eel humbled and poor with an extreme and
bitter sense of want. Her heart felt as empty as a deep well that had
gone dry. This man only had ever shewed her what a Christian might be;
she saw him standing in a glory of heavenly relationships and
privileges and character, that were a sort of transfiguration. And
although Eleanor comprehended but very imperfectly wherein this glory
might lie, she yet saw the light, and mourned her own darkness.
Eleanor's mind went a great way during the minutes of that prayer;
according to the strange fashion in which the work of many days is
sometimes done in one. She was sorry when it ended; however, every part
of the services had a vivid new interest for her. Another hymn, and
reading, during which her head was bowed on her breast in still
listening; it was curious, how she had forgot all about being in a
barn; and then the sermon began. She had to raise up her head when that
began; and after a while Eleanor could not bear her veil, and threw it
back, trusting that the dim light would secure her from being known.
But she felt that she must see as well as hear, this one time.

Of all subjects in the world to fall in with Eleanor's mood, the sermon
to-night was on _peace_. The peace that the Lord Jesus left as his
parting gift to his people; the peace that is not as the world giveth.
How the world gives, Mr. Rhys briefly set forth; with one hand, to take
away with the other--as a handful of gold, what proves but a clutch of
ashes--as the will-o'-the-wisp gives, promise but never possession.
Eleanor would not have much regarded these words from any other lips;
they accorded with her old theory of disgust with the world. From Mr.
Rhys she did regard them, because no word of his fell unheeded by her.
But when he went on from that to speak of Christ's gift, and how that
is bestowed--his speech was as bitter in her heart as it was sweet in
his mouth. The peace he held up to her view,--the joy in which a child
of God lives and walks--and dies; the security of every movement, the
confidence in every action, the rest in all turmoil, the fearlessness
in all danger; the riches in the midst of poverty, the rejoicing even
in time of sorrow; the victory over sin and death, wrought in him as
well as for him;--Eleanor's heart seemed to die within her, and at the
same time started in a struggle for life. Had the words been said
coldly, or as matter of speculative belief, or as privilege not
actually enter