e it up. I think I will make you give it up now."

"You are not generous, Robert."

"No--I suppose I am not," he said contentedly. "I am forced to go to
London after Christmas, and I cannot go without you. Do you not love me
well enough to give me that, Eleanor?"

Eleanor was silent. She was not willing to say no; she could not with
truth say yes. Mr. Carlisle bent down to look into her face.

"What have you to say to me?"

"Nothing--" said Eleanor avoiding his eye.

"Kiss me, Nellie, and promise that you will be my good little wife at
Christmas."

His mother's very phrase. Eleanor rebelled secretly, but felt powerless
under those commanding eyes. Perhaps he was aware of her latent
obstinacy; if he was, he also knew himself able to master it; for the
eyes were sparkling with pleasure as well as with wilfulness. The
occasion was not sufficient to justify a contest with Mr. Carlisle;
Eleanor was not ready to brave one; she hesitated long enough to shew
her rebellion, and then yielded, ingloriously she felt, though on the
whole wisely. She met her punishment. The offered permission was not
only taken; she was laughed at and rejoiced over triumphantly, to Mr.
Carlisle's content. Eleanor bore it as well at she could; wishing that
she had not tried to assert herself in such vain fashion, and feeling
her discomfiture complete.

It was more than time to return to the company. Eleanor knew what a
mark she was for people's eyes, and would gladly have screened herself
behind somebody in a corner; but Mr. Carlisle kept full possession of
her. He walked her into the room, and gently retained her hand in its
place while he went from one to another, obliging her to stand and talk
or to be talked to with him through the whole company. Eleanor winced;
nevertheless bore herself well and a little proudly until the evening
was over.

The weather had changed, and the ride home was begun under a cloudy
sky. It grew very dark as they went on; impossible in many places to
see the path. Mr. Carlisle was riding with her and the roads were well
known to him and to the horses, and Eleanor did not mind it. She went
on gayly with him, rather delighting in the novelty and adventure; till
she heard a muttering of thunder. It was the only thing Eleanor's
nerves dreaded. Her spirits were checked; she became silent and quiet,
and hardly heard enough to respond to her companion's talk. She was
looking incessantly for that which came at last as