ed into, it would have been a different thing. Eleanor
might have sat back in her chair and listened and sorrowed for herself
in outward quiet. But there was unconscious testimony from every tone
and look of the speaker that he told the people but of what he knew.
The pale face was illumined by a high grave light, that looked like a
halo from the unseen world; it was nothing less to Eleanor; and the
mouth in its general set so sober, broke occasionally into a smile so
sweet, that it straitened Eleanor's heart with its unconscious
tale-telling. As the time went on, the speaker began to illustrate his
words by instances; instances of the peace which Christians have shewn
to be theirs in all sorts of circumstances where the world would have
given them none, or would have surely withdrawn the gift once made. In
poverty--in pain--in loneliness--in the want of all things--in the
close prospect of suffering, and in the presence of death. Wonderful
instances they were! glorious to the power of that Redeemer, who had
declared, "Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. In the world ye
shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the
world." How the speaker's eye flushed and fired; flushed with tears,
and fired with triumph; what a tint rose on the pale cheek, testifying
to the exultation he felt; with what tremulous distinctness the words
were sometimes given--and heard in the breathless stillness to the
furthest corner of the place. It was too much at last. Feeling was
wrought too high. Eleanor could not bear it. She bowed her head on her
hand to hide the tears that would come, and only struggled to keep her
sobs quiet that she might not lose a word. There were other sobs in the
assembly that were less well controlled; they were audible; Eleanor
could not endure to hear them, for she feared her excitement would
become unmanageable. Nevertheless by strong effort she succeeded in
keeping perfectly still; though she dared not raise her head again till
the last hymn and prayers were over, and the people made a general stir
all round her. Then she too rose up and turned her face in the
direction whither they were all turning, towards the door.

She made her way out with the crowd blindly, conscious that it was all
over--that was the prominent thought--and yet that work was done which
would never be "over" for her. So conscious of this, that she had no
care either of her whereabouts or of her walk home, except in an