She did not find rest.

One day she took her course purposely to the ruined priory. It was a
long walk; but Eleanor courted long walks. And when she got there,
musing, it must be confessed, had a good time. She stepped slowly down
the grass-grown nave of the old church, recalling with much bitterness
the day of her betrothal there; blaming herself, and blaming her mother
more. Yet at any rate that day she had set seal to her own fate; would
she be able, and had she a right,--that was the worst question,--to
break it now? She wandered on, out of the church, away from the
beautiful old ivied tower, which seemed to look down on her with grave
reproach from the staidness of years and wisdom; wound about over and
among the piles of shapeless ruin and the bits of lichened and
moss-grown walls, yet standing here and there; not saying to herself
exactly where she was going, but trying if she could find out the way;
till she saw a thicket of thorn and holly bushes that she remembered.
Yes, the latches too, and the young growth of beech trees. Eleanor
plunged through this thicket, as well as she could; it was not easy;
and there before her was the clear spot of grass, the angle of the
thick old wall, and the deep window that she wanted to see again. All
still and lonely and wild. Eleanor went across and took a seat in the
window as she had done once before, to rest and think.

And then what she thought of, was not the old monks, nor the exquisite
fair view out of the window that had belonged to them; though it was a
soft December day, and the light was as winning fair on house and hill
and tree-top as if it had been a different season of the year. No cloud
in the sky, and no dark shadows upon the earth. But Eleanor's thoughts
went back to the thunderstorm, and her need then first felt of an
inward sunshine that would last in cloudy times. She recalled the talk
about the Christian's helmet; with a weary, sorrowful, keen renewal of
regret at her own want of it. The words Mr. Rhys had spoken about it at
that time she could not very well remember; but well she remembered the
impression of them, and the noble, clear calmness of his face and
manner. Very unlike all other calmness and nobleness that she had seen.
The nobleness of one whose head was covered by that royal basnet; the
fearlessness of one whose brows were consciously shaded by it. The
simplicity that had nothing to feign or conceal; the poise of manner
that came from an es