s much, perhaps,
as her disclosures on other points; so that Mrs. Caxton was left with
some general idea, if not more, of the home Eleanor had lived her life
in and the various people who had made it what it was. On all things
that touched Rythdale Eleanor was silent; and so was Mrs. Caxton.

The conversation flowed on to other topics; and the whole day was a
gentle entertainment to Eleanor. The perpetual good sense, information,
and shrewdness of her hostess was matter of constant surprise and
interest. Eleanor had never talked with anybody who talked so well; and
she felt obliged unconsciously all the time to produce the best of
herself. That is not a disagreeable exercise; and on the whole the day
reeled off on silver wheels. It concluded as the former day had done;
and in the warm prayer uttered by her aunt, Eleanor could not help
feeling there was a pulse of the heart for _her;_ for her darkness and
necessities. It sent her to her room touched, and humbled, and
reminded; but Eleanor's musings this night were no more fruitful of
results than those of last night had been. They resolved themselves
into a long waking dream. Mr. Carlisle exercised too much mastery over
her imagination, for any other concern to have fair chance till his
question was disposed of. Would he come to look for her there? It was
just like him; but she had a little hope that her mother's pride would
prevent his being furnished with the necessary information. That
Eleanor should be sought and found by him on a cheese farm, the
mistress of the farm her own near relation, would not probably meet
Mrs. Powle's notions of what it was expedient to do or suffer. A
slender thread of a hope; but that was all. Supposing he came? Eleanor
felt she had no time to lose. She could only deal with Mr. Carlisle at
a distance. In his presence, she knew now, she was helpless. But a
vague sense of wrong combated all her thoughts of what she wished to
do; with a confused and conflicting question of what was right. She
wearied herself to tears with her dreaming, and went to bed to
aggravate her troubles in actual dreams; in which the impossible came
in to help the disagreeable.

CHAPTER XVI.

AT THE FARM.

"What if she be fastened to this fool lord,
Dare I bid her abide by her word?"

The next morning nevertheless was bright, and Eleanor was early down
stairs. And now she found that the day was begun at the farmhouse in
the same way in which it was