et us there--shall I? or do you not wish to do anything but walk
to-day?"

"O yes. After my visit is paid, I shall be ready."

"But it will be very inconvenient to walk so far in your habit. Can you
manage that?"

"I expect to enlighten you a good deal as to a woman's power of
managing," said Eleanor.

"Is that a warning?" said he, making her turn her face towards him.
Eleanor gratified him with one of her full mischievous smiles.

"Did anybody ever tell you," said he continuing the inspection, "that
you were handsome?"

"It never was worth anybody's while."

"How was that?"

"Simply, that he would have gained nothing by it."

"Then I suppose I should not, or you think so?"

"Nothing in the world. Mr. Carlisle, if you please, I will go and put
on my hat."

The day was November in a mild mood; pleasant enough for a walk; and so
one at least of the two found it. For Eleanor, she was in a divided
mood; yet even to her the exercise was grateful, and brought some glow
and stir of spirits through the body to the mind. At times, too, now,
she almost bent before what seemed her fate, in hopelessness of
escaping from it; and at those times she strove to accommodate herself
to it, and tried to propitiate her captor. She did this from a twofold
motive. She did fear him, and feared to have him anything but pleased
with her; half slumbering that feeling lay; another feeling she was
keenly conscious of. The love that he had for her; a gift that no woman
can receive and be wholly unmoved by it; the affection she herself had
allowed him to bestow, in full faith that it would not be thrown away;
that stung Eleanor with grief and self-reproach; and made her at times
question whether her duty did not lie where she had formally engaged it
should. At such times she was very subdued in gentleness and in
observance of Mr. Carlisle's pleasure; subdued to a meekness foreign to
her natural mood, and which generally, to tell the truth, was
accompanied by a very unwonted sedateness of spirits also; something
very like the sedateness of despair.

She walked now silently the first half of the way; managing her long
habit in a way that she knew Mr. Carlisle knew, though he took no open
notice of it. The day was quite still, the road footing good. A slight
rime hung about the distance, veiled faintly the Rythdale woods,
enshrouded the far-off village, as they now and then caught glimpses of
it, in its tuft of surrounding trees. Yet nea