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