thwart it. Shall I tell my Master that his message is refused?"

"Mr. Rhys!" said Eleanor looking up, "I never heard any one talk so in
all my life! You speak as if--"

"As if, what?"

"You speak as if--I never heard any one speak as you do."

"I speak as if I were in the habit of telling my Master how his message
is received? I often do that."

"But it seems superfluous to tell what is known already," said Eleanor,
wondering secretly much more than she dared to say at her companion's
talk.

"Do you never, in speaking to those you love, tell them what is no
information?"

Eleanor was now dumb. There was too great a gulf of difference between
her companion and herself, to try to frame any words or thoughts that
might bridge it over. She must remain on one side and he on the other;
yet she went on wondering.

"Are you a clergyman, Mr. Rhys?" she said after a pause.

"I am not what you would call such."

"Do you not think the rain is over?"

"Nearly, for the present; but the grass is as wet as possible."

"O, I don't mind that. There is somebody now in the shrubbery yonder,
looking for me."

"He will not find you here," said Mr. Rhys. "I have this window all to
myself. But we will find him."

The rain-drops fell now but scatteringly, the last of the shower; the
sun was breaking out, and the green world was all in a glitter of wet
leaves. Wet as they were, Eleanor and Mr. Rhys pushed through the thick
bramble and holly bushes, which with honeysuckles, eglantine, and
broom, and bryony, made a sweet wild wilderness. They got plentifully
besprinkled in their way, shook that off as well as they could, and
with quick steps sought to rejoin their companions. The person Eleanor
had seen in the shrubbery was the first one found, as Mr. Rhys had
said. It was Mr. Carlisle. He at once took charge of Eleanor.

"What has become of you?"

"What has become of _you_, Mr. Carlisle?" Eleanor's gleaming smile was
as bright as ever.

"Despair, nearly," said he; "for I feared business would hold me all
day; but I broke away. Not time enough to protect you from this shower."

"Water will wet," said Eleanor, laughing; for the politeness of this
speech was more evident than its plausibility. She was on the point of
speaking of the protection that had been actually found for her, but
thought better of it. Meantime they were joined by a little girl,
bright and rather wild looking, who addressed Eleanor as her sister.

"O co