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;
