own bonds; it was her own doing; he had a right to her, he had claims
upon her, he had given his affection to her. Had _she_ any rights now,
inconsistent with his? Must she not fulfil this marriage? And yet,
could she do so, feeling as she did? would _that_ be right? For no
sooner was Eleanor alone than the subdued cry of her heart broke out
again, that it could not be. And that cry grew desperate. Yet this
evening's opportunity had all come to nothing. Worse than nothing, for
it had laid an additional difficulty in her way. By her window, looking
out into the dark night, Eleanor stopped and looked at this difficulty.
She drew from its lurking-place in the darkness of her heart the
question Mr. Carlisle had suggested, and confronted it steadily.

_Had_ "that young man," the preacher of this evening, Eleanor's really
best friend, had he anything to do with her "unmanageable wishes?"
_Had_ she any regard for him that influenced her mind in this
struggle--or that raised the struggle? With fiercely throbbing heart
Eleanor looked this question for the first time in the face. "No!" she
said to herself,--"no! I have not. I have no such regard for him. How
debasing to have such a doubt raised! But I _might_ have--I think that
is true--if circumstances put me in the way of it. And I think, seeing
him and knowing his superior beauty of character--how superior!--has
wakened me up to the consciousness of what I do like, and what I like
best; and made me conscious too that I do not love Mr. Carlisle as well
as I ought, to be his wife--not as he loves me. _That_ I see now,--too
late. Oh, mother, mother! why were you in such a hurry to seal this
marriage--when I told you, I told you, I was not ready. But then I did
not know any more than that. And now I cannot marry him--and yet I
shall--and I do not know but I ought. And yet I cannot."

Eleanor walked her floor or stood by her window that live-long night.
It was a night of great agony and distracted searching for relief.
Where should relief come from? To tell Mr. Carlisle frankly that she
did not bear the right kind of love towards him, she knew would be the
vainest of expedients. "He can make me do anything--he would say he can
make me love him; and so, perhaps, he could--I believe he would--if I
had not seen this other man." And then Eleanor drew the contrast
between one person and the other; the high, pure, spiritual nobleness
of the one, and the social and personal graces and i