iscussion of the same; in fact, there was conversation, truly
deserving the name; such as Eleanor never listened to before she came
to Plassy, and which she enjoyed hugely. Then the walks after natural
objects were on the whole frequent; and Mr. Rhys was sure to ask her to
go along; and they were full of delightful pleasure and of nice talk
too, though it never happened that they sat down under a tree again to
sermonize and Mr. Rhys never forgot himself again to speak to her by
the undignified appellation he once had given her. But Eleanor had got
over her shyness of him pretty well, and was inclined to think it quite
honour and pleasure enough to be allowed to share his walks; waited
very contentedly when he was wrapped up in his own thoughts; wrapped
herself up in hers; and was all ready for the talk when it came. With
all this she observed that he never distinguished her by any more
familiarity than Mrs. Caxton's niece and his daily neighbour at the
table and in the family, might demand from a gentleman and Mrs.
Caxton's friend and guest. The hills and the valleys around Plassy were
very beautiful that summer.

So was Mrs. Caxton's garden. The roses flushed out into bloom, with all
their contemporaries; the terraces down to the river were aglow with
richness and profusion of blossoms, and sweet with many fragrances. The
old farmhouse itself had become an object of admiration to Eleanor.
Long and low, built of dark red stone and roofed with slate, it was now
in different parts wreathed and draped in climbing roses and
honeysuckle as well as in the ivy which did duty all winter. To stand
under these roses at the back of the house, and look down over the
gorgeous terraces, to the river and the bridge and the outspread
meadows on the other side, stretching away down and up the valley and
reaching to the foot of the hills which rose beyond them; to see all
this, was to see a combination of natural features rare even in
England, though words may not make it seem so.

Mrs. Caxton and Eleanor were there one evening. It was towards the end
of the season of "June roses," though indeed it was later than the
month of June. Mr. Rhys had been called away to some distance by
business, and been detained a week; and this evening he might be
expected home. They had missed him very much, Mrs. Caxton and Eleanor.
They had missed him exceedingly at prayer-time; they had missed him
desolately at meals. To-night the tea-table was spread w