em. Eleanor's
world was brighter than ever. And round about all of these various
enjoyments now, circling them with a kind of halo of expectancy or
possibility, was the consciousness of a prospect that Eleanor knew was
opening before her--a brilliant life-possession that she saw Fortune
offering to her with a gracious hand. Would Eleanor take it? That
Eleanor did not quite know. Meanwhile her eyes could not help looking
that way; and her feet, consciously or unconsciously, now and then made
a step towards it.

She and her mother were sitting at work one morning--that is to say,
Eleanor was drawing and Mrs. Powle cutting tissue paper in some very
elaborate way, for some unknown use or purpose; when Julia dashed in.
She threw a bunch of bright blue flowers on the table before her sister.

"There," she said--"do you know what that is?"

"Why certainly," said Eleanor. "It is borage."

"Well, do you know what it means?"

"What it _means?_ No. What does any flower mean?"

"I'll tell you what _this_ means"--said Julia.

"I, borage Bring courage."

"That is what people used to think it meant."

"How do you know that."

"Mr. Rhys says so. This borage grew in Mrs. Williams's garden; and I
dare say she believes it."

"Who is Mrs. Williams?"

"Why!--she's the old woman where Mr. Rhys lives; he lives in her
cottage; that's where he has his school. He has a nice little room in
her cottage, and there's nobody else in the cottage but Mrs. Williams."

"Do, Julia, carry your flowers off, and do not be so hoydenish," said
Mrs. Powle.

"We have not seen Mr. Rhys here in a great while, mamma," said Eleanor.
"I wonder what has become of him."

"I'll tell you," said Julia--"he has become not well. I know Mr. Rhys
is sick, because he is so pale and weak. And I know he is weak, because
he cannot walk as he used to do. We used to walk all over the hills;
and he says he can't go now."

"Mamma, it would be right to send down and see what is the matter with
him. There must be something. It is a long time--mamma, I think it is
weeks--since he was at the Lodge."

"Your father will send, I dare say," said Mrs. Powle, cutting her
tissue paper.

"Mamma, did you hear," said Eleanor as Julia ran off, "that Mr. Rhys
was going to leave Wiglands and bury himself in some dreadful place,
somewhere?"

"I heard so."

"What place is it?"

"I can't tell, I am sure. It is somewhere in the South Seas, I
believe--that region of horro