her own; of Mr. Pinchbeck's; and of the doings of
young Master Pinchbeck, who was happily in bed, and who she declared,
when _not_ in bed was too much for her. Meanwhile Mr. Pinchbeck, who
was a black-haired, ordinarily somewhat grim looking man, now with his
grimness all gilded in smiles, pressed the sweetmeats; and looked his
beaming delight at the occasion. Eleanor felt miserably out of place;
even Mrs. Pinchbeck's flannel round her throat helped her to question
whether she were not altogether wrong and mistaken in her present
undertaking. But though she felt miserable, and even trembled with a
sort of speculative doubt that came over her, she did not in the least
hesitate in her course. Eleanor was not made of that stuff. Certainly
she was where she had no business to be, at Mrs. Pinchbeck's tea-table,
and Mr. Pinchbeck had no business to be offering her sweetmeats; but it
was a miserable necessity of the straits to which she found herself
driven. She must go to the Wesleyan chapel that evening; she would,
_coute que coute_. _There_ she dared public opinion; the opinion of the
Priory and the Lodge. _Here_, she confessed said opinion was right.

One good effect of the vocal entertainment to which she was subjected,
was that Eleanor herself was not called upon for many words. She
listened, and tasted sweetmeats; that was enough, and the Pinchbecks
were satisfied. When the time of durance was over, for she was
nervously impatient, and the hour of the chapel service was come,
Eleanor had not a little difficulty to escape from the offers of
attendance and of service which both her host and hostess pressed upon
her. If her carriage was to meet her at a little distance, let Mr.
Pinchbeck by all means see her into it; and if it was not yet come, at
least let her wait where she was while Mr. P. went to make inquiries.
Or stay all night! Mrs. Pinchbeck would be delighted. By steady
determination Eleanor at last succeeded in getting out of the house and
into the street alone. Her heart beat then, fast and hard; it had been
giving premonitory starts all the evening. In a very sombre mood of
mind, she made her way in the chill wind along the streets, feeling
herself a wanderer, every way. The chapel she sought was not far off;
lights were blazing there, though the streets were gloomy. Eleanor made
a quiet entrance into the warm house, and sat down; feeling as if the
crisis of her fate had come. She did not care now about hiding