as 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