ily Vale is two
and a half miles off. Not very convenient, I should think."

"I don't know, my dear. Perhaps he finds living cheap at Wiglands, and
I am sure he may. Do you know, I get butter for less than one-half what
I paid when I was in Leicester?"

"It is summer time now, Miss Broadus," said the squire.

"Yes, I know, but still--I am sure Wiglands is the nicest, easiest
place for poor people to live, that ever was."

"Why you are not poor, Miss Broadus," said the squire.

Miss Broadus chuckled. The fact was, that the Miss Broadus's not being
poor was a standing pleasant joke with them; it being well known that
they were not largely supplied with means, but contrived to make a
little do the apparent work of much more than they had. A way of
achieving respectability upon which they prided themselves.

"Eleanor," said her mother as they left the table, "you look pale. Did
you get your feet wet?"

"Yes, mamma--there was no helping that."

"Then you'll be laid up!"

"She must not, just now, my dear," said Miss Broadus smilingly.

Eleanor could not laugh off the prophecy, which an internal warning
told her was well founded. She went to bed thinking of Mr. Rhys's
helmet. She did not know why; she was not given to such thoughts;
neither did she comprehend exactly what the helmet might be; yet now
the thought came uneasily across her mind, that just such a cold as she
had taken had been many a one's death; and with that came a strange
feeling of unprotectedness--of want of defence. It was very
uncomfortable to go to bed with that slight sensation of sore throat
and feverishness, and to remember that the beginning of multitudes of
last sicknesses had been no other and no greater; and it was most
unlike Eleanor to have such a cause make her uncomfortable. She charged
it upon the conversation of the morning, and supposed herself nervous
or feverish; but this, if an explanation, was no cure; and through the
frequent wakings of a disturbed night, the thought of that piece of
armour which made one of her fellow creatures so blessedly calm, came
up again and again to her mind.

"I am feverish--this is nightmare," said Eleanor to herself. But it
must be good to have no such nightmare. And when the broad daylight had
come, and she was pronounced to be very ill, and the doctor was sent
for, Eleanor found her night's visions would not take their departure.
She could not get up; she was a prisoner; would she ever be free?