which one rides contentedly in rough water; there is a hope of glory,
in the presence of which no darkness can abide; and there is a word
with which Eleanor dried her tears that day and upon which she steadied
her heart all the days after. It was written by one who knew trouble.
"The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him."
It is hard to take that portion away from a man, or to make him poor
while he has it.

Eleanor had little else the remaining twenty-one days of that month.
What troubled her much, she could by no means see Julia; and she found
that her sister had been sent home, to the Lodge at Wiglands, under
charge of a governess; Mrs. Powle averring that it was time she should
be in the country. London was not good for Julia. Was it good for any
of them, Eleanor thought? But parliament was still sitting; Mr.
Carlisle was in attendance; it was manifest they must be so too.
Everything went on much as usual. Eleanor attended her father after his
early dinner, for Mr. Powle would not come into London hours; and Mr.
Carlisle as usual shared her office with her, except when he was
obliged to be in the House. When he was, Mrs. Powle now took his place.
The Squire was surly and gloomy; only brought out of those moods by Mr.
Carlisle himself. That gentleman held his ground, with excellent grace
and self-control, and made Eleanor more than ever feel his power. But
she kept her ground too; not without an effort and a good deal of that
old arm of defence which is called "all-prayer;" yet she kept it; was
gentle and humble and kind to them all, to Mr. Carlisle himself, while
he was sensible her grave gentleness had no yielding in it. How he
admired her, those days! how he loved her; with a little fierce desire
of triumph mingling, it must be confessed, with his love and
admiration, and heightened by them; for now pride was touched, and some
other feeling which he did not analyse. He had nobody to be jealous of,
that he knew; unless it were Eleanor herself; yet her indifference
piqued him. He could not brook to be baffled. He shewed not a symptom
of all this; but every line of her fine figure, every fold of her rich,
beautiful hair, every self-possessed movement, at times was torment to
him. Her very dress was a subject of irritation. It was so plain, so
evidently unworldly in its simplicity, that unreasonably enough, for
Eleanor looked well in it, it put Mr. Carlisle in a fume every day. She
should n