e night without giving
herself a moment to think. Packing occupied all that time and the early
hours of the next day; she was afraid to be idle, and even dreaded the
times of prayer; because whenever she stopped to think, the tears would
come. But she grew quiet; and was only pale still, when at an early
hour in the morning she left the house. She could not bear to go
through a parting scene with her father; she knew him better than to
try it; and she shrank from one with her mother. She bid nobody
good-bye, for she could not tell anybody that she was going. London
streets looked very gloomy to Eleanor that morning as she drove through
them to the railway station.

She had still another reason for slipping away, in the fear that else
she would be detained to meet Mr. Carlisle again. The evening before
she had had a note from him, promising her all freedom for all her
religious predilections and opinions--leave to do what she would, if
she would only be his wife. She guessed he would endeavour to see her,
if she staid long enough in London after the receipt of that note.
Eleanor made her escape.

Thomas was sorry at heart to see her cheeks so white yet when they set
off; and he noticed that his young mistress hid her face during the
first part of the journey. He watched to see it raised up again; and
then saw with content that Eleanor's gaze was earnestly fixed on the
things without the window. Yes, there was something there. She felt she
was out of London; and that whatever might be before her, one sorrowful
and disagreeable page of life's book was turned over. London was gone,
and she was in the midst of the country again, and the country was at
the beginning of June. Green fields and roses and flowery hedge-rows,
and sweet air, all wooed her back to hopefulness. Hopefulness for the
moment stole in. Eleanor thought things could hardly continue so bad as
they seemed. It was not natural. It could not be. And yet--Mr. Carlisle
was in the business, and mother and father were set on her making a
splendid match and being a great lady. It might be indeed, that there
would be no return for Eleanor, that she must remain in banishment,
until Mr. Carlisle should take a new fancy or forget her. How long
would that be? A field for calculation over which Eleanor's thoughts
roamed for some time.

One comfort she had promised herself, in seeing Julia on the way; so
she turned out of her direct course to go to Wiglands. She was
dis