. But on the whole
Eleanor disliked it excessively, with all the power of mature and
cultivation. For though frank enough to those whom she loved, a proud
reserve was Eleanor's nature in regard to all others whom she did not
love; and the habits of her life were as far as possible at variance
with this proposed meeting, in its familiar and social religious
character. She could not conceive how people should wish to speak of
their intimate feelings before other people. Her own shrank from
exposure as morbid flesh shrinks from the touch. However, Wednesday
came.

"Can I have Powis this afternoon, aunt Caxton?"

"Certainly, my dear; no need to ask. Powis is yours. Are you going to
Mrs. Pynce?"

"No ma'am.--" Eleanor struggled.--"Mr. Rhys has made me promise to go
to his class. I do not like to go at all; but I have promised."

"You will like to go next time," said Mrs. Caxton quietly. And she said
no more than that.

"Will I?" thought Eleanor as she rode away. But if there was anything
harsh or troubled in her mood of mind, all nature breathed upon it to
soften it. The trees were leafing out again; the meadows brilliant with
fresh green; the soft spring airs wooing into full blush and beauty the
numberless spring flowers; every breath fragrant with new sweetness.
Nothing could be lovelier than Eleanor's ride to the village; nothing
more soothing to a ruffled condition of thought; and she arrived at
Mrs. Powlis's door with an odd kind of latent hopefulness that
something good might be in store for her there.

Her strange and repugnant feelings returned when she got into the
house. She was shewn into a room where several other persons were
sitting, and where more kept momently coming in. Greetings passed
between these persons, very frank and cordial; they were all at home
there and accustomed to each other and to the business; Eleanor alone
was strange, unwonted, not in her element. That feeling however changed
as soon as Mr. Rhys came in. Where he was, there was at least one
person whom she had sympathy, and who had some little degree of
sympathy with her. Eleanor's feelings were destined to go through a
course of discipline before the meeting was over.

It began with some very sweet singing. There were no books; everybody
knew the words that were sung, and they burst out like a glad little
chorus. Eleanor's lips only were mute. The prayer that followed stirred
her very much. It was so simple, so pure, so heavenwar