til after passing two or three houses they arrived
at a spot where the trees and the road were the only village
representatives; a clear space, with no house very near, and no person
in sight. Mr. Rhys drew up by the side of the road, and helped Eleanor
out of the waggon. He said only "Good night," but it was said kindly
and sympathizingly, and with the earnest grasp of the hand that Eleanor
remembered. He got into the waggon again, but did not drive away as she
expected; she found he was walking his horse and keeping abreast of her
as she walked. Eleanor hurried on, reached Mrs. Lewis's cottage, paused
a second at the door to let him see that she had reached her stopping
place, and went in.

All still; the embers dying on the hearth, a cricket chirrupping under
it. Mrs. Lewis was gone to bed, but had not covered up the fire for
fear her young lady might want it. Eleanor did not dare sit down there.
She drew the bolt of the house door; then softly went up the stairs to
Jane's room. Jane was asleep. Eleanor felt thankful, and moved about
like a shadow. She put the brands together in a sort of mechanical way;
for she knew she was chilly and needed fire bodily, though her spirit
was in a fever. The night had turned raw, and the ride home had been
not so cheering mentally as to do away with the physical influence of a
cold fog. Eleanor put off bonnet and cloak, softly piled the brands
together and coaxed up a flame; and sat down on a low stool on the
hearth to spread her hands over it, to catch all the comfort she could.

Comfort was not near, however. Jane waked up in a violent fit of
coughing; and when that was subdued or died away, as difficult a fit of
restlessness was left behind. She was nervous and uneasy; Eleanor had
only too much sympathy with both moods, nevertheless she acted the part
of a kind and delicate nurse; soothed Jane and ministered to her, even
spoke cheerful words; until the poor girl's exhausted mind and body
sank away again into slumber, and Eleanor was free to sit down on the
hearth and fold her hands.

Then she began to think. Not till then. Indeed what she did then at
first was not to think, but to recall in musing all the scenes and as
far as possible all the words of that evening; with a consciousness
behind this all the while that there was hard thinking coming. Eleanor
went dreamily over the last few hours, looking in turn at each image so
stamped upon her memory; felt over again the sermon,