itself, rich and wooded, with the little river running its course,
marked by a thick embowering of trees; the hills that enclosed the
valley taking every form of beauty, sometimes wild and sometimes tame,
heathery and barren, rough and rocky, and again rounded and soft. Along
these hills came into view numberless dwellings, of various styles and
sizes; with once in a while a bold castle breaking forth in proud
beauty, or a dismantled ruin telling of pride and beauty that had been.
Eleanor had no one to talk to, and she did not want to talk. On
horseback, and on a Welsh pony, no Black Maggie or Tippoo, and in these
wonderful new strange scenes, she felt free; free from Mr. Carlisle and
his image for the moment; and though knowing that her bondage would
return, she enjoyed her freedom all the more. The little pony was
satisfactory; and as there was no need of taking a gallop to-day,
Eleanor had nothing to desire.

The ride ended at the loveliest of all picturesque villages; so Eleanor
thought; nestled in what seemed the termination of the valley. A little
village, with the square tower of the church rising up above the trees;
all the houses stood among trees; and the river was crossed by a bridge
just above, and tore down a precipice just below; so near that its roar
was the constant lullaby of the inhabitants. It was the only sound
to-day, rising in Sabbath stillness over the hills. After all this
ride, the service in the little church did not disappoint expectation;
it was sound, warm and good; and Eleanor mounted her pony and rode home
again, almost wishing she could take service with her aunt as a
dairymaid forever. All the day was sweet to Eleanor. But at the end of
it a thought darted into her mind, with the keenness of an arrow. Mr.
Carlisle in a few days more might have learned of her run-away freak
and of her hiding-place and have time to come after her. There was a
barb to the thought; for Eleanor could not get rid of it.

She begged the pony the next day, and the next, and went very long
rambling rides; in the luxury of being alone. They would have been most
delightful, but for the idea that haunted her, and which made her
actually afraid to enter the house on her return home. This state of
things was not to be borne much longer.

"You have let the pony tire you, Eleanor," Mrs. Caxton remarked. It was
the evening of the second day, and the two ladies were sitting in the
light of the wood fire.

"Ma'am, he