She prayed, but no relief
+came. She did not see how she _could_ be saved, while evil had such a
+hold of her; and to dislodge it she was powerless. Eleanor was in a
+constant state of uneasiness and distress now. Her usually fine temper
+was more easily roughened than she had ever known it; the services she
+had long been accustomed to render to others who needed her, she felt
+it now very hard to give. She was dissatisfied with herself and very
+unhappy, and she said to herself that she was unfit to properly
+minister to anybody else. She became a comparatively silent and
+ungenial companion to her aunt. Mrs. Caxton perhaps understood her; for
+she made no remark on this change, seemed to take no notice; was as
+evenly and tenderly affectionate to her niece as ever before, with
+perhaps a little added expression of sympathy now and then. She did not
+even ask an explanation of Eleanor's manner of getting out of church.
+
+Eleanor and her aunt, as it happened, always occupied a seat very near
+the front and almost under the pulpit. It had been Eleanor's custom
+ever since the first time she came there, to slip out of her seat and
+make her way down the aisle with eager though quiet haste; leaving her
+aunt to follow at her leisure; and she was generally mounted and off
+before Mrs. Caxton reached the front door. During the service always
+now, Eleanor's eyes were fastened upon the preacher; his often looked
+at her; he recognized her of course; and Eleanor had a vague fear that
+if she were not out of the way he would some time or other come down
+and accost her. It was an unreasoning fear; she gave no account of it
+to herself; except that her mind was in an unsettled, out-of-order
+state, that would not bear questioning; and if he came he would be
+certain to question her. So Eleanor fled and let her aunt do the
+talking--if any there were. Eleanor never asked and never knew.
+
+This went on for some weeks. Spring had burst upon the hills, and the
+valleys were green in beauty and flushing with flowers; and Eleanor's
+heart was barren and cold more than she had ever felt it to be. She
+began to have a most miserable opinion of herself.
+
+It happened one night, what rarely happened, that Mr. Rhys had some one
+in the pulpit with him. Eleanor was sorry; she grudged to have even the
+closing prayer or hymn given by another voice. But it was so this
+evening; and when Eleanor rose as usual to make her quick way out of
+the house, she found that somebody else had been quick. Mr Rhys stood
+beside her. It was impossible to help speaking. He had clearly come
+down for the very purpose. He shook hands with Eleanor.
+
+"How do you do?" he said. "I am glad to see you here. Is your mind at
+rest yet?"
+
+"No," said Eleanor. However it was, this meeting which she had so
+shunned, was not entirely unwelcome to her when it came. If anything
+would make her feel better, or any counsel do her good, se was willing
+to stand even questioning that might lead to it. Mr. Rhys's questioning
+on this occasion was not very severe. He only asked her, "Have you ever
+been to class?"
+
+"To what?" said Eleanor.
+
+"To a class-meeting. You know what that is?"
+
+"Yes,--I know a little. No, I have never been to one."
+
+"I should like to see you at mine. We meet at Mrs. Powlis's in the
+village of Plassy, Wednesday afternoon."
+
+"But I could not, Mr. Rhys. It would not be possible for me to say a
+word before other people; it would not be possible."
+
+"I will try not to trouble you with difficult questions. Promise me
+that you will come. It will not hurt you to hear others speak."
+
+Eleanor hesitated.
+
+"Will you come and try?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"There!" said Eleanor to herself as she rode away,--"now I have got my
+head in a net, and I am fast. I going to such a place! What business
+have I there?--" And yet there was a sweet gratification in the hope
+that somehow this new plan might bring her good. But on the whole
+Eleanor disliked it excessively, with all the power of mature and
+cultivation. For though frank enough to those whom she loved, a proud
+reserve was Eleanor's nature in regard to all others whom she did not
+love; and the habits of her life were as far as possible at variance
+with this proposed meeting, in its familiar and social religious
+character. She could not conceive how people should wish to speak of
+their intimate feelings before other people. Her own shrank from
+exposure as morbid flesh shrinks from the touch. However, Wednesday
+came.
+
+"Can I have Powis this afternoon, aunt Caxton?"
+
+"Certainly, my dear; no need to ask. Powis is yours. Are you going to
+Mrs. Pynce?"
+
+"No ma'am.--" Eleanor struggled.--"Mr. Rhys has made me promise to go
+to his class. I do not like to go at all; but I have promised."
+
+"You will like to go next time," said Mrs. Caxton quietly. And she said
+no more than that.
+
+"Will I?" thought Eleanor as she rode away. But if there was anything
+harsh or troubled in her mood of mind, all nature breathed upon it to
+soften it. The trees were leafing out again; the meadows brilliant with
+fresh green; the soft spring airs wooing into full blush and beauty the
+numberless spring flowers; every breath fragrant with new sweetness.
+Nothing could be lovelier than Eleanor's ride to the village; nothing
+more soothing to a ruffled condition of thought; and she arrived at
+Mrs. Powlis's door with an odd kind of latent hopefulness that
+something good might be in store for her there.
+
+Her strange and repugnant feelings returned when she got into the
+house. She was shewn into a room where several other persons were
+sitting, and where more kept momently coming in. Greetings passed
+between these persons, very frank and cordial; they were all at home
+there and accustomed to each other and to the business; Eleanor alone
+was strange, unwonted, not in her element. That feeling however changed
+as soon as Mr. Rhys came in. Where he was, there was at least one
+person whom she had sympathy, and who had some little degree of
+sympathy with her. Eleanor's feelings were destined to go through a
+course of discipline before the meeting was over.
