"I see you recognize me, Mr. Rhys," she said.

"I recognized you in the meeting," he answered in perfect gravity.
Eleanor felt it. She was checked. She was punished.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked after a little more time.

"I will take you wherever you tell me you desire."

Grave and short. Eleanor could not bear it.

"You think very hardly of me, Mr. Rhys," she said; "but I was spending
the night at a poor girl's house in the village--she is ill, and I was
going to sit up with her--and I knew you were to preach at that
place--and--" Eleanor's voice choked and faltered.

"And what could prompt you to go alone, Miss Powle?"

"I wanted to go--" faltered Eleanor. "I knew it would be my last
chance. I felt I must go. And I could go no way but alone."

"May I ask what you mean by 'your last chance?'"

"My last chance of hearing what I wanted to hear--what I can't help
thinking about lately. Mr. Rhys, I am not happy."

"Did you understand what you heard to-night?"

"In part I did--I understood, Mr. Rhys, that you have something I have
not,--and that I want." Eleanor spoke with great emotion.

"The Lord bless you!" he said, with a tenderness of tone that broke her
down at once. "Trust Jesus, Miss Powle. He can give it to you. He only
can. Go to him for what you want, and for understanding of what you do
not understand. Trust the Lord! Make your requests known to him, and
believe that he will hear your prayers and answer them, and more than
fulfil them. Now where shall I set you down?"

"Anywhere--" Eleanor said as well as she could. "Here, if you please."

"Here is no house. We are just at the entrance of the village."

"This is a good place then," said Eleanor. "I do not want anybody to
see me."

"Miss Powle," said her guardian, and he spoke with such extreme gravity
that Eleanor was half frightened,--"did you come without the knowledge
of your friends at home?"

"Yes, to the place we have come from. Mamma knew I was going to spend
the night with a sick girl in the village--she did not know any more."

"It was very dangerous!" he said in the same tone.

"I knew it. I risked that. I felt I must come."

"You did very wrong," said her companion. It hurt her that he should
say it, and have cause; but she was so miserable before, that it could
be felt only in the dull way in which pain added to pain sometimes
makes itself known. She was subdued, humbled, ashamed. She said nothing
more, nor did he, un