"I do not. I am always attended."

"By a servant. Have you never been frightened?"

"Never."

"Do you not meet a very ugly sort of crowd sometimes, on your way?"

"Yes--sometimes."

"And never feel afraid?"

"No. Mr. Carlisle, would you like a cup of tea, if you could get it?"

She had met his questions with a full clear look of her eyes, in which
certainly there lay no lurking shadow. He read them, and drank his tea
rather moodily.

"So, Eleanor," said Mrs. Powle the next day, "you have enlisted Mr.
Carlisle on your side as usual, and he will have you go to your absurd
school as you want to do. How did people get along before Ragged
schools were invented, I should like to know?"

"You would not like to know, mamma. It was in misery and ignorance and
crime, such as you would be made sick to hear of."

"Well, they live in it yet, I suppose; or are they all reclaimed
already?"

"They live in it yet--many a one."

"And it is among such people you go! Well, I wash my hands of it. Mr.
Carlisle will not have you molested. He must have his own way."

"What has he to do with it, mamma?" Eleanor asked, a little indignantly.

"A good deal, I should say. You are not such a fool as not to know what
he is with you all the time for, Eleanor."

A hot colour came up in Eleanor's cheeks.

"It is not by my wish, mamma."

"It is rather late to say so. Don't you like him, Eleanor?"

"Yes, ma'am--very much--if only he would be content with that."

"Answer me only one thing. Do you like any one else better? He is as
jealous as a bear, and afraid you do."

"Mamma," said Eleanor, a burning colour again rising to her brow,--"you
know yourself that I see no one that I favour more than I do Mr.
Carlisle. I do not hold him just in the regard he wishes, nevertheless."

"But do you like any one else better? tell me that. I just want that
question answered."

"Mamma, why? Answering it will not help the matter. In all England
there is not a person out of my own family whom I like so well;--but
that does not put Mr. Carlisle in the place where he wishes to be."

"I just wanted that question answered," said Mrs. Powle.

CHAPTER VI.

AT FIELD-LANE.

"Still all the day the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark."

"She declares there is not anybody in the world she likes better than
she does you--nor so