ife. 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 w