+
+It began with some very sweet singing. There were no books; everybody
+knew the words that were sung, and they burst out like a glad little
+chorus. Eleanor's lips only were mute. The prayer that followed stirred
+her very much. It was so simple, so pure, so heavenward in its
+aspirations, so human in its humbleness, so touching in its sympathies.
+For they reached _her_, Eleanor knew by one word. And when the prayer
+was ended, whatever might follow, Eleanor was glad she had come to that
+class-meeting.
+
+But what followed she found to be intensely interesting. In words, some
+few some many, one after another of the persons present gave an account
+of his progress or of his standing in the Christian life. Each spoke
+only when called upon by Mr. Rhys; and each was answered in his turn
+with a word of counsel or direction or encouragement, as the case
+seemed to need. Sometimes the answer was in the words of the Bible; but
+always, whatever it were, it was given, Eleanor felt, with singular
+appositeness to the interests before him. With great skill too, and
+with infinite sympathy and tenderness if need called for it; with
+sympathy invariably. And Eleanor admired the apt readiness and kindness
+and wisdom with which the answers were framed; so as to suggest without
+fail the lesson desired to be given, yet so suggest it should be felt
+by nobody as a imputation or a rebuke. And ever and again the little
+assembly broke out into a burst of song, a verse or two of some hymn,
+that started naturally from the last words that had been said. Those
+bursts of song touched Eleanor. They were so plainly heartfelt, so
+utterly glad in their utterances, that she had never head the like. No
+choir, the best trained in the world, could give such an effect with
+their voices, unless they were also trained and meet to be singers in
+heaven. One of the choruses pleased Eleanor particularly. It was sung
+in a wild sweet tune, and with great energy.
+
+
+  "There's balm in Gilead,
+  To make the wounded whole.
+  There's power enough in Jesus--
+  To save a sin-sick soul."
+
+
+It was just after this was finished, that Mr Rhys in his moving about
+the room, came and stood before Eleanor. He asked her "Do You love
+Jesus?"
+
+It is impossible to express the shame and sorrow which Eleanor
+answered, "No."
+
+"Do you wish to be a Christian?"
+
+Eleanor bowed her head.
+
+"Do you intend to be one?"
+
+Eleanor looked up, surprised at the wore, and answered, "If I can."
+
+"Do you think," said he very tenderly, "that you have a right to that
+'_if_'--when Jesus has said, 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are
+heavy laden, and _I will give you rest?_'"
+
+He turned from her, and again struck the notes they had been singing.
+
+
+  "There's balm in Gilead
+  To make the wounded whole.
+  There's power enough in Jesus
+  To save a sin-sick soul."
+
+
+The closing prayer followed, which almost broke Eleanor's heart in two;
+it so dealt with her and for her. While some of those present were
+afterward exchanging low words and shakes of the hand, she slipped away
+and mounted her pony.
+
+She was in dreadful confusion during the first part of her ride. Half
+resentful, half broken-hearted. It was the last time, she said to
+herself, that ever she would be found in a meeting like that. She would
+never go again; to make herself a mark for people's sympathy and a
+subject for people's prayers. And yet--surely the human mind seems an
+inconsistent thing at times,--the thought of that sympathy and those
+prayers had a touch of sweetness in it, which presently drew a flood of
+tears from Eleanor's eyes. There was one old man in particular, of
+venerable appearance, who had given a most dignified testimony of faith
+and happiness, whose "Amen!" recurred to her. It was uttered at the
+close of a petition Mr. Rhys had made in her favour; and Eleanor
+recalled it now with a strange mixture of feelings. Why was she so
+different from him and from the rest of those good people? She knew her
+duty; why was it not done? She seemed to herself more hard-hearted and
+evil than Eleanor would formerly have supposed possible of her; she had
+never liked herself less than she did during this ride home. Her mind
+was in a rare turmoil, of humiliation and darkness and sorrow; one
+thing only was clear; that she never would go to a class-meeting again!
+And yet it would be wrong to say that she was on the whole sorry she
+had gone once, or that she really regretted anything that had been done
+or said. But this once should suffice her. So she went along, dropping
+tears from her eyes and letting Powis find his way as he pleased; which
+he was quite competent to do.
+
+By degrees her eyes cleared to see how lovely the evening was falling.
+The air sweet with exhalations from the hedge-rows and meadows, yes and
+from the more distant hills too; fragrant and balmy. The cattle were
+going home from the fields; smoke curled up from a hundred chimney tops
+along the hillsides and the valley bottom; the evening light spread
+here and there in a broad glow of colour; fair snatches of light were
+all that in many a place the hills and the bottom could catch. Every
+turn in the winding valley brought a new combination of wonderful
+beauty into view; and shadows and light, and flower-fragrance, and
+lowing cattle along the ways, and wreaths of chimney smoke; all spoke
+of peace. Could the spell help reaching anybody's heart? It reached
+Eleanor's; or her mood in some inexplicable way soothed itself down;
+for when she reached the farmhouse, though she thought of herself in
+the same humbled forlorn way as ever, her thought of the class-meeting
+had changed.
+
+
+
+
+END OF VOL. I.
+
+
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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
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+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #26829 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26829)