world,"
cried Elinor, in the boiling tide of her impatience and wretchedness,
"where nobody ever heard of us before, where there will be no one to
ask, no one to require a reason, where we should be free to move when we
please and do as we please. Let me go, mother. It seemed too dear, too
peaceful to come home, but now home itself has become intolerable. I
will take my baby and I will go--to the farthest point the railway can
take me to--with no servant to betray me, not even an address. Mother,
let me go away and be lost; let me be as if I had never been."

"And me--am I to remain to bear the brunt behind?"

"And you--mamma! Oh, I am the most unworthy creature. I don't deserve to
have you, I that am always giving you pain. Why should I unroot you from
your place where you have lived so long--from your flowers, and your
landscape, and your pretty rooms that were always a comfort to think of
in that horrible time when I was away? I always liked to think of you
here, happy and quiet, in the place you had chosen."

"Flowers and landscapes are pretty things," said Mrs. Dennistoun, whose
colour had begun to come again a little, "but they don't make up for
one's children. We must not do anything rashly, Elinor; but if what you
mean is really that you will go away to a strange place among
strangers----"

"What else could I mean?" Elinor said, and then she in her turn grew
pale. "If you thought I could mean that I would go--back----"

"Oh, my darling, my darling! God knows if we are right or wrong--I not
to advise you so, or you not to take my advice. Elinor, it is my duty,
and I will say it though it were to break my heart. There only could you
avoid this strife of tongues. John spoke the truth. He said, as the
boy grew up we should have--many troubles. I have known women endure
everything that their children might grow up in a natural situation,
in their proper sphere. Think of this--I am saying it against my own
interest, against my own heart. But think of it, Elinor. Whatever you
might have to bear, you would be in your natural place."

Elinor received this agitated address standing up, holding her head
high, her nostrils expanded, her lips apart. "Have you quite done,
mother?" she said.

Mrs. Dennistoun made an appealing movement with her hands, and sank,
without any power to add a word, into a chair.

"I am glad you said it against your heart. Now you must feel that your
conscience is clear. Mother, if I had to