nor
read that and the meaning of it. Here were contrivances again that Mr.
Rhys had done; shelves, and brackets, and pins to hang things; nothing
out of use, but all so contrived as to give a certain elegant effect to
this plain work-room. Even the book and paper disorder was not that of
a careless man. Still it was not like the room at the other end of the
house. The mats that floored and lined it were coarser; there were no
_jalousies_ at the windows; and no easy chair anywhere. One thing it
had like the other; a storeroom cut off from it. This was a large one,
like Eleanor's, and filled. His money-drawer, Mr. Rhys called it. All
sorts of articles valued by the natives were there; Mrs. Caxton had
taken care to send a large supply. These were to serve the purposes of
barter. Mr. Rhys displayed to Eleanor the stores of iron tools, cotton
prints, blankets, and articles of clothing, that were stowed away
there; stowed away with an absolute order and method which again she
looked at as significant of one side at least of Mr. Rhys's character.
He amused himself with displaying everything; shewed her the whole of
the new and strangely appointed establishment over which she had come
to preside, so far at least as the house contained it; and when he had
brought her to something like an apparent share in his own gay mood, at
last placed her in a camp chair in the dining-room, which he had set in
the middle of the floor, and opened the door of the house. It gave
Eleanor a lovely view. The plantations had been left open, so that the
eye had a fair range down to the river and to the opposite shore, where
another village stood. It was seen under bright sunshine now. Mr. Rhys
let her look a moment, then shut the door, and came and sat down before
her, taking both her hands in his own; and Eleanor knew from a glance
at his face that the same thoughts were working within him that had
wrought that moved look before dinner--when she first came. She felt
her colour mounting; it tried her to be silent under his eye in that
way.

"Mr. Rhys, do you remember preaching to me one day at Plassy--when we
were out walking?"

"Yes," he said with a half laugh.

"I wish you would do it again."

"I will preach you a sermon every morning if you like."

"No, but now. I wish you would, so as to make me realize that you are
the same person."

"I am not the same person at all!" he said.

"Why are you not?" said Eleanor opening her eyes at him.