uld not forget it. In general, as she had always seen him, though
perfectly at ease in his manners he was very simple and
undemonstrative. She had not guessed there was such might in him. It
awed her; it delighted her. To live such a life and to do such work as
that man lived for,--that was living indeed! That was noble, high,
pure; unlike and O how far above all the manner of lives Eleanor had
ever seen before. And such, in so far as the little may resemble the
great, such at least so far as in her sphere and abilities and sadly
inferior moral qualities it might lie--such in aim and direction at
least, her own life should be. What had she to do with Mr. Carlisle?

Eleanor never spoke to him during the long drive, forgetting as far as
she could, though a little uneasiness grew upon her by degrees, that he
was even present. And he did not speak to her, nor remind her of his
presence otherwise than by pulling up the glass on her side when the
wind blew in too chill. It was _his_ carriage they were in, Eleanor
then perceived; and she wanted to ask a question; but on the whole
concluded it safe to be still; according to the proverb, _Let sleeping
dogs lie_. One other time he drew her shawl round her which she had let
slip off.

Mr. Carlisle was possessed of large self-control and had great
perfection of tact; and he never shewed either more consummately than
this night. What he underwent while standing in the aisle of the
Chapel, was known to himself; he made it known to nobody else. He was
certainly silent during the drive; that shewed him displeased; but
every movement was calm as ordinary; his care of Eleanor was the same,
in its mixture of gentle observance and authority. He had laid down
neither. Eleanor could have wished he had been unable to keep one or
the other. Would he keep her too, and everything else that he chose?
Nothing is more subduing in its effect upon others, than evident power
of self-command. Eleanor could not help feeling it, as she stepped out
of the carriage at home, and was led into the house.

"Will you give me a few minutes, when you have changed your dress?" her
conductor asked.

It must come, thought Eleanor, and as well now as ever; and she
assented. Mr. Carlisle led her in. Nobody was in waiting but Mrs.
Powle; and she waited with devouring anxiety. The Squire and Julia she
had carefully disposed of in good time.

"Eleanor is tired, Mrs. Powle, and so am I," said Mr. Carlisle. "Will
you