erit the land.' I have had nothing but prosperity, Eleanor,
ever since I began the course which my neighbours and servants thought
would destroy me."

"I wanted to ask you that, aunt Caxton;--how it had been."

"But my dear," said Mrs. Caxton, the smile with which she had turned to
Eleanor fading into placid gravity again,--"if it had been otherwise,
it would have made no difference. I would rather be poor, with my
Lord's blessing, than have all the principality without it."

Eleanor went away thinking. All this applied to the decision of her own
affairs; and perhaps Mrs. Caxton had intended it should. But yet, how
should she decide? To do the thing that was right,--Eleanor wished
that,--and did not know what it was. Her wishes said one thing, and
prayed for freedom. A vague, trammelling sense of engagements entered
into and expectations formed and pledges given, at times confused all
her ideas; and made her think it might be her duty to go home and
finish wittingly what she had begun in ignorance what she was doing. It
would be now to sacrifice herself. Was she called upon to do that? What
was right?

Mrs. Caxton never alluded any further to Eleanor's private affairs; and
Eleanor never forgetting them, kept them in the darkness of her own
thoughts and did not bring them up to the light and her aunt's eye.
Only for this drawback, the days would have passed delightfully. The
next day was Sunday.

"We have a long drive to church, Eleanor," said her aunt. "How will you
go?"

"With you, aunty."

"I don't know about that; my car has no place for you. Are you a
horsewoman?"

"O aunty, nothing would be so delightful! if you have anything I can
ride. Nothing would be so delightful. I half live in the saddle at
home."

"You do? Then you shall go errands for me. I will furnish you with a
Welsh pony."

And this very day Eleanor mounted him to ride to church. Her aunt was
in a light car that held but herself and the driver. Another vehicle, a
sort of dog cart, followed with some of the servants. The day was mild
and pleasant, though not brilliant with sunbeams. It made no matter.
Eleanor could not comprehend how more loveliness could have been
crowded into the enjoyment of two hours. On her pony she had full
freedom for the use of her eyes; the road was excellent, and winding in
and out through all the crookedness of the valley they threaded, she
took it at all points of view. Nothing could be more varied. The valley