n a subdued way, "May I have it, aunt Caxton?"

"My dear, I was not to give them to you except I found that you were
favourably disposed towards the object of them. If you ask me for them
again, it must be upon that understanding."

"Will you please to give them to me, aunt Caxton," Eleanor said in the
same subdued tone.

Mrs. Caxton rose and went to a secretary in the room for one or two
papers, which she brought and put in Eleanor's hand. Then folding her
arms round her, stooped down and kissed the turned-away face. Eleanor
rose up to meet the embrace, and they held each other fast for a little
while, neither in any condition to speak.

"The Lord bless you, my child!" said Mrs. Caxton as she released her.
"You must make these letters a matter of prayer. And take care that you
do the Lord's will in this business--not your own."

"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor presently, "why was this not told me long
ago--before Mr. Rhys went away?" She spoke the words with difficulty.

"It is too long a story to tell to-night," Mrs. Caxton said after
hesitating. "He was entirely ignorant of what your feeling might be
towards him--ignorant too how far you might be willing to do and dare
for Christ's sake--and doubtful how far the world and Mr. Carlisle
might be able to prevail with you if they had a fair chance. He could
not risk taking a wife to Fiji who had not fairly counted the cost."

"He was so doubtful of me, and yet liked me?" said Eleanor.

"My love, there is no accounting for these things," Mrs. Caxton said
with a smile.

"And he left these with you to give to me?"

"One was left--the other was sent. One comes from Fiji. I will tell you
about them to-morrow. It is too long a story for to-night; and you have
quite enough to think about already. My dear Eleanor!"

They parted without more words, only with another speaking embrace,
more expressive than words; and without looking at the other each went
to her own room. Eleanor's was cosy and bright in winter as well as in
summer; a fire of the peculiar fuel used in the region of the
neighbourhood, made of cakes of coal and sand, glowed in the grate, and
the whole colouring of the drapery and the furniture was of that warm
rich cast which comforts the eye and not a little disposes the mind to
be comfortable in conformity. The only wood fire used in the house was
the one in the sitting parlour. Before her grate-full of glowing coals
Eleanor sat down; and looked at the two