leasant sort of life," said Eleanor
musingly,--"in this beautiful place!"

"Are you thinking of entering a monastery?" said her companion smiling.
It brought back Eleanor's consciousness, which had been for a moment
forgotten, and the deep colour flashed to her face. She stood confused.
Mr. Carlisle did not let her go this time; he took both her hands.

"Do you think I am going to be satisfied with only negative answers
from you?" said he changing his tone. "What have you got to say to me?"

Eleanor struggled with herself. "Nothing, Mr. Carlisle."

"Your mother has conveyed to you my wishes?"

"Yes," said Eleanor softly.

"What are yours?"

She hesitated, held at bay, but he waited; and at last with a little of
her frank daring breaking out, she said, still in her former soft
voice, "I would let things alone."

"Suppose that could not be,--would you send me away, or let me come
near to you?"

Eleanor could not send him away; but he would not come near. He stood
keeping her hands in a light firm grasp; she felt that he knew his hold
of her; her head bowed in confusion.

"Speak, darling," he said. "Are you mine?"

Eleanor shrank lower and lower from his observation; but she answered
in a whisper,--"I suppose so."

Her hands were released then, only to have herself taken into more
secure possession. She had given herself up; and Mr. Carlisle's manner
said that to touch her cheek was his right as well as his pleasure.
Eleanor could not dispute it; she knew that Mr. Carlisle loved her, but
the certainly thought the sense of power had great charms for him: so,
she presently thought, had the exercise of it.

"You are mine now," he said,--"you are mine. You are Eleanor Carlisle.
But you have not said a word to me. What is my name?"

"Your name!" stammered Eleanor,--"Carlisle."

"Yes, but the rest?"

"I know it," said Eleanor.

"Speak it, darling?"

Now Eleanor had no mind to speak that or anything else upon compulsion;
it should be a grace from her lips, not the compliance with a
requisition; her spirit of resistance sprung up. A frank refusal was on
her tongue, and her head, which had been drooping, was thrown back with
an infinitely pretty air of defiance, to give it. Thus she met Mr.
Carlisle's look; met the bright hazel eyes that were bent upon her,
full of affection and smiling, but with something else in them as well;
there was a calm power of exaction. Eleanor read it, even in the
half-glance whic