to the face thus held for near inspection; much as one handles
a child. The touch was light and caressing, and calm as power too.
Eleanor breathed quick. She could not bear it. She forced herself back
where she could look at him.

"You are taking it lightly, but I mean it very seriously," she said. "I
think I could--I think I shall. I did not write you such a letter
without very deep reason."

He still retained his hold of her, and in his right hand had captured
one of hers. This hand he now brought to his lips, kissing and
caressing it.

"I do not think I understand it yet," he said. "What are you going to
do with yourself? Is it your old passion for a monastic life come up
again? do you want the old Priory built up, and me for a Father
Confessor?"

Did he mean ever to loose his hold of the little hand he held so
lightly and firmly? Never! Eleanor's head drooped.

"What is it, Eleanor?"

"It is serious work, Mr. Carlisle; and you will not believe me."

"Make me serious too. Tell me a little more definitely what dreadful
thing I am to expect. What sort of a woman is my wife going to be?"

"Such a one as you would not have, if you knew it;--such a one as you
never would have sought, if I had known it myself earlier; I feel
sure." Eleanor's colour glowed all over her face and brow; nevertheless
she spoke steadily.

"Enigmatical!" said Mr. Carlisle. "The only thing I understand is
this--and this--" and he kissed alternately her cheek and lips. "_Here_
is my wife--_here_ is what I wish her to be. It will be all right the
twenty-first of next month. What will you do after that, Eleanor?"

Eleanor was silent, mortified, troubled, silenced. What was the use of
trying to explain herself?

"What do you want to do, Eleanor? Give all your money to the poor? I
believe that is your pet fancy. Is that what you mean to do?"

Eleanor's cheeks burnt again. "You know I have very little money to
give, Mr. Carlisle. But I have determined to give _myself_."

"To me?"

"No, no. I mean, to duties and commands higher than any human
obligation. And they may, and probably will, oblige me to live in a way
that would not please you."

"Let us see. What is the novelty?"

"I am going to live--it is right I should tell you, whether you will
believe me or not,--I am going to live henceforth not for this world
but the other."

"How?" said he, looking at her with his clear brilliant eyes.

"I do not know, in detail. But you know,