ich
Eleanor evidently dwelt.

"My dear, did you like this man?" she said when they were bidding each
other good night.

"Mr. Carlisle?--yes, very well; if only he had not wanted me to marry
him."

"But you fear him, Eleanor."

"Because, aunt Caxton, he always had a way of making me do just what he
wished."

"Are you so easily governed, Eleanor, by one whom you do not love? I
should not have thought it."

"I do not know how it was, aunty. I had begun wrong, in the first
place; I was in a false position;--and lately Mr. Carlisle has taken it
into his head, very unnecessarily, to be jealous; and I could not move
a step without subjecting myself to a false imputation."

"Good night, my dear," said her aunt. "If he comes, I will take all
imputations on myself."

But Mr. Carlisle did not come. Day passed after day; and the intense
fear Eleanor had at first felt changed to a somewhat quieter
anticipation; though she never came home from a ride without a good
deal of circumspection about getting into the house. At last, one day
when she was sitting with her aunt the messenger came from the post,
and one of those letters was handed to Eleanor that she knew so well;
with the proud seal and its crest. Particularly full and well made she
thought this seal was; though that was not so very uncommon, and
perhaps she was fanciful; but it was a magnificent seal, and the lines
of the outer handwriting were very bold and firm. Eleanor's cheeks lost
some colour as she opened the envelope, which she did without breaking
the bright black wax. Her own letter was all the enclosure.

The root of wrong even unconsciously planted, will bear its own proper
and bitter fruits; and Eleanor tasted them that day, and the next and
the next. She was free; she was secure from even an attempt to draw her
back into the bonds she had broken; when Mr. Carlisle's pride had taken
up the question there was no danger of his ever relenting or faltering;
and pride had thrown back her letter of withdrawal in her face. She was
free; but she knew she had given pain, and that more feeling was stung
in Mr. Carlisle's heart than his pride.

"He will get over it, my dear," said her aunt coolly. But Eleanor shed
many tears for a day or two, over the wrong she had done. Letters from
Ivy Lodge did not help her.

"Home is very disagreeable now," wrote her little sister Julia; "mamma
is crying half the day, and the other half she does not feel
comfortable--" (a