stopped in the middle of the room, and her cheeks grew white as she
spoke.

"I shall never see her again!"

"My love," said Mrs. Caxton pityingly,--"I hardly know how to believe
it possible."

"I knew it all along," said Eleanor. She sat down and covered her face.
Mrs. Caxton sighed.

"It is as true now as it was in the old time," she said,--"'He that
will live godly in Christ Jesus, shall suffer persecution.' So surely
as we walk like Christ, so surely the world will call us odd and
strange and fanatical, and treat us accordingly."

Eleanor's head was bent low.

"And Jesus is our only refuge--and our sufficient consolation."

"O yes!--but--"

"And he can make our silent witness-bearing bring fruits for his glory,
and for our dear ones' good, as much as years of talking to them,
Eleanor."

"You are good comfort, aunt Caxton," said the girl putting her arms
around her and straining her close;--"but--this is something I cannot
help just now--"

It was a natural sorrow not to be struggled with successfully; and
Eleanor took it to her own room. So did Mrs. Caxton take it to hers.
But the struggle was ended then and there. No trace of it remained the
next day. Eleanor met her mother most cheerfully, and contrived
admirably to keep her from the gulf of discussion into which she had
been continually plunging at her first visit. With so much of grace and
skill, and of that poise of her own mind which left her free to extend
help to another's vacillations and uncertainties, Eleanor guided the
conversation and bore herself generally that day, that Mrs. Powle's
sighing commentary as she went away, was, "Ah, Eleanor!--you might have
been a duchess!"

But the paleness of sorrow came over her duchess's face again so soon
as she was gone. Mrs. Caxton saw that if the struggle was ended, the
pain was not; and her heart bled for Eleanor. These were days not to be
prolonged. It was good for everybody that Tuesday, the day of sailing,
was so near.

They were heavy, the hours that intervened. In spite of keeping herself
close and making no needless advertisement of her proceedings, Eleanor
could not escape many an encounter with old friends or acquaintances.
They heard of her from her mother; learned her address; and then
curiosity was enough, without affection, to bring several; and
affection mingled with curiosity to bring a few. Among others, the two
Miss Broadus's, Eleanor's friends and associates at Wiglands ever sin