"It's bad news--and yet--for you--it is good news."

"What is it, child? Speak."

"Lady Rythdale--she is dead."

Eleanor raised herself on her elbow and stared at Julia. "How do you
know? how do you know?" she said.

"A messenger came to tell us--she died last night. The man came a good
while ago, but--"

She never finished her sentence; for Eleanor threw herself out of bed,
exclaiming, "I am saved! I am saved!"--and went down on her knees by
the bedside. It was hardly to pray, for Eleanor scarce knew how to
pray; yet that position seemed an embodiment of thanks she could not
speak. She kept it a good while, still as death. Julia stood
motionless, looking on.

"Don't think me wicked," said Eleanor getting up at last. "I am not
glad of anything but my own deliverance. Oh, Julia!"

"Poor Eleanor!" said her little sister wonderingly. "Then you don't
want to be married and go to Rythdale?"

"Not Monday!" said Eleanor. "And now I shall not. It is not possible
that a wedding and a funeral should be in one house on the same day. I
know which they would put off if they could, but they have got to put
off the other. O Julia, it is the saving of me!"

She caught the little one in her arms and sat with her so, their two
heads nestling together, Eleanor's bowed upon her sister's neck.

"But Eleanor, will you not marry Mr. Carlisle after all?"

"I cannot,--for a good while, child."

"But then?"

"I shall _never_ be married in a hurry. I have got breathing time--time
to think. And I'll use it."

"And, O Eleanor! won't you do something else?"

"What?"

"Won't you be a servant of the Lord?"

"I will--if I can find out how," Eleanor answered low.

It poured with rain. Eleanor liked it that day, though generally she
was no lover of weather that kept her within. A spell of soothing had
descended upon her. Life was no longer the rough thing it had seemed to
her yesterday. A constant drop of thankfulness at her heart kept all
her words and manner sweet with its secret perfume. Eleanor's temper
was always as sound as a nut; but there was now a peculiar grace of
gentleness and softness in all she did. She was able to go faultlessly
through all the scenes of that day and the following days; through her
mother's open discomfiture and half expressed disappointment, and Mr.
Carlisle's suppressed impatience. His manner was perfect too; his
impatience was by no word or look made known; grave, quiet,
self-contained, he onl