her, and must have her at once to go to Brighton. So suddenly affectionate?
Eleanor stood looking at her letter some time after she had ceased to read it, with a face that shewed turmoil. Mrs. Caxton came up to her. Eleanor dropped the letter in her hand, but her eye avoided her aunt's.
"What is all this haste, Eleanor?" Mrs. Caxton said gravely.
"I don't know, ma'am."
"At any rate, my child, you cannot leave me to-night. It is too late."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Does your mother assign no reason for this sudden demand of you? She gives me none."
"She gives me none, ma'am."
"Eleanor – "
It brought Eleanor's eye up, and that brought her head down on Mrs. Caxton's shoulder. Her aunt clasped her tenderly for a moment, and then said,
"Had you not better see your mother's servant, my dear, and give your orders? – and then we will have tea."
Eleanor steadied herself immediately; went out and had an interview with old Thomas, which however brought her no enlightenment; made her arrangements with him, and returned to her aunt. Mrs. Caxton ordered tea; they would not wait for Mr. Rhys any longer. The aunt and niece sat down to the table behind the honeysuckle drapery of the pillars; the sunlight had left the landscape; the breath of the flowers floated up cool and sweet from the terraced garden and waved about them with every stir of the long rose and honeysuckle sprays. Eleanor sat by the table and looked out. Mrs. Caxton poured out the tea and looked at her.
"Aren't you going to take some strawberries, my love?"
"Shall I give you some, aunt Caxton?"
"And yourself, my dear."
She watched while Eleanor slowly broke up the heath and ivy adornment of the strawberry dish, and carefully afterwards replaced the sprays and leaves she had dislodged. It is no harm for a lady's hand to be white; but travelling from the hand to the face, Mrs. Caxton's eye found too little colour there. Eleanor's cheeks were not generally wanting in a fine healthy tinge. The tinge was fainter than usual to-night. Nevertheless she was eating strawberries with apparent regularity.
"Eleanor, I do not understand this sudden recall. Have you any clue?"
"No ma'am, not the least."
"What arrangements have you made, my dear?"
"For to-morrow morning, ma'am. I had no choice."
"No, my dear, you had not; and I have not a word to say. I hope Mr.
Rhys will come back before you go."
Absolute silence on Eleanor's part.
"You would like to bid him good bye before you leave Plassy."
There was a cessation of any attention to the strawberries, and
Eleanor's hand took a position which rather hindered observations of her face. You might have heard a slight little sigh come from behind
Mrs. Caxton's tea-pot.
"Eleanor, have you learned that the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord? My love, they are not left to our own disposal, and we should not know how to manage it. You are going to do the Lord's work, are you not, wherever you may be?"
"I hope so."
"Then trust him to place you where he wants the work to be done. Can you, Eleanor?"
Eleanor left her seat, came round and knelt down by Mrs. Caxton's side, putting her face in her lap.
"It is not like a good soldier, dear, to wish to play general. You have something now to do at home – perhaps not more for others than for yourself. Are you willing to do it?"
"Don't ask me if I am willing, aunt Caxton! I have been too happy – But
I shall be willing."
"That is all we live for, my dear – to do the Lord's work; and I am sure that in service as in everything else, God loves a cheerful giver. Let us give him that now, Eleanor; and trust him for the rest. My child, you are not the only one who has to give up something."
And though Mrs. Caxton said little more than that word on the subject of what Eleanor's departure cost herself, she manifested it in a different way by the kind incessant solicitude and care with which she watched over Eleanor and helped her and kept with her that night and the next morning. Eleanor made her preparations and indulged in very few words. There was too much to think of, in the last evening's society, the last night in her happy room, the last morning hours. And yet Eleanor did very little thinking. She was to go immediately after breakfast. The early prayers were over, and the aunt and niece were left by themselves a moment before the meal was served.
"And what shall I say to Mr. Rhys?" enquired Mrs. Caxton, as they stood silent together. Eleanor hesitated, and hesitated; and finally said,
"I believe, nothing, ma'am."
"You have given me messages for so many other people, you know," said
Mrs. Caxton quietly.
"Yes, ma'am. I don't know how to make a message for him."
"I think he will feel it," said Mrs. Caxton in the same manner.
Then she saw, for her eyes were good, the lightning flash of emotion which worked in Eleanor's face. Proud self-control kept it down, and she stood motionless, though it did not prevent the perceptible paling of her cheek which Mrs. Caxton had noticed last night. She stood silent, then she said slowly, —
"If I thought that– You may give him any message for me that you think good, aunt Caxton."
The breakfast arrived, and few more words passed on any topic. Another hour, and Eleanor was on her journey.
She felt in a confusion of spirits and would not let herself think, till they reached her stopping place for the night. And then, instead of thinking, Eleanor to say the truth could do nothing but weep. It was her time for tears; to-morrow would end such an indulgence. At an early hour the next day she met her father's carriage which had been sent so far for her; and the remaining hours of her way Eleanor did think. Her thoughts are her own. But at the bottom of some that were sorrowful lay one deep subject of joy. That she was not going helmet-less into the fight which she felt might be before her. Of that she had an inward presentiment, though what form it would take she was entirely uncertain.
Julia was the first person that met her, and that meeting was rapturous.
"O Nell! it has been so dreadful and dull since you have been gone! I'm so glad to have you home! I'm so glad to have you home!" – she repeated, with her arms round Eleanor's neck.
"But what are you going to Brighton for?" said Eleanor after the first salutations had satisfied the first eagerness of the sisters.
"O I don't know. Papa isn't just well, I believe; and mamma thought it would do him good. Mamma's in here."
It was to Eleanor's relief that her reception in this quarter also was perfectly cordial. Mrs. Powle seemed to have forgotten, or to be disposed to forget, old causes of trouble;